Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Criminal.
When Push Comes to Shove
WHEN PUSH COMES TO SHOVE $20,000 was a LOT of money! But then again, maybe it wasn’t. Trevor knew what he had to do. He’d thought about it long enough. He lit the match as he pondered his life over the last week. The flame crawled toward his fingers and the pain startled him back to reality. He dropped the match, followed it intently to the pile, and just stood there as he watched it all go up in flames! It was gone, all of it, just like that.
By Robert Chavez5 years ago in Criminal
Just Another Victim
I stand at the slightly ajar door of the rundown apartment, unsure of what to do. I decide that I should try to knock anyway, out of courtesy if nothing else. I slowly creep forward and rap my knuckles on the frame of the door so as not to push it open more than it already is.
By V. N. Roesbon5 years ago in Criminal
What a Little Black Book Can Do
Walt Thatcher woke up at the crack of dawn to the sound of rats scurrying around his one room apartment. He groaned, wishing he could afford a nicer place, but on his salary, it would take him years to save up enough for first and last months’ rent.
By Emily Weitz5 years ago in Criminal
Redemption
Jay McCall took out the little black notebook from the glove compartment glad that he was done the last visit on his ‘apology tour’. The wind outside had picked up and was rocking the car back and forth. Jay opened the book and used the streetlight to see as he wrote in the journal, documenting the outcome of his final apology.
By George Grimes5 years ago in Criminal
Little Black Book
“Let go!!” Danny clamped down on the corner of his wallet, doing his best to avoid the fists flying into his face. He had stopped to pull out some coins after a homeless gentleman had kindly requested some change. “That's mine!” He gripped as tightly as he could, but after several hits to the face, he fell and the homeless man won. He scowled and watched the man sprint off, gingerly touching his face. Are you kidding me? Every time I try to do something nice! His mind grumbled on and on as he dissected what just happened, and turned toward his financial struggles. Danny was a very kind-hearted, generous, naïve young man who offered help to everyone he met, yet had a real knack for getting himself into unfortunate situations. He picked himself up and hobbled down the street.
By Andy Kaczmar5 years ago in Criminal
The Cleanup Kid
The feelings of shame plunge into the souls of the unlearned telling them “Your ill-fortune is incurable and makes you less than your peers”. There is no hiding the fact that illiteracy is a growing problem in America, especially when you consider the number of everyday activities associated with being able to read and write. Sometimes, though, when an indefatigable safeguard believes in a dark horse more than they believe in themselves anything is possible, despite a few secrets. My name is Michael Quinton Chester, and this is what happened in 8th grade. “I do not want to assign your son to suspension again Mr. Chester. Incarceration rates seem to be higher for students who are constantly being removed from the classrooms, especially young men. I know Michael is a good kid and I think our new 2-week OST (Out-of-School Time) program will serve him well, free of charge,” said James Booker Sr, Principal of Big Peach Middle School. My father responded sarcastically, “Aww thank you so kindly sir. While you are at it you may want to consider disciplining your own seed so that he stops bullying my son all the time. Entitlement is a pandemic you know!” as we exited the room. My father taught me to never put my hands on a woman even when she decided to put hers on me unless my life depended on it. As for guys, he told me to always get the last lick, so it was no surprise that he never really gave me a hard time about defending myself at school. Still, it was frustrating getting on the bus every morning knowing that I had one more strike before getting expelled. Next, came the day when I would first meet my OST mentor, Pamela Lee, also better known as Ms. Mesia. She was small but undeniably strong, which became apparent when my hand was just about crushed when we greeted one another. Her leathery skin had a pale Nordic tone that was covered in freckles along with a head full of corkscrew curls that were dyed jet black. You could tell that this was an old lady who was trying to maintain her youth! She would often use trendy slang when talking to me and was always checking her cell phone to appear as if she were busy. As bougie as ole Pamela appeared it was hard to believe that she was the Big Peach Middle School custodian. My OST daily routine for the next couple of weeks consisted of three task: Complete a goal-oriented check-in with Ms. Mesia, Takeout/replace all trash bins, and do an outer premises walkthrough to report any damages found. Sounds like exhausting work for a fourteen-year-old right? Well, it wasn’t for me because afterwards I always had the black book to look forward to! Since I lived on the edge of our school district coupled with the heavy traffic in Atlanta, I had about an hour of free time before my dad would arrive. Ms. Mesia would keep repeating: “Pick a date between 1971 and present day,” until I blurted out an answer. That little black book of hers was a fictionalized memoir about a kid who was illiterate, or so I was told, that held over 17,000 stories. A story for each day beginning with Tuesday, January 26th,1971. Ms. Mesia made an effort to read to me every day once I told her why I kept getting into trouble. The aggravating pest that I continued to let get under my skin was none other than James Booker Jr., aka “J.J.”, the principal’s son. He was an awkward lanky shaped guy that towered over everyone that he came across. You could always find the basketball standout leaned up against a wall twirling his blonde dreadlocks with his entourage surrounding him. Other than sports I am sure his favorite pastime was teasing me about not knowing how to read or