Heartbeat Away From Capture
Summary: This very short story was inspired by Fatal Edition.
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made. Some of the dialogue that appears in this story is not my own, but belongs to the writer of the episode "Fatal Edition."
Author: Tracy Diane Miller
E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
Heartbeat Away From Capture
It's funny the things that you take for granted, that is, until you lose them. Perhaps it is because you always expect them to be there for your enjoyment. Like the sun, vainglorious in its splendor. An exuberant moon, radiant after spending its days in blissful hibernation. A lake, silently guarding its own demons, despite the peaceful and unpretentious flow of restless waves.
And freedom. Especially freedom for it is the license to enjoy all these natural wonders.
You think of freedom as a given. Wake up in your own bed after silently cursing the boisterous wail of an obtrusive and unsympathetic alarm clock. Even with your days spent answering the call of a futuristic newspaper with its roster of unsuspecting victims, you are free to walk (okay, run in most cases) through the city. You can fill your lungs with the air, arguably polluted by the odor of impatience and unkindness as people scurry about their daily lives mortgaging common courtesy in favor of meeting the demands of their frantic schedules. But still the air is there for you to openly enjoy and embrace. Not like now. Now you lurk in the shadows, branded as a criminal, a scourge to public safety.
A killer.
The air that kisses your lungs feels like stolen breaths. It feels as if you are inhaling the stench of your own fear knowing that you are a heartbeat away from capture. And the hot dog that you had so often enjoyed at a ball game becomes a beggar's meal of sorts, your reward for saving a life.
Gary had rescued Joe from the shower of bullets rained on the parking lot attendant's car in a drive by, execution style shooting. Joe was expectedly agitated having twice cheated a date with the Grim Reaper. Gary had told Marissa and Brigatti that he believed that Joe was somehow connected to Scanlon's murder.
Gary's mind quickly replayed the events from last night. Brigatti. He had put his life on the line in coming to her and she had turned him away. Fatigue and desperation whipped his body and spirit when he showed up at her townhouse pleading for her help. His eyes, also glazed over with these emotions, searched for that tiny gleam emanating from her eyes that would tell him that she believed him and that she would help him. But it wasn't there.
Instead, she pointed her gun at him demanding that he stop when she saw that he was slowly backing away intending to escape because he realized that she planned to turn him in.
"Or what?" He challenged defiantly, maybe with a twinge of arrogance in his voice born from pure exhaustion. He was so tired. And despite his devastation that she had refused to help him, he knew that she wouldn't fire that gun, she wouldn't shoot him in the back, to impede his escape.
"I was a valued informant." Joe explained.
Joe told him about the murder for hire story that Scanlon was working on. Scanlon may have been as tenacious as a dog with a bone when it came to exposing the seedy underbelly of Chicago for journalistic accolades, but Gary suspected that it was the egotistical columnist appetite for dirt that had cost him his life.
Murder for hire operation. Gary was sure that was the domino that started this deadly nightmare. Joe didn't have any other information. Gary knew that he needed someone who would be able to find out about this murder for hire operation Scanlon had been working on just before he died. An idea sparked in his head. He knew whom he could go to for help.
As Gary walked away from that alley still cautious to remain undiscovered and resolving to learn the truth, he was painfully aware that he was a heartbeat away from capture.
The End
Summary: This very short story was inspired by Fatal Edition.
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made. Some of the dialogue that appears in this story is not my own, but belongs to the writer of the episode "Fatal Edition."
Author: Tracy Diane Miller
E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
Heartbeat Away From Capture
It's funny the things that you take for granted, that is, until you lose them. Perhaps it is because you always expect them to be there for your enjoyment. Like the sun, vainglorious in its splendor. An exuberant moon, radiant after spending its days in blissful hibernation. A lake, silently guarding its own demons, despite the peaceful and unpretentious flow of restless waves.
And freedom. Especially freedom for it is the license to enjoy all these natural wonders.
You think of freedom as a given. Wake up in your own bed after silently cursing the boisterous wail of an obtrusive and unsympathetic alarm clock. Even with your days spent answering the call of a futuristic newspaper with its roster of unsuspecting victims, you are free to walk (okay, run in most cases) through the city. You can fill your lungs with the air, arguably polluted by the odor of impatience and unkindness as people scurry about their daily lives mortgaging common courtesy in favor of meeting the demands of their frantic schedules. But still the air is there for you to openly enjoy and embrace. Not like now. Now you lurk in the shadows, branded as a criminal, a scourge to public safety.
A killer.
The air that kisses your lungs feels like stolen breaths. It feels as if you are inhaling the stench of your own fear knowing that you are a heartbeat away from capture. And the hot dog that you had so often enjoyed at a ball game becomes a beggar's meal of sorts, your reward for saving a life.
Gary had rescued Joe from the shower of bullets rained on the parking lot attendant's car in a drive by, execution style shooting. Joe was expectedly agitated having twice cheated a date with the Grim Reaper. Gary had told Marissa and Brigatti that he believed that Joe was somehow connected to Scanlon's murder.
Gary's mind quickly replayed the events from last night. Brigatti. He had put his life on the line in coming to her and she had turned him away. Fatigue and desperation whipped his body and spirit when he showed up at her townhouse pleading for her help. His eyes, also glazed over with these emotions, searched for that tiny gleam emanating from her eyes that would tell him that she believed him and that she would help him. But it wasn't there.
Instead, she pointed her gun at him demanding that he stop when she saw that he was slowly backing away intending to escape because he realized that she planned to turn him in.
"Or what?" He challenged defiantly, maybe with a twinge of arrogance in his voice born from pure exhaustion. He was so tired. And despite his devastation that she had refused to help him, he knew that she wouldn't fire that gun, she wouldn't shoot him in the back, to impede his escape.
"I was a valued informant." Joe explained.
Joe told him about the murder for hire story that Scanlon was working on. Scanlon may have been as tenacious as a dog with a bone when it came to exposing the seedy underbelly of Chicago for journalistic accolades, but Gary suspected that it was the egotistical columnist appetite for dirt that had cost him his life.
Murder for hire operation. Gary was sure that was the domino that started this deadly nightmare. Joe didn't have any other information. Gary knew that he needed someone who would be able to find out about this murder for hire operation Scanlon had been working on just before he died. An idea sparked in his head. He knew whom he could go to for help.
As Gary walked away from that alley still cautious to remain undiscovered and resolving to learn the truth, he was painfully aware that he was a heartbeat away from capture.
The End