Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Criminal.

Depths Of Deception
It was all because of that damned book. Sarah wished she had never found it. That thought went through her head on a regular basis these days. She remembered it like it was yesterday. She had suspected her husband of cheating for a while. So, she started following him. She rented a car on a regular basis, had even bought a wig to disguise herself. On one outing, when she got into her usual rental, the black notebook was tucked in the visor. It had fallen when she flipped it against the sun. She didn’t have time to inspect the book until she got to the rendezvous point where her ex-husband had gone. Once she was parked, she pulled the notebook out while she waited. Inside, where the endpaper should’ve been glued down, it had been pried from the cover just enough to create a small pocket. There was a small key tucked inside. She recognized it belonged to People’s Bank. She had banked there before she switched to a joint account with Andrew at Chase Bank.
By Jessica Rice5 years ago in Criminal
As You Wish
“Mr. Beene can’t you just take a look?” “I’ve told you Justin - time and time again - what your role is here. You don’t seem to understand so let me spell it out for you: YOU ARE NOT A REPORTER! You write fluff, human interest pieces. I don’t want to hear your ideas! I want you to do the job I assigned you!”
By Ashley Hines5 years ago in Criminal
From Paris, with Angst
“I haaate Paris right now.” I fumbled through my toiletries bag for something to help my hurting brain…I was definitely thirty, my punishment for such indulgences: wine, bread, cheese, dessert, more wine. It was a trip I’d planned with my grandmother, but I’d go alone years after her passing. Here I was on our trip, painfully hungover, with a man I only knew by his nickname.
By Brandye Kemp5 years ago in Criminal
Las Mata Maridos
I wanted to take a moment to tell you a bit about myself before we delve into the countless stories that will follow. My name is Arlene Sanabria. Born and raised in East Los Angeles, California. The idea behind the women came from a set of music videos my brother and the musical group, also based out of L.A.; Casa De Calacas, which was composed by family and friends redid two mexican classic songs by Jose Alfredo Jimenez. The rough video plot, if memory serves me well is the down on his luck drunk loses his lady love to another guy and she has the nerve to flaunt it in his face. He sings the first song (Ella) while surrounded by girls. Promoted on Myspace which back then was the social media giant as an all call for all the young honeys.
By Las Matamaridos5 years ago in Criminal
Moonlight Sonata
I mouth a ‘thank you’ to the waiter as he brings my coffee. He gives a smile and asks something. I shake my head, assuming it was a question of if I needed anything else— I don’t know because Marissa is talking my ear off. She’s going so quickly and so loud that I’m positive my phone will somehow catch on fire.
By Spencer Lily Sinclair5 years ago in Criminal
The Mug
"The Mug" By D. A. Ratliff I hadn’t been here in a long time. Not since my grandfather’s funeral, when my father had the funeral director swing by as we returned from the gravesite. My dad told us to stay in the car as he exited, brand new padlock in hand. He strode with a purpose to the building, pulled away the crime scene tape, and padlocked the latch at the top of the wooden door. Just as purposefully, he returned to the limo and announced, “No one will enter there again.”
By D. A. Ratliff5 years ago in Criminal
An Honest Day's Labor
The May day on which I boarded the train was fresh and brilliant, in that way that only the English countryside can be. The sooty air and close streets of London had quickly slid past the windows of the train, giving way to rolling green hills and pastures filled with shaggy sheep, some apple trees still in bloom. Sadly, my mood could not match the beauty of the day. I glanced down at my hands in their black lace gloves, neatly folded in my lap. I would soon doff the clothes of mourning for my husband only to don the denim dress and work apron of a factory girl. The road ahead looked bleak. I tried to focus on the scenery outside.