write, which wasn’t even a big problem until he started getting physical with his shenanigans. Have you ever started off as the victim of a situation but ended up being the attacker? Yes, that was me every time. Ms. Mesia wanted to make sure I no longer had to deal with nonsense from any tormentors ever again, so she vowed to me that when I completed the OST program, she would work with me to become fully literate in a matter of months! She even gave me her black book as collateral until she had fulfilled her promise. Her only rule was that I did not open the book. Then came the unexpected bad news along with some good news too. The good news is that I finished the 2-week program, and I did not have to deal with J.J. since he supposedly transferred to another school across town to play for a better basketball program. The bad news was… well, I was told by Principal James that Ms. Mesia had taken medical leave due to viral pneumonia. Poof! Just like that I had lost my biggest support. My father would say, “She’ll get better shortly so no tears in this house Mikey. Tears make your skin soft.” He promoted stereotypical masculinity often. During my mentor’s absence, the principal went from being a disciplinarian who seem to always have it out for me, to becoming the most freehearted person I had ever met! I come from humble beginnings, so I was not use to such treatment. While in class one day, the principal’s voice came over the intercom telling me to report to him. I can just about remember every single word that came out of his mouth when I sat down in his office. He said something along the lines of: “First and foremost I want to apologize on my son’s behalf for all of the torment that he put you through. Secondly, I admit my wrongdoing because I should have done something sooner. The truth is I love my son so much that I have unknowingly enabled him his entire life. I want to make things right and I have already gotten permission from your dad if you choose to accept this offer. Starting next week, I want to pay for you to have a private tutor that will teach you the necessary skills needed to read and write. Perry Dunn is the most sought out private tutor in the nation and he just so happens to live 35 miles away.” Did I mention that Principal James was weeping hysterically throughout this entire interaction? It was weird but of course I said, “Yes”! This was a blessing considering that our public school system did not offer any tutoring services which meant that the only people who could even get that extra help were those who could afford private sessions. Next week came and I could not wait to meet Mr. Dunn after school! The principal was out-front where the car-rider pickup was waiting for me in his 1960 Jaguar E-Type ready to take me to the Dunn residence. As we pulled into the driveway, I was handed an envelope. Principal James then emphasizes that, “There is $20,000 dollars inside here. It will cover your 3-month tutoring term. He charges roughly $225.00 a session. Hand this to Perry upon greeting him because I can’t go pass the gate with you.” Apparently, Mr. Dunn was a paranoid individual who would not let more than one person approach his doorstep. It felt surreal to have that much money in my hand and scary at the same time. I guess miracles do happen because within 90 days I had learned how to read, write in print, and write in cursive! My father could not have been prouder that his son broke the generational curse. I could not even go to sleep the night I graduated 8th grade, so I stayed up watching television with the subtitles on to show off a bit. I started flipping the channels during a commercial break and I saw it. “We are following the breaking news in Peachville, Georgia where a 60-year-old woman by the name of Pamela Lee is in custody after a desperate police search inside her apartment leads officers to finding a fourteen-year-old male who had been held captive for several months. Lee is now serving a life sentence for kidnapping,” reported by Glendale Thomas on Channel 7 Action News. I could not believe it, but it was true. Eventually Ms. Mesia called from prison to explain everything and I was to never hear from her again. It turns out that she had been holding J.J. for ransom until Principal James found a way to get me the private tutoring that I needed to become fully literate. Why would she go through all that trouble though if she could have just taught me herself, I wondered? She instructed me to open the black book to explain. To my surprise all the pages were empty. You see there was a reason that she did not go by Pamela. Her mother nicknamed her Mesia because it was short for hyperthymesia. This is a real and rare condition that gives a person the ability to remember just about every event of their life in detail. That so called “fictionalized memoir” inside the black book was her story beginning when she was just 10 years old. She simply used the book to give off the impression that she was in fact reading. That is why she was always able to show empathy to what I was going through. Before we hung up the phone she concluded, “I am so immensely proud of you kid. You did it! I want you to take that black book and use your new skills. You always had so many creative ideas, so I encourage you to put them all down in that book! Cherish every page. Lastly, always remember to never trade your own authenticity for someone else’s approval.” Wow, crazy right? I have mixed feelings about this entire experience. The true definition of nostalgia in my opinion.
By Dwayne Ellis5 years ago in Criminal
The New Case
Elise stretched her arms and looked at the time. Almost 7 o'clock. She still had a couple of minutes before her last appointment of the day. Finishing a few bites of her sandwich, she saved the document she was working on and pushed her laptop to the side. Her last report was for a client who hired her to find out if his wife was cheating on him. As a private investigator, at least 70% of her assignments were related to suspicions about an unfaithful significant other.
