Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1180656
by kyrja
Rated: 13+ · Draft · Detective · #1180656
The story is about a semi psyhic detective named Rylie Kimball.
The lawyer was in a hurry. The darkening sky only added to his agitation. Mike McCarty was late. He switched his black leather briefcase from his left hand into his right.

Mike paused under the shine of a street lamp. The glow of the light fell upon his dark head and highlighted the pin striping in his suit. He brought his wrist up towards his face, moving it about in an attempt to catch the hour on the face of the expensive timepiece. He sighed and continued on, his polished shoes reflecting the light as he strode purposefully on. Why had he decided to walk?

A sudden trill intruded on the silence of the darkened street. Startled, Mike paused. His steady, ground eating strides were momentarily halted as he patted his pockets in search of his elusive cell phone.

Locating the device, Mike answered the phone while continuing on his way. His blue eyes narrowed as he listened to the voice squawking in his ear. His voiced, laced with frustration, replied curtly into the phone, “I’m walking down the street now. I’m almost there. Just wait!” He closed it with a snap. “Shit!” he grumbled to himself as he slid the phone into his pocket.

A rustle caused Mike to look toward the bushed to his left. A cat emerged from the bushes and ran into his legs, causing him to stumble.

“Damn cat!” Mike said aloud as he recovered his balance. He turned and watched as the cat continued to streak down the street.

Mike continued down the sidewalk, oblivious to the fate that was about to befall him. His cell phone rang loudly, penetrating the silence of the darkened street. He pulled the phone from his pocket and made a face when he saw the caller.

The Taker sat in the bushes silently watching, waiting. His mouth was dry, thirsty for the fulfilling taste of blood and flesh. Every fiber of his being was crying out for nourishment, but still he sat. His golden eyes searched down the street but there was nothing. The Taker reached out with his mind and sensed someone was coming. He grinned, his feral teeth pale against his darkness.

Mike glanced down the street. Only one more block left. The handle of the briefcase was causing his hand to sweat. Quickly, he shifted the briefcase into the other hand and brushed the moist hand lightly across the expensive fabric of his suit.
© Copyright 2006 kyrja (kyrja at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Log in to Leave Feedback
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!
All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1180656