Part two tomorrow. I'm rather happy with this one. c4c.

Four Walls

It's amazing what it does to the mind, being alone in a room with a killer pointing a gun at you. Everything becomes more, vibrant. Suddenly the steady drip of blood is a 10-pointer dive; rain like the roar of the crowd. Time slows, drags thick like gum, and then snaps almost to a halt. There’s a loud, deep pounding. At first, I think it’s my heart, but no, the hollow wooden sound is soon joined by creaking hinges. Back-up. They won’t be through for a while. Just enough time to lay it all out for you. Just enough time to set it straight. Buckle up, boys and girls.

Room 9

Hardboiled detectives in old novels and comics will tell you about the city speaking to them, loving them, giving them home. They lust after their cities like a hound in heat, salivating over every lonely brick and dark alley; as if Man had graced the lifeless mortar with sickly siren songs. No, my city screamed to me at night, howled abuse and slammed doors, screamed sirens through streets and high buildings. My city killed, raped, pillaged, plundered, burgled and burnt to the ground around me, dogging my steps with impish squeals of glee and murderous intent. My city was alive and hungry, and tonight she had fed again. Room 9 at the Old Western, a rundown place in a rundown end of town; sign broken, wood faded black and green with age. One could almost hear the moans and screams and creaking of bedsprings, imagine the drug deals and sweet fortifications within these walls. You had to wonder what these walls had seen before tonight. Tonight, these walls contained a grisly portrait; death captured in a single moment, headless body swing from noose, framed circular by the room’s living occupants, seven in all. Seven, one dead, and me. Nine in Room 9. Fate smiled and the city laughed.


Swingers, we used to call these types. Ravers seemed the go to word now. Listless floaters, carrying chaos from house to house in hedonistic hubris and aberration. Engaged in ritualistic pleasure of almost religious fervour. And tonight, the darting eyes, glazed over with drink yet sharpened with speed and E, prowled each end of the room. The atmosphere pulsed with nervous energy, twitching and flicking and darting, trying to force its way out the door and dissipate into air. Into this pulsing, throbbing den of filth I was thrust, an unwelcome intruder to a sacred ceremony gone wrong. The outsider, and I knew it.
“Sorry, guys,” I said, smiling, playing Mr. Nice Guy, “but this party is over.” Cue theme music.

Crime Scene Analysis (From the Notes of Detective Grey)

First things first; the body. Headless, severed neatly at the base of the neck; now strung upside-down by a noose. Large pool of blood underneath, filled by steady drip from corpse. A statement, perhaps? Why the hanging? Did it occur before death or after? The room reeks of blood, booze and pot. Inhabitants clearly intoxicated. Party gone wrong? Bad drug trip? Maybe they’re all innocent. Find room empty, dead body hanging from ceiling, call cops. Actually, who called 911? (ask Joe)
Room is a cheap motel room; two beds, TV, bathroom. Body is hanging from ceiling fan. Large amount of blood in bathroom, bloody towels dumped in bath. Attempted clean-up? No sign of head or murder weapon, seems to support innocence of party goers(?) Mirror shattered, glass missing. Autopsy may reveal stab wounds on body, defence wounds? Begin interview of suspects/witnesses.

Her name is Jane (Witness A)

Her name is Jane - just Jane. Jane is drunk. Jane is young. Jane is attractive. I do not write this down. Jane is dressed like most girls her age; not much left to the mind. Jane is not wearing a bra. Jane knows I know this. Jane sits on the chair opposite me, my make shift set up on the bed. The other occupants sit around the opposite end of the room. I can hear them whisper. Jane smiles. Focus!
“Care to shed some light on this situation, Ms…?”
“Jane,” sexy smile, flash of eyes, suggestion, God to taste those…Focus!
“Jane,” I acknowledge, pretend to write, fingers shake. Focus.
“Not much to tell, Mr. Detective Grey, sir,” she makes my name sound like porn. “We got here-”
“We? All of you?”
“No, sir, just me, my boyfriend, Clive, Russell and Cheryl,” she indicates each with long, pointy fingers. I want to feel those fingers on my
“So wait, where did the rest of you come from?” Jane shrugs, breasts rising against fabric, nipples hard and oh so
Last edited by kdownes at Sep 23, 2009,
Paul Something (Witness C)

