The writer’s challenge for the month is underway. For today, I’ve already written 2500 words (which is 1500 more than what is called for during the February writer’s challenge). The goal is 1000 words a day to create a 28,000 word story (29,000 during a leap year). Here’s a quick synopsis of what I’m writing.
Ravenport, Maine is strange as it is. A port city on the eastern sea board with a population of 250,000. Rumour has it that Ravenport sits on what is called some of the most evil land in the world. Such a thing can attract some strange things, things that seek power. But it also can attract some people willing to fight against that. Detective Yolanda Morgan and Asistant District Attorney Chelsea Morgan are two such people. The sisters work within the law, but Yolanda has talents that help with her investigations. Being a practiced voodoo priestess means she can gather evidence in rather unorthodox manners. Together, Yolanda and Chelsea are known by other names, names that they keep secret. When night falls, they take up the names of Free Spirit and the Bowhuntress, a pair of costumed vigilantes who are the self proclaimed protectors of Ravenport and her citizens. With these guises, the pair can do things they couldn’t normally. And now they have the beginnings of a serial murder that has ritualistic overtones. Is someone killing off people with the hopes of gaining power? What does this mean for the status quo in Ravenport? And just how many people are on this hit list?
And now a short snippet of what I’ve written.
“Vic is still warm,” Carson explained. “Maybe an hour before we were called.” Carson sighed as he tossed aside his cigarette. “I was gonna take my wife out to dinner today.”
“It’s your anniversary,” Yolanda said with a smile. “It’s morning, Carson. You’ve still got time.”
“Yeah, but now I’m gonna have this mess on my mind,” he added. “Plus what we called you in for.”
“You’ve seen this before, Carson,” Yolanda said as they walked into the apartment and began climbing the stairs down to the basement suites. “This ain’t new for you.”
“It ain’t new, but it’s still unnerving.”
Both detectives entered the small apartment, a one bedroom facing the east. The walls were covered in posters depicting scenes of space, some from the Hubble telescope, others from science fiction novel covers that were blown up and framed. There was a small kitchenette beside the living room, a bedroom connected to the living room and a bathroom off of the bed room. The victim was laying spread eagle in the living room between the couch and the television. Yolanda took a look around the room, trying to figure out anything that might be out of place. Coffee table looked moved, pushed against one wall to make room for the victim. A pair of beer bottles sat on the coffee table. A jacket, possibly the victim’s, was neatly folded and laying on the couch.
There were three others in the apartment, all crime scene investigators. They’d closed the blinds on the windows to keep the light of the rising sun out. Hopefully they’d taken a close look at the window sills before doing that.
“Alright, everybody out,” Morgan said as she focused her attention on the victim’s body. “Except you, Mendez. And you, Carson.” Mendez was a slight, young man who was dusting the counter in the kitchen for prints, he looked up as Yolanda called out her order and made an audible gulping sound. As the other two crime scene investigators left the room, Carson closed the door.
Mendez walked up to Carson as Yolanda began muttering something as she stood at the feet of the body and whispered to him. “This isn’t standard protocol, is it?”
“No, it most certainly is not,” he said as he still watched Yolanda. Five years before, Yolanda had told Carson she was a voodoo priestess, and that sometimes she used her abilities to help solve the crimes that took place in Ravenport. She revealed this because she needed a person she could trust in order to do things like this. Most often, the spells she cast were simple ones, things that revealed something and pointed her in the right direction. But this, what she was doing now, this was pretty heavy.
“I know you guys told me that Detective Morgan is a witch…”
“Voodoo priestess,” Carson corrected.
“Yeah… but, what’s she doing?”
To answer Mendez’s question, the victim’s corpse began shaking and slightly writhing. Then it began coughing and it seemed to be filled with a light. Mendez just stared blankly, and it took Carson a bit to push him further into the room.
“What the …” the corpse seemed to sputter in a raspy voice. “Why the fuck am I on the floor?” He looked around, or at least as much as he could, then stared at Yolanda. “And who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Detective Morgan,” Yolanda explained as she crouched down, resting on her haunches. “That’s Detective Carson, and that’s Officer Mendez. He’s a crime scene investigator.”