The Sixth Commandment

The Sixth Commandment

         Her short-lived, dream career began with a gun and a badge and ended with an anonymous file, a letter and a Crucifix.

         The bullet punched its way through her left shoulder, causing a gaping hole in its wake that quickly filled with blood and gushed out. She choked back the tears as her face drained and the knots rose in her gut. The intense burning sensation that concentrated itself in her left shoulder, came in waves and small lulls. It was as though her blood had turned to acid with the intent to finish her destruction. Her knees buckled under the hot pain and slammed her, face first, to the ground. The grit from the beach filled her mouth and throat. Gasping for air, she choked and spit the grit out while soaring through her body were the feelings of an adrenaline rush, wooziness and the fear of being shot again. Together they intermingled, and took turns masking and intensifying each other. She knew—she had been betrayed. She knew—she had to take cover. Colton Franks had found her. She clawed at the sand trying to move towards the dark shadows of the rocky embankment that stood as a fortress against the angry waves—to give up now—meant death.
         Stacy stretched out her right hand to grab a rock—any rock— that would allow her to pull herself up to her feet. It was then she noticed a movement in her peripheral vision. She grabbed and aimed her gun at the large, blurry image. Kicking the gun from her grip, he grabbed her by the arm. She felt herself moving. Her body bounced up the rocky wall like a rag doll, stones stabbing at her bones. Sand and dry foliage scraping beneath her skin. Her chest hammering for air, as he dragged her upward towards the top. Unable to control the contents of her stomach, her abdominal muscles, after several violent contractions gave way to chunks of food covered in the creamy chyme from her stomach and propelled itself into the air covering the large, blurry image and the rocks. The last thing she could remember was the roar of the angry waves rising before crashing against the shore, the soft movement of her nostrils, as she took in the relaxing smell of the salt-water air, the clamoring of the Snowy Plovers, as they ran out to greet the water’s edge and the bright lights…ah…the bright lights splattering themselves across the clouds. Darkness over came her…she was sure death had come.

That was a year and six months ago.

         Christmas day had arrived. The entire Ocean Beach community was dressed and decorated. Carolers strolled up and down the streets spreading their Christmas joy. Multi-colored lights, some blinking, some not, adorned the outside of the buildings while revealing Christmas trees, each embellished with loving-care, through their windows. Stacy’s apartment was no different. Detective Stacy Hawks was not a detective today. It was her day off. She scurried from the kitchen to the dining room and back again. Stopping to take a sip of wine from her glass on the counter, she beamed. The rapturous Christmas spirit was everywhere. Christmas dinner would be special. The warm fragrance of turkey, apple pie and the traditional trimmings saturated her small apartment. Patrick, her brother, and her father were going to arrive at six, and her father was bringing a friend. Stacy was excited. It wasn’t often she had the time to cook for the family. She set her glass down on the counter and took a deep breath. “My third Christmas without Chrystal,” she whispered to herself and wiped away the tears.
         Pounding on the front door signaled the arrival of Michael Jay Hawks, Stacy’s father. Stacy swung the door open. Her smile faded as she swung the door open. A deep frown furrowed her brows as she stared at Tom standing behind her father. Her eyes studied his face for an explanation. Regaining her composure, she stepped aside and motioned for them to enter.
         “Well—Detective Clark…to what do I owe this honor!” Unable to hide the disgust in her voice.
“Stacy…” he began.
“Oh… and you do remember my brother, Father Hawks and my father. With a swift flip of an open palm, she pointed towards Skelly, “This is my father’s friend,” she added before Tom could finish.
“Skelly,” her father added.