This is the beginning of an unfinished work. I offer it in hope of feedback. I will begin my new tale, a paranormal fantasy concerning—well—Tinker Bell meets GI Joe—not really, but you get the idea. “BFF” is a para-detective drama, with more erotica than love, Sound interesting? It will present my most impure and sinister hero. Yep, I said, hero.
The squeaking floor eased with the next step, as diminutive bare feet gracefully followed in a line. Afternoon light managed to pierce through the drawn drapes. Intermittent beams ricocheted from the tiled floor. The room adjacent to the garage was sparsely furnished. A few chairs haphazardly surrounding a single table gave way to immense quantities of books. Scent of stale paper bound by rotting bindings hovered over the hallway. Thin nostrils flexed at the irritating odor. Strange lettering on many of the books seemed demonic. Some could be described as manuscripts. The Chinese Han zi characters were familiar, even though their meaning remained a secret. But there was a peculiar alphabet on others, weird combinations of curved repeating symbols, reminiscent of Thai. The cool floor sent sporadic blasts of cold through the tiny feet, small red painted toes curled. Brief pauses in the cat like movement fortified the stalker, thinking one step ahead was essential. Vision widened as light diminished.
Petite feet stepped forward, maybe twelve inches ahead of the other, but always in a direct line. The tightrope stride caused a slight spasm in the left thigh. The slender body felt the strain of the long drive. A simple inconvenience, the fatigued muscle would recover on it’s on, but appearing now might mean disaster. There would be no time to cater to the ache. The slowly revolving body scanned all areas to her front. Maintaining control of the weapon coupled with the turret like movement of her upper body reminded the young girl of the twinge down her leg. The coordinated progress increased the growing strain on the frail young girl.
Gritted teeth abated the pain. The long black hair followed the turned head as it scanned toward the front. Each corner or darkened space drew a focused glance. Quivering hands struggled to direct the weapon. She wanted the barrel pointed forward, in a high compressed standard position. Tight to the side and ten to twelve inches below the chin, she would be able to fire without extending her arm and then recover for focused shots. But this became impossible. Even with two hands, the grip dithered bordering on trembling. It may increase one’s vision and it was an easier movement for fire. But, instruction and experience taught her that lowering took less time than rising. A deep breath again gave added strength. Slender hands engulfed the automatic. Brought next to her powered cheek, the barrel pointed toward the ceiling. The living room cast no light. Walking over to a large window, a confused expression appeared. The drawn curtains were covered with what looked like a painter’s drop cloth. Someone definitely did not want any daylight entering this room.
The methodical intruder pressed on as a pair of manicured fingers stretched across the 9mm. The red polished nails stood out as they spread along the black frame. Small hands clasped the Sig Sauer using every ounce of strength to hold it steady. The weigh of the P238 was perfect for the delicate grip. But the full magazine added just enough to test her stamina. This incredible day started with a darkened morning, just before dawn. Intense and sometimes reckless driving of the day caused the shapely legs to wobble.
An unexplained key in her handbag opened the backdoor. Where was it from? Why was it in her purse? The stealth used since her entrance increased a drain of energy. She worried about what would be the recourse should there be a confrontation.
“Damn!” The disgusted thought was as intense as if it was bellowed. A contorted face showed her disgust. The strap of the cocktail dress insisted on sliding down her shoulder. Readjusting the black strap broke the necessary intensity needed for the search. There was a thought of just letting the dress fall at her feet. Her flat shape, a constant source of conversation, would not impede the decent. But there had been enough sensuality the past two days. Also, she didn’t feel stalking a house topless with a thong was appropriate. Especially if she suddenly faced her prey. It just wouldn’t look professional. The thought brought a girlish giggle. In the background an incessant beep kept time. The constant tone came from the room down the hall. At first, the beautiful intruder took care stepping toward the noise. Then a hurried pace. The annoying sound was echoing from the bedroom. After another stride the figure halted. An open door caught the girl’s attention.
The bedroom and the pulsating wailing of the machine could wait. The entrance to the basement dragged the 9mm to the exposed entry as if the door frame was a magnet. A gleam of light caught her eye. Then the smell.