“I don’t know what to add,” she said, after I finished laying out the cards. She looked lost, any good looks drawn out by years of alcohol and substance abuse. Maybe physical abuse, too.
“You could start with that shiner, ma’am,” I said. Cheryl gasped and brushed her hand over the offending eye like a shield.
“Tripped,” she said.
Right. “Oh, I see. Tripped and fell onto somebody’s fist. Hmm.” Cheryl shook her head as I scribbled in my pad. I had her now. “The deceased?” I probed.
“I think I talked to him.” I looked up, suddenly interested. Maybe the first break in this dead end case.
“You think?”
Cheryl nodded. “Hard to tell without the head, but I think we shared a beer outside.”
“A name?” I ask, pen poised, heart rushing.
“Paul, something.”
“Something?” Disappointed, I doodle around the name.
“Maybe stared with a B, or maybe a D.”
So much for the big break. “B or D,” I say, adding the initials with a sigh.
“We had a beer or two around one ish, then I must’ve passed out on the porch or something, cause I woke in the morning to Jane screaming.” Convenient, I wrote. They’re all hiding something, every bastard one of them. Maybe Russell would help me find out just what.
This held my interest much better than your last story. Parts of it seem very well thought out. There were a few rough patches, but only involving little nit-picky things. I will say that some of the descriptives bordered on cliche at times.

Awaiting the rest.

I agree with steve, this is definitely more interesting than your last story. But I read that there were seven people hanging and thought "This better not be another seven deadly sins spinoff." :p

This could go either way for me, depending on how you develop the rest of it. Only thing I didn't like was the copious repetition of "Jane" in the beginning of that section. I get it. Her name is Jane. It did help create a nice, fast pace, which I liked, but the amount of times you say her name just bugged me.

The "Room 9" section is wonderful.

Looking forward to reading the rest of this.

P.S., if you want to C4C, don't crit my sig. I hate that piece anyway. You can just owe me one, although it wouldn't matter if you just never bothered anyway.

Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
The end of the last section of the first post, "that night" was bad because it was "last night" no?

Otherwise, I felt like this was a whirlwind of decency with spikes of both brilliance and severe weakness. There were parts where I was bored and parts where I just thought wow.

For the most part your descriptions were good and on pace... but some of them hit the "drawn out" and or boring point. They just didn't deliver much for the words spent on them.

I liked the way you made the Jane section sort of sporadic... but some of it was too much. It was like reading an old dylan poem:

eyes break
orbs rotate
silence sings
ceiling moan

The break gave a tone, but the over use made it gimmicky instead of effective. I'd back off on that a bit.

On to part II!
First of all, I'm a sucker for murder stories and police investigation. That said...

I really liked the interview parts, especially Witness A & B. Room 9 was also great. "Four Walls" and "Crime Scene Analysis (From the Notes of Detective Grey)" felt really incomplete, particularly the last mentioned.

As I said it, I guessed most part of your other story ending during its second part or something. This is more suspenseful and the atmosphere really hovers the peace. The fact that you show us the thoughts of Mr. Detective Grey during the interviews is also a good detail, reminiscent of some film-noirs.

Going to read part II.
I was going for a kind of Sin City, neo-noir style with this, so I'm glad that carried, I'm a sucker for a good noir story.
This was my favourite line, actually:

Everything becomes more, vibrant


I enjoyed it, for the most part. I must say, though, the gimmicky descriptions ended up becoming slightly long-winded towards the end. You write well enough, but perhaps toning down slightly might be a better approach. I hope you understand what I'm talking about, because I just woke up and I have no idea.

Good day.