Stolen Silence in Two Parts

The writing group I belong to sets an assigment each month for the next month's written piece. For this month, we had two options to write from:

1. “A shrill cry echoed in the mist.” ~ or
2. “I didn’t mean to kill her.”

Most of us chose one or the other, a couple of us chose to include both in our writing for February. The two parts I’ve included in today’s post are the initial story I presented at Writer’s group yesterday afternoon.The second part is the same story ~  revised and edited. For the original piece, I had written it fairly quickly and should have listened to my inner stirrings that it wasn’t quite right. Some critiquing by group members scratched at my ego, but when took a deep breath and did my own critiquing, they were consistent with my own concerns. The inner stirrings I had ignored. 

I’ve included them both and invite any comments or critiquing. My ego? Well, it will just have to zip it. Here is: “Stolen Silence” followed by “Stolen Silence ~Revised

Stolen Silence

A shrill cry echoed in the mist. 

Detective Desmond Steel was on his way home. Dez much preferred this long walk up and along the old waterfront. Especially when the mist was so thick and silent. The quiet and comfort it offered after a very long, very busy day in the office and on the streets slowed his racing mind. Detective Steel had not only dealt with domestic disputes, murderous violence, and suicides but his own constables had been at each other all day. They were quarrelling about who would accompany him to crime scenes. Detective Steel had become famous on the city streets. Not just his own city, but cities across the country for his arrest and conviction rates. He didn’t want any of the fame. He chuckled to himself. After all there hadn’t been any fortune show up because of it. Thinking again of his constables, his usual constable had been out sick for a week. At least that’s what he said this time. The last time it was a legitimately broken ankle, the time before his grandmother was in the hospital again and that was after she had died. The rumour in the precinct was that he would soon be choosing someone else for his primary constable. He pushed those troublesome thoughts into the mist and slowly, all the tension of the day vanished into the darkness. Streetlights, muted glows, shone hazy pools of light onto the old wooden sidewalk. Tiny oases suspended the darkness, if only briefly. Dez had taken a dangerous route home, but he loved the gentle tinkle of the working water craft that barely bobbed on the glossy black water. Slowing his pace even more, he leaned on the wooden barrier surrounding the marina. More of the day’s tension slid from his shoulders dropping soundlessly into the water. A new sound broke the silence and his reverie. Running feet pounding the boards below. Echoes of his dreadful day snapped back into place. “I didn’t mean to kill her!”

*****

Stolen Silence ~Revised

A shrill cry echoed in the mist. Was it a tomcat yowling and prowling in the alley just blocks away? Was it one more violent beating delivered in the dark? His chiseled jaw clenched tight with annoyance. His shift had ended and other detectives at Precinct 29 would have to handle it. His old overstuffed easy chair was waiting patiently. His wife would have his slippers ready. That’s if he had a wife any more. Celeste had left alone time ago and he would have to find his own slippers. Usually they were warming in the dog’s bed, tattered and chewed. Duke was his only companion now. Duke and the newspaper he had picked up from the porch in the still dark, early morning.

Detective Desmond Steel was on his way home. Dez much preferred this long walk up and along the old waterfront. Especially when the mist was so thick and silent. The quiet comfort it offered after a very long, very busy day in the office and on the streets slowed his racing mind. Detective Steel had not only dealt with domestic disputes, murderous violence, and suicides but his own constables had been at each other all day. They were quarrelling about who would accompany him to crime scenes. Detective Steel had become famous on the city streets. Not just his own city, but cities across the country for his arrest and conviction rates. He didn’t want any of the fame. He chuckled to himself. After all there hadn’t been any fortune show up because of it. His mind wouldn’t let go of the day’s office problems.  Jim, the constable assigned to him regularly, had been out sick for a week. At least that’s what he said this time. The last time it was a legitimately broken ankle, the time before his grandmother was in the hospital again and that was after she had died. Rumour in the precinct was that he would soon be choosing someone else to be his Primary. He pushed the troublesome thoughts into the mist. Slowly, all the tension of the day vanished into the darkness. 

Ancient streetlights shone hazy pools of light onto the old wooden sidewalk. Tiny oases that suspended the darkness. The waterfront was a dangerous route for Dez to take home. One never knew who or what he may encounter but he loved the gentle tinkle of the working water craft barely bobbing on the glossy black water. Slowing his pace, he leaned on the wooden barrier surrounding the marina. More of the day’s tension slid from his shoulders, dropping soundlessly into the water. Sighing with relief, pleased that he hadn’t quickly investigated that frightened, shrill cry, he ran his hands through his thinning hair. He recalled the scream that had only lasted seconds and the quiet that followed. That really would have finished his evening. Stepping back from the wooden railing, he resumed his slow walk home, only to stop suddenly in mid stride. Running feet pounded the boards below and came from the direction of that horrible shrill cry. As the running feet got closer, he saw a dark figure come out of the mist. “Please! Help me!!….Thank heavens it’s you, Detective Steel! Really. Really! You have to believe me. I know I missed work again but I had to. I had no choice. She was leaving me again. I didn’t mean to kill her! But she had a gun and I hit her and she fell and her head hit a cement block. Really I didn’t mean to kill her.” 

Jim, his unreliable constable and nice young man, fell on his knees in front of his superior, tears streaming down his face. Dez’s day hadn’t ended just yet.

“The truth of the story lies in the details.”

~ Paul Auster, The Brooklyn Follies