By Pascale Flynn5 years ago in Criminal
Maelstrom
I couldn't take my eyes off of him. The Ted Burton Suit. The round glasses. Short neat beard. Cool focused demeanour. Back arched, head leaning to one side. His hand swished feverishly at something on his table. The only thing that interrupted my intense gaze was a draft of cold Manhattan air that rushed into the shop when the door opened. A group of tourists had finished exploring Hudson Yards and were ready to refuel. A vibration from my pocket sent shockwaves of anxiety through me. I pushed my thoughts away. Cold sweat held onto to my forehead. A reminder. I resumed my post at the glass wash. The man checked his watch, a simple timepiece with a brown strap and gold face. He cradled his coffee cup for a moment. It seemed like he was in a rush and also had all the time in the world. I hated him in that moment.
By [email protected]5 years ago in Criminal
Mysterious Secrets on the Roof
I just need a break. Some fresh air would do wonders. It’s nearly midnight, but I’ve already committed to the idea so here goes nothing. So many students warn each other not to go to the roof of the dorm building. I can’t lie, the idea intrigues me. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Thank goodness I’m already on one of the top floors. Just one flight of stairs and boom! I’m already opening the door to the dreaded roof that everyone talks about. It’s windy tonight but the temperature is just right. Somewhere in between needing a jacket and not needing a jacket. As I look around, I hear an oddly familiar sound. It sounds like someone is crying. That’s odd. I honestly thought nobody ever came to the roof. It’s a universal rumor that haunts each hallway to never go onto the roof. I’m not really sure what happened in the past, being the new freshman and all. There’s been so many rumors, but even when I researched it out of curiosity, my questions were never answered. This is that moment where your body automatically engages in the fight or flight response. I mean, even being the horror movie fan that I am, you still can’t prepare yourself for this eerie, random moment. I slowly make my way toward the sound, hiding behind every concealing piece of property that I can. Why am I doing this? Maybe it’s from the fear of not helping someone when they really need it. What if they’re hurt? What if that were me? Wow, I really am an idiot. This could end up being the worst mistake of my life. After all, I’ve been warned over and over again. I can’t just give up now. I’m already committed. Thank goodness the wind is masking my dreadful footsteps. Ok, the crying is getting louder. I must be really close. This is not what I came up here for. What did I get myself into? It’s ok. Just take a deep breath. Like I said, I’m already committed. All of the sudden, the crying ceases. It’s as if I was hearing things. No! I know I heard someone crying. As I peek from behind one of the vents, I can’t believe what I see. There’s a girl standing on the ledge. Her back is to me. What is she doing? She looks disheveled from what I can see. She’s barefoot with a white tank top and shorts that have dirt stains on them. Her clothes hang very loosely on her. She looks very malnourished. All of her bony prominences are very evident even with the night shadows. She has straight, long black hair that is down to her waist. Is she about to jump off? No way! This can’t be happening. This isn’t something that I want to witness. I’m not even prepared for this. She starts crying again and grabs her face in her hands. With her head pointed down, she starts hitting herself on her head. Almost as if she’s fighting herself. I catch a glimpse of something on the ground behind her that looks shiny. It’s too far. I can’t tell what it is. All of the sudden, she stops crying again and leans forward just a tad. Just enough for her to start swinging her arms and catch her balance again. I have to help her. I run out from behind my hiding place and yell to her, “Hey! are you ok?” She turns around to face me. We lock eyes for a moment and I can see the true terror in her eyes. Then, she proceeds to look straight ahead and with her arms straight out to her sides, she leans forward, this time making sure not to catch herself. My eyes immediately widen. I can’t catch my breath. I clutch my chest as a sudden heaviness sweeps over me like a dark plague. Did she just fall to her death? What is happening right now? I immediately run to the ledge and peek down. I don’t see her body anywhere. This can’t be happening. I saw her jump! Where’s her body? I remember the shiny object that I saw and immediately turn around and look down. There’s a small black book with a shiny pen on top of it. I hesitantly reach down and open the book. This must be from that same girl. Inside, it says, “I can’t do this anymore. Someone please save me.” I flip through the book only to find empty pages. Just as I’m about to give up, on the very last page, it says “RL-455.” What does this even mean? There’s also a check made out to me for $20,000! How is this possible? This can’t be real. I clutch onto the book and try to wrap my head around what just happened. The crazy thing is, that girl looked really familiar. Where is she from? I pull out my phone, and go to the campus app. I can’t believe what I see. On the homepage, there’s a picture of a missing student from a couple of months ago. The girl from the roof looks identical to this student! Also, the girls name from the missing persons report matches the name on the upper left corner of the check. Did I really just lay eyes on a missing person? How is all of this even possible? Is this book the clue to where this student is being held captive? I have to get inside and try to figure this out. This could be the key to finding this girl and saving her life.
By Rebekah Taylor5 years ago in Criminal
