New story alert!
Stay for the end to see a sneak peek of the new murder story I am writing, too.
Enjoylovebugs :)
When Sam laid his eyes on Mercedes, he was in the office with his manager and representatives of the record labels. His manager was arguing on his behalf about how he needed a stint in rehab immediately that would not be used as a cash grab. He had zoned out and looked through the glass windows. Then he saw her walk in. She was with her manager. He hadn't known that at the time, though. Her hair was in loose, big curls, and she was wearing a long maxi skirt with a loose-fitting, long-sleeve shirt. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on, and he knew that he wanted her. He craved her more than he craved the other thing.
Eventually, they connected. He learned that she was super intelligent. She could play the piano and sing. She was afraid of clowns and the dark. She loved watching the Black Housewives, and she loved watching cartoons. She was close with her mother, but she never knew who her father was, and she was ok with that. She wanted to get married and have kids, but she also wanted to have her career first. She was sweet, and his parents loved her. Her mother loved him. Eventually, after two years of dating, they were married, but in their first year of marriage, they barely saw each other. With their nuptials, for some reason, their label assumed that it was a good idea for the both of them to go on two separate tours at the same time. They were married on the first day of December, and then on the tenth of December, they parted for their world tours. It was only in June that they were finally able to connect, but Sam had slipped back to his old ways.
He hadn't meant to, but he missed his wife, and the tour was stressing him out. He only meant to take a little bit for the one time. However, that little bit for the one time turned into a little bit every other day, and then it was every day, and then it was nearly every three hours. He was doing everything to make sure no one else found out and, more importantly, making sure his wife did not find out. He had promised her that after his initial rehab stint, he was clean. That much was true, though; however, during January, he made the slippery slope back to his addiction. When he and his wife reconnected, he was able to hide it from her for the entire month of June. Then he was able to stop. He was able to get clean again. However, now they were in the next year. The label was working him to the bone. Telling him he and Mercedes needed to be in the studio constantly. So he was overworked, and he was missing his wife. So now here he was in the bathroom of their massive house, crushing up the pills and sniffing the white powder. He took a deep breath and waited for the "happy hour" to kick in.
"Baby, I got home from the studio early. I was thinking we could-." Mercedes began as she entered the bathroom. She went quiet when she saw Sam leaning against the sink and the white powder on the counter.
"S-Sam, what a-are you doing?" She asked.
Sam looked at her, and he saw the tears getting ready to form in those beautiful brown orbs of hers. He could have lied and said he was just tired, but he watched her eyes look down at the white powder that was smushed. He also didn't get to wipe his nose either.
"Baby," Sam began as he walked towards her, but she put her hands up and backed away slowly.
"No, Sam. You said you were clean since rehab three years ago. When did this happen?" She questioned.
"It happened a month after our wedding, and then it continued up until the end of June. But then I was able to get clean, and I have been clean since then. Up until now." Sam explained.
"Sam, why didn't you come to talk to me or your sponsor? You are supposed to talk to someone when you feel this way." She stressed as she started to cry. He hated seeing her cry.
"It's just that everything is so busy now. I never see you, and I am always so tired. This just makes me feel better." He tried to explain it. But he could tell she didn't care to hear the explanation.
"That's not an excuse, Sam. You know how I feel about this, and you know how I feel about you keeping secrets from me." Mercedes insisted. Sam couldn't reply. The high had already kicked in at this point, and he was becoming less coherent. However, he didn't remember it ever having these effects on him. He tried to focus on his wife. His beautiful wife was the love of his life, but the next thing he knew, he was falling. He heard Mercedes scream his name, and then everything went black.
Mercedes never thought that when she pulled into the driveway of the shared modern villa that she and her husband had purchased, she would see her husband slipping into his old habits. When they met, he explained the situation, and she told him that she was only comfortable being her friend until he was clean. He became clean, and they started exploring romance. She loved Sam. He was so different than her past relationships. He was attentive, caring, smart, sensitive, and faithful to her. Something that she was afraid would end. However, everything was perfect.
So you can only imagine her shock when she got home and saw Sam slipping back into his old habits. He never explained the kind of drug, only telling her that it wasn't heroin, or crack, or cocaine. However, she still never wanted to come home to this. In the midst of her talking to him, she saw his eyes flutter to the back of his head, and then he was on the ground. She raced to him and shook for him to wake up, but he didn't. She grabbed her phone and called the one man who could help her right now.
"How is my favorite daughter?" He answered brightly.
"Papa Dwight, I-I need your help." She whispered.
Immediately, he went into focus mode, "What's wrong?"
"It's Sam, h-he relapsed again. I came home and caught him, and then we started to talk, and then he just passed out. I don't know what to do." Mercedes rushed out as she started to cry.
"Ok, sweetie, I am on my way, ok. Call an ambulance."
The doctors had explained that since Sam had become sober, his body lacked the once-high tolerance that he had. The toxicology report came back as Percocet, and luckily, Mercedes had been home when the event had occurred, or they wouldn't have been able to get him to wake up. Currently, he is lying in the hospital bed, sleeping peacefully. Dwight had gone to get Mercedes food because she hadn't eaten all day. She looked at her husband. He was sleeping so peacefully. His long blonde hair was in his face, the scruff he had was starting to grow. He looked so handsome. Mercedes sighed softly as she wiped away a stray tear. She couldn't believe that this was occurring. How could she not have seen the signs? How could she not know that her husband was doing this? How could she have been in the dark for so long?
"Mmmm. What happened?" Sam inquired as he turned to his side and saw his wife. He remembered speaking to her in the bathroom and then passing out.
"You overdosed. Your tolerance isn't what it used to be." Mercedes answered her voice void of all emotion.
Sam sighed, "I didn't mean to scare you, baby."
"Don't call me baby," Mercedes replied.
"Merce. I'm sorry. I truly am, but I didn't know what else to do."
"How about talking to your wife or your best friend? I told you that I could not be with you because of this due to how it could affect us. Did that not matter to you? Sam, I don't want to be in a marriage where I am scared whenever we are separated because I am afraid you will relapse."
"You don't have to because it won't happen."
"And how do I know that? Apparently, you have been using it throughout our marriage, off and on. I didn't know that." Mercedes yelled as she stood.
"Mercy, please," Sam whispered.
Dwight entered the room with bags of food, "I brought burgers. Son, you are awake." Mercedes couldn't be in the room anymore. It felt like she was suffocating. She grabbed her purse and left the hospital room, leaving Sam and his father alone. Dwight sat the food down and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to sit on his son.
"You know she loves you more than she loves herself. It's scary sometimes because she is willing to walk right through hell with you for you. Why did you go and scare her like that, Sam?" Dwight asked.
"I didn't mean for her to find out, Dad. I just thought I had a little more time than I thought I did. Do you think she is going to divorce me?" Sam asked as he looked longingly at the door.
Dwight sighed, "Now that I do not know, but I know her mom is coming to visit her. Santana and Artie have been notified. And