|
“When Stevie pulled into the minuscule parking lot at Police Headquarters, one spot remained. A neat sign reading “Mayor’s Police Coordinator” guarded it. Stevie swung into the spot, knocking over the sign. She exited the car, surveyed the mangled post and smiled, pleased at the way her official day had begun. She pulled the wet T-shirt away from her back and headed toward the entrance.
On this August day, what was to be Stevie’s enigma was unfolding across the Hudson River in New York City. Certainly, Manhattan was no stranger to homicide. However, not many, Stevie included, ever reflected that killing, whatever the archetype, was simply a form of communication, a type of reply. A fundamental and compelling reply, one would admit, but convenient. Taking a life is alarmingly easy, as easy as “I kill you, I kill you not” whimsy dictated by a garland of daisies. Lovers innocently chanced a similar fate, plucking petals...
Read more from Chapter 1
of
The Holy Kiss |
