Who: Jack Vorst
What: Ex-cop turned private investigator. Had been put on a case to find an elf and fell in love with her once he did. Now they’re working together, and she’s been taken. He has to find her and save her.
When: Current day
Where: Lovers and the Fiend by C.R. Moss
Several years ago I worked for Metro in Las Vegas. It was the holiday season. I, and some other officers, responded to what we believed was a routine domestic dispute call. The neighbors making the complaint reported noises sounding like fireworks along with arguing. By the time I and other officers arrived at the house, the front door and the screen door were off their hinges, and two adults were screaming at each other in the front yard. During our attempts to diffuse the situation, the man drew a gun. He said he’d shoot the woman if we didn’t back off.
The woman, in a move of stupidity or pure survival instinct, reached out and slapped him. The man pushed her to the ground, fired the forty-five into the air then pointed the weapon at her.
The whole thing became surreal. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
The spinning lights of our vehicles lit up the area in strange red, blue and purplish shadows, reminding me of fun houses at the carnivals I used to go to as a kid. The night sky was cloudless, and stars pinpricked the dark expanse above our heads. I can still hear the music that streamed out of the house in crystal clarity. White Christmas. The Bing Crosby version. A helicopter with a search light circled the area. I remember thinking the man and woman had to be high. Even though it wasn’t freezing out, there was still a chilly nip in the air, yet they were dressed in shorts and tank tops.
Deep in my gut I knew he planned to shoot her. I learned afterward that the other officers had believed the same. I was the first one to draw and fire on him, though, and since we were trained that if we had to draw our weapon to make the shot count, I made sure mine did.
I remembered how my weapon felt, the heft, the pull of the trigger, the recoil. All that never bothered me at the shooting range, but that night seared all those memories onto my palm.
The man was dead before he hit the ground. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
As I lowered my weapon, I saw him…a little boy standing in the broken doorway, a tattered Santa doll in the crook of one arm, a thumb in his mouth. Tears had made clean paths down his dirty cheeks. The woman had scrambled to her feet, kicked the man she’d been arguing with. The other officers on the scene rushed forward, subdued her then went into the home to clear it. CPS arrived and took the child away.
Thoughts about how he’ll grow up without his father, how what he witnessed would taint his holidays for the rest of his life, plague me.
After that eventful night, I underwent an IA investigation and the required counseling. I spent another few years on the force, but I had lost the taste for the intense aspects of the job. Too many families getting into it, relationships going south, all the repeat cases. And since I spent most of my career on those types of calls, I became desensitized, not only to the holidays but love and life in general.
I eventually left the force and went into private investigating where I can pick and choose what cases I want to cover. Sure, those life experiences could have made me jaded for the rest of my days. But I’m good now. Through my new career, I’ve met my love, Kristina, and have met another wonderful person. It was through them that my shadows have been chased away.
An eccentric and eclectic writer, C.R. Moss pens stories for the mainstream and erotic romance markets, giving readers Worlds of Possibilities when it comes to love. So what does she write? She writes stories from the light and sweet to the dark and deadly with varying degrees of sexual heat.
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