Editor's Note: This Picket Fences fan fiction is a fan fic I previously
posted on another website a few months back. I certainly hope those who
haven't read it will enjoy it as much if not more than those who have. I
own nothing; these are all David E. Kelley's characters.so please, don't
sue me. Please feel free to leave a review if you chose-I am open to
suggestions. Also, I have yet another fan fic written as a follow-up to
this plot. Enjoy!
Sheriff Jimmy Brock had been lying in his queen-sized bed for the last three hours. The time, according to the digital alarm clock on his right, was only 11:15am. Tonight was his night to work the 11:00pm to 7:00am shift- something he himself had not done at least 10 years in all his time being the sheriff of Rome, Wisconsin. He decided to work this shift based upon the mere fact his department had been short staffed during the summer months. As he lay there, he thought about how much he missed Jill's body close to his; she had gotten up with the chickens at 6:00 to go to her medical office and care for the ill-stricken citizens of the town they both loved so much, after that she was to do her weekly rounds at Thayer Hospital's emergency room until 11:30pm. Kimberly, Matthew and Zachary were all in school-where they should have been, rounding out the remainder of the school year. That just left Jimmy, alone in a gigantic two-story house; caught in a realm of alertness and outside noise which only interfered with his sleep.
Around 2:00pm, Jimmy decided that perhaps he should get out of bed and take a soothing lukewarm shower to ease his somewhat troubling thoughts. Inside, his mind had wandered aimlessly from one thought to the next-his gut played into a horrific feeling that something terrible was going to occur while he worked the "graveyard shift"; and what is was exactly, the sheriff couldn't quite place his finger on it.
Once his shower was completed, the sheriff slowly dressed himself in his long sleeved light blue duty shirt and navy pants-now focusing on two items of importance: one: it was too damn hot to be wearing something with long sleeves and he should look into getting summer apparel, and two: wondering what exactly it was his gut was trying to tell him. 'Nah,' he thought, 'I am the oldest and wisest individual on the Rome Sheriff Department.' This was true, given the fact he had seen it all-nicotine poisoning, serial bathers-even a string of "serial freezer" killings had passed his way. If it was deemed to be strange and really out there, you could almost bet that Sheriff Jimmy Brock had seen it all. But why wouldn't this feeling disappear? Could it be that Rome's most moral man was indeed looking into the eyes of some unforeseen danger?
After a while, Matthew and Zachary had come home following a day long venture at the Rome Junior High School. In fact, it was their arguing over hockey that broke Jimmy away from his predisposed thoughts about tonight. "I still say that Chris Chelios is a better hockey player," said Zach, now rallying to his favorite player's defense. "Where'd you get that stupid idea from-the Wheaties box?," asked Matthew as he went to the fridge to grab something to eat. "No, penishead. Sports Illustrated for Kids," shot back Zach, who was now sitting at the head of the table; in his father's dinner spot, trying to concentrate on his algebra homework. "Real hockey gurus read the real Sports Illustrated," replied Matthew, now well on his way upstairs to his bedroom.
To Be Continued.
Sheriff Jimmy Brock had been lying in his queen-sized bed for the last three hours. The time, according to the digital alarm clock on his right, was only 11:15am. Tonight was his night to work the 11:00pm to 7:00am shift- something he himself had not done at least 10 years in all his time being the sheriff of Rome, Wisconsin. He decided to work this shift based upon the mere fact his department had been short staffed during the summer months. As he lay there, he thought about how much he missed Jill's body close to his; she had gotten up with the chickens at 6:00 to go to her medical office and care for the ill-stricken citizens of the town they both loved so much, after that she was to do her weekly rounds at Thayer Hospital's emergency room until 11:30pm. Kimberly, Matthew and Zachary were all in school-where they should have been, rounding out the remainder of the school year. That just left Jimmy, alone in a gigantic two-story house; caught in a realm of alertness and outside noise which only interfered with his sleep.
Around 2:00pm, Jimmy decided that perhaps he should get out of bed and take a soothing lukewarm shower to ease his somewhat troubling thoughts. Inside, his mind had wandered aimlessly from one thought to the next-his gut played into a horrific feeling that something terrible was going to occur while he worked the "graveyard shift"; and what is was exactly, the sheriff couldn't quite place his finger on it.
Once his shower was completed, the sheriff slowly dressed himself in his long sleeved light blue duty shirt and navy pants-now focusing on two items of importance: one: it was too damn hot to be wearing something with long sleeves and he should look into getting summer apparel, and two: wondering what exactly it was his gut was trying to tell him. 'Nah,' he thought, 'I am the oldest and wisest individual on the Rome Sheriff Department.' This was true, given the fact he had seen it all-nicotine poisoning, serial bathers-even a string of "serial freezer" killings had passed his way. If it was deemed to be strange and really out there, you could almost bet that Sheriff Jimmy Brock had seen it all. But why wouldn't this feeling disappear? Could it be that Rome's most moral man was indeed looking into the eyes of some unforeseen danger?
After a while, Matthew and Zachary had come home following a day long venture at the Rome Junior High School. In fact, it was their arguing over hockey that broke Jimmy away from his predisposed thoughts about tonight. "I still say that Chris Chelios is a better hockey player," said Zach, now rallying to his favorite player's defense. "Where'd you get that stupid idea from-the Wheaties box?," asked Matthew as he went to the fridge to grab something to eat. "No, penishead. Sports Illustrated for Kids," shot back Zach, who was now sitting at the head of the table; in his father's dinner spot, trying to concentrate on his algebra homework. "Real hockey gurus read the real Sports Illustrated," replied Matthew, now well on his way upstairs to his bedroom.
To Be Continued.