By Shannon Callan5 years ago in Criminal
The little blackbook
Today was a trying day for me. I snoozed my alarm 3 times and ended up being 30 minutes late to work. The company I work for has been downsizing for the last couple of months, so being late was not acceptable, even though I had rarely been late before. As I sat down at my desk, an email came in asking me to see my manager at 11:30 in conference room A. The feeling of vultures waiting for me to die so they could feast surrounded me. I started on my work. It seemed as if 11:30 was taking forever to come. The anticipation of what awaited me had me frightened to an extent. I started checking my savings to see how long I would be able to survive without the salary I had worked so hard to achieve. There was a little over $2,000 dollars in my account. Just enough to hold me over for a month. I went into the conference room around 11:28. My managers office was right across from the conference room. He appeared to be talkin on the phone as he glanced at me periodically. I look down at my cell phone due to me receiving an alert from a friend sending me a message on Facebook. The door opened, and my manager walked in. He said hello how are you today? I replied hello. He sat down and stated “I’m sure you know we have been downsizing over the last few months, and unfortunately we have to let you go. My eyes started to tear up, but I didn’t want to seem affected by the companies decision. I shook his hand and walked out. I tapped the button to get on the elevator. As I entered the elevator a little black book was on the floor. I picked it up and looked inside there was a map to a location on 45th and Sherman st. I was familiar with the area, and decided since I was out of work that I would go check it out. There was a CVS on the corner and across the street was an abandoned building. I checked the map to be sure I was in the right spot. I walked towards the abandoned building where I saw a homeless man sitting in the alley. He asked me if I had any spare change. I had two dollars in my pocket and I kindly gave it to him. There was a door on the side of the building with caution tape that appeared to be a crime scene. I removed the tape and turned the knob on the door to enter. The door was locked. I saw a broken window to the right of the door. I looked around and no one was looking. Then I reached through the broken glass to unlock it. I lifted the window and climbed in. It was dusty like the building had been abandoned for some time. I looked around and on my left was a flight of stairs. I walked up and looked at the map again to check where I needed to go. As I walked up the stairs there was a rat at my feet that ran off into the darkeness. There was a red X marked with Spray paint on the interior brick wall. A stack of 4x4 wooden blocks lay on the floor. I picked one up and started banging against the bricks. The bricks were loose so it didn’t take much to get them break apart. There was a black trash bag behind the wall. I picked up the bag and it was slightly heavy. I opened up the bag, and there were stacks and stacks of money. Blood stained a couple of the stacks which made me nervous somewhat. All I could think about was my upcoming bills and the fact that I lost my job. I was not sure if I should keep the money or turn it into the police. The thought of someone dying because of it made me cringe. I removed the money from the bag and put it in my backpack. It appeared to be around $250,000. I left out through the door that was locked. Took out $200 dollars and stuffed it in the homeless mans jacket pocket as he lay in the alley drunk passed out. I made it home and counted the money it was over $320,000 dollars. I balled up the 100 dollar bills that were stained with blood and flushed them down the toilet. My life was about to take a major turn. All thanks to The Little Black Book.
By RoD HaZe5 years ago in Criminal
The Watch Tower
Civilians had been advised to stay off of the main roads during the scheduled reconstruction period. Alternate routes had been set up through surrounding rural areas, and curfews were being strictly enforced. Although peace had been been reached, there were still places still holding to chaos. There were still angry people and broken buildings, falling apart. The spirit of civil war was dying, but not quite dead. Most were cooperative and adhered to the safety guidelines put about the country’s new and improved authority.
By Amber Reaves5 years ago in Criminal
Paths
It was nearing the end of another minute, another hour, another day and another week tracing undeniably bland paths through monotonous doldrums, without purpose. Trying to impress, but feeling rather empty. Reaching for something, yet left lonely. Last call had already happened. A night had been lost to vain attempts to infuse novelty into the corners of a city strewn with old brick walls and gutters of refuse left unswept. It was drizzling slightly. In the small puddles the capillary waves of the gentle raindrops scintillated in the rays of warm yellow street light diffracted through the faint mist. Walking the alleys on the way to retreat to a familiar place to sleep, colored disco lights could be seen in a room several stories above, with an iconic saxophone solo fading away into lyrics whispering to me as I walked away; “Share it fairly but don’t take a slice of my pie.” Staring at the ground a small black book suddenly presented itself before my feet. It looked rather freshly arrived. Not particularly dirty and not particularly wet. So conspicuous and dapper why not open it? The first few pages had an odd little ledger of some sort of address followed by a number and what was probably an alias.
By Vocal Glasses5 years ago in Criminal
Equitone
What kind of a name is “Equitone”? Google has led me to believe that it has no nationality, no history, no etymology, and no living person who owns it. The best I can find, it is brand of fiber cement.
By Griffin Gonzales5 years ago in Criminal
The Little Black Book
The Little Black Book:The Christmas Murder By Connie Soles I barely knew Walter, even though he worked in the office next to mine. We kept meeting at the elevator as we left work at almost the same time of day Monday through Friday. Like most elevator rides, the decent started and ended in silence. It is just weird to me for a group of people riding in an elevator to remain completely quiet and not say a word.
By Connie Soles5 years ago in Criminal