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Book title: Crime – Thriller

Chapter One Written by Jemima Star Why did forensic scientists always wear white overalls? They just exaggerated the blood. And there was already a lot of blood. Detective Steve Naivlys stood in the doorway and watched silently as the three investigators took measurements and photographs of the horrifying scene….. It was quiet, a little too quiet. Pam thought she had been in the dark room for about eight hours but it was hard to tell. She had no idea where she was but there had been a din of noise in the background until now. She took another deep breath and closed her eyes in the pitch black room, regaining control of the darkness. Slightly calmer, she thought about what had happened in the last few days for her to have ended up here, not knowing her fate… It was a typical cold October Thursday on the Southern line commuter train into London. Pam had worked in the city for seven years as a personal assistant for a barrister after leaving Manchester University with a law degree. Seven years. At 28 that felt like a lifetime. A year ago she changed jobs on the promise of getting her own cases, yet that first big test still eluded her. Someday soon, she thought. Leaving the train she hit her stride with her usual determined sense of purpose. Power-walking in heels did wonders for her legs but the top priority at this time of the day was caffeine. She offered a cheery good morning to the Starbucks staff before leaving with her morning lift in a takeaway cup. As she left she noticed the familiar faces littering the streets, all going about their daily routines, never interacting, never talking. Something felt different, though. Maybe it was tiredness but Pam couldn’t help but feel that she was being watched.

© Bedlam Media Ltd

www.thebigstorychallenge.com


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Book title: Crime – Thriller

She crossed the road and checked her reflection in a window. Yes, she thought, definitely tired. That Friday night bath, red wine and rom-com was almost within reach. Approaching the office she crossed the road a few more times than she needed but her growing paranoia was not helped when she noticed that a man in a grey pin-striped suit did too. Finally, she entered the lobby and took the lift to her 5th floor office. Jonathan, her ever-present boss, had left her yet another list of “things to do”. Pam wondered if he actually had a home. Top of the list was instructions to ring the witnesses in a trial due to start at the Old Bailey on Monday morning.

© Bedlam Media Ltd

www.thebigstorychallenge.com


3

Book title: Crime – Thriller

Chapter Two Written by Francis Betterworth Detective Steve Naivlys rose from his bed before the morning light had broken. This was not an unusual occurrence, as he had not slept well since he had joined the serious homicide squad. Too many images, too many countless records of brutal murders had haunted him for many years now. Drink had been him friend for a while; it had deadened the pain in the early days. Drugs had been helpful once the drink proved no use any more but all that had worn off many a time ago. Now, nothing could replace the images, the butchery, and the slayings. He slid his legs across the bed and sat on the edge of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his feat. The chill seemed to wake him further, even though he didn’t need reminding he was awake. The darkness surrounded him and enveloped him like a heavy blanket. He rubbed his worn, tired eyes and scratched at his un-kept stubble that hung around his chin and reminded him that he was just about surviving to get old. He sluggishly raised himself to his feet feeling every muscle in his body aching. Had he been hit by a car last night or taken a beating? Or was he just feeling as most people did when they had worked so hard for so long. Moving towards the window he stopped and adjusted himself before checking again the time from the glow of his bedside clock. This was the only light in the room and slightly pulsed like some radioactive time bomb. 02:30 - the time had moved on but only a minute or two from the last time he checked. What the hell had got him up again? What was gnawing at his subconscious that it had forced him to open his eyes after only two hours of sleep? Then he remembered – the thoughts pierced his brain like someone forcing a needle into the back of his brain…

© Bedlam Media Ltd

www.thebigstorychallenge.com


4

Book title: Crime – Thriller

The blood had been all wrong, it had not shown a consistency of a splatter marks that could be contributed solely to blunt force drama. There was something more. How had it got on the ceiling? How had it got behind the cabinet in the corner of the room and what was it doing under the sofa? It was all wrong and it felt and smelt wrong. Naivlys moved slowly and shabbily to the excuse that he called his on-suite. How had London been able to convince so many people that the market rate for a one bedroom flat was ÂŁ500.00 per week? An on-suite, that was how. A sink and toilet behind a small stud wall and suddenly a flat was worth three times as much. Naivlys found the edge of the sink with his hands within the gloom and darkness of the early morning. The sink was cold and sharp on his touch, even though it was mid July and the temperature outside was average for this time of year. He reached out in front of him and turned on the small strip light that was along side the mirror that hung above the sink. The light spluttered into life like a bug zapper igniting in a low budget horror movie. The light shone into his weathered face like a blowtorch and made him wince. How had he become so worn, so leathery, so old? Again he rubbed his features and blinked heavily before staring at himself again. Yes there was something definitely wrong with that scene. Not the scene in front of him, he knew that looked wrong. It was the scene at the flat he had been standing at some twenty for hours previously. Suddenly from nowhere, he gagged and was sick in the basin that he clung onto. This was not the first time that this had happened and it would not be the last. The shame was that very little actually came up every time he was ill in the basin, which was nearly every day. Mostly bile and mucus from the heavy smoking that he did but very little food, as he very often ate in the evening. No that was left to drinking so that he could numb the pain and ignore the images in his head. That and the pills of course.

Š Bedlam Media Ltd

www.thebigstorychallenge.com


5

Book title: Crime – Thriller

He raised his heavy head and again caught his reflection in the neon lighted mirror. God, how bad did he look? How could he continue like this? How long before his body actually gave up the ghost and left him for dead. Just like his clients. He grimaced once more at himself, snarled loudly at himself as if he was a bear in the wild, swiped his chin and turned back into the bedroom. Moving slowly and patiently towards the bed he collected his cigarettes and lighter and paced to the window drawing one half of the curtains. The street light glow filled the room light an orange mist that had wafted in. It hit his face and for a short time he actually believed that it warmed him. Pulling open the cigarette packet he wondered why he smoked, after all he knew it did him so much harm. As the nicotine absorbed into his blood steam the smoke filled his lungs like a huge dust cloud filling a cave. He felt his hands pulse warmly and the drug passed into his blood stream and made his hand pulse warmly. He exhaled and the smoke rose gently away from him and up to the ceiling. He reached and picked a bottle from his bedside cabinet. The clean, crisp feel of the glass made his fingers tingle. His demons taunted him to take a swig. This was a daily battle. Some days he won the battle but the war never felt over. Cigarettes led to drink and drink inevitably led to narcotics. Tonights menu choice was some random blue pills. Hell half the time he didn’t even know what he was taking. Closing his eyes he rolled his head back and absorbed the warm fuzz of his cocktail. This was the escape… His body jolted back into the room at the sound of his phone. Who the hell was texting at this time of the morning? Ash fell from his cigarette as he opened the phone. “One new text message”. It was Pam.

© Bedlam Media Ltd

www.thebigstorychallenge.com


Crime Thriller