A Heart of Deception, Part 1

                                                                                CHAPTER ONE
                Holly Everten was lying lifeless on the cool cement that had befriended her for an indefinite amount of time. Blood pooled around her once deep, blond locks that were now a crusty russet hue. Her long elegant fingers she once lavished attention to had several nails ripped off them. Her slender legs had been methodically broken in several places from a wicket. The telltale rivets were scarring a faded tan she had once proudly displayed with flirty shorts on occasion. She could not see well from one of her eyes because it had been swollen shut, yet she knew that her petite feet were gone. They were now replaced by crude scars and bandaging. It hurt to move her head, now glued to the cement floor by the blood. Nevertheless, she still yearned for water and food. She began to lose consciousness again, yielding hope she could dispose of this anguish for the last time. Fragmented thoughts of yesteryear pierced her mind like dancing hallucinations giddy with drunken humor. Each time these streaming thoughts were more fantastic and lengthy than the last, making her ponder their validity and realism.

         As Holly and her new husband Darrell chased each other madly into their new and modest home they shared after their wedding, they heard on their old TV laced with rabbit ears and a crumbling coffee table the news. ‘Possibly 3,500 Palestinian and Lebanese were massacred in the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps.’ Their capricious mood turned somber and serious; now enmeshed with the odd-looking TV in horror. This marked a climatic turn of events since Israel had been censured for having its troops still in Lebanon in the preceding months.
         That night Holly and Darrell tried to get their minds off the disturbing world events by watching their wedding tape. The taped scene opened with Darrell, only 32 years old at the time, standing in front of the heaping array of coral summer flowers near the minister. Darrell had his infamous, flashy, toothy grin, plaster upon a youthful, clean-cut baby face, and prominent hooknose probably inherited from distant American Indian lineage. His svelte, slightly muscular, tall frame created a narrow shadow before him. The sun was slightly resting itself on the lower quadrant of the sky, radiating heavenly beams from Darrell’s white suit. The cries of seagulls murmured in the distance. The casually dressed audience in variant shades of pink widened their eyes to receive the honorary bridal parade marching down the circular, sandy pathway, all in matching arrays of roseate. Holly followed lastly, dressed in a simple, drop waist, slip gown in light pink. Though she was just five years younger than Darrell was she looked like she was still in high school. 
         Holly smiled sweetly as Darrell caressed her neck on the bedraggled couch while they watched the tape of her marching delicately in the sand with Miles Cartwright, Darrell’s childhood friend. In an all white suit himself, Miles’ skin, like the color of a water moccasin, contrasted starkly.
         Holly had always hoped her dad would be the one giving her away. However, a twist of unyielding fate had dealt her a frightful blow several months prior to their wedding. Her dad James Burwell was killed in a freak car accident. Apparently, his brakes had failed in his 1979 Chevy Nova hatchback and he collided with a large oak tree on the way home one night. Though Holly did not know Miles very well when they married, she trusted Darrell and knew his best man at the wedding was the perfect choice to replace her dad at the wedding.

         Holly welled up with tears. “I miss him Darrell.”

         “I know, baby, I know.” Darrell began to caress her with even more solidarity.

         Trust was an easy thing for Holly to develop with Darrell. It was plausibly due to her having a great and very close relationship with her dad, or maybe because even in her especially short courtship with Darrell. Even so, she knew he was the right one for her. Early in their relationship, Darrell had  excellent opportunities to prove his love and devotion to her, not only by being by her side during her dad’s death, but with a near fatal accident of her own. It was after she fell from the roof hanging Christmas decorations with her dad one evening, approximately two months before James died, that she met Darrell. Darrell was the EMT responder that rendered medical attention to her as she fought for her life in the ambulance ride to the hospital. Though she suffered moderate brain damage, she did not forget Darrell and they began to date soon after.
         Darrell had an unforgettable way to make the ordinary into extraordinary for Holly. He would cook popcorn and curl up on the old, brown, frumpy couch with springs that shot through the worn, faded fabric and watched Cagney and Lacey with her. He would then caress her as she drank her Tab close to him. He bathed her in compliments, as he absolutely adored her soft, lush golden locks that hugged her shoulders. Their matching blue-green eyes would meet as they kissed until their song, Bobby Sue, from The Oak Ridge Boys had ended.


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Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip, Drip.
Splat.
Drip.
Drip.

         It was almost musical how the wayward water would land on the icy cement nearby. It seemed like a long time had passed. However, without a window in the room, and eyes that were not fully functional, she had no way of gauging the time. The room began to fade in and out softly. Just then, a blurry light blinded Holly’s eyes. The light came from near the ceiling, almost on top of her. She could hear muffled footsteps pounding towards her, like a gaited sort of shuffle that exuded purpose and conquer. An odd sort of smell, like bologna burnt in a microwave snarled itself at her tender nostrils. A splat sound echoed near her face. Indeed, some sort of lunchmeat was crumpled and thrown towards her. Despite its appearance, she longed for the nourishment and appreciated the darkened figure that progressively got closer to her. As the shadowy character eclipsed the light that came from the ceiling area, she felt a sharp blow to her stomach from a steel boot. The door from the top of the stairs near where the light source originated creaked in unison with her groans of pain. The dark person broke his silence and spoke this time, and it was familiar to her.

         “I am not a stupid whore! Why are doing this to me?” Holly retorted as fresh blood oozed out of her nose and mouth, churning itself onto the desiccated blood on her neck and the cement floor.

         “You are like a fake, you cheat me.” He began to spit near her face.

         She knew not what he spoke of and became all the more confused and bewildered. The cursing stopped. Then, something warm and salty splashed on her face. He zipped up his pants. She lapsed into a much deeper sleep.



(see this in its original format at www.redcabincrimemysteries.bravehost.com on June 15, 2009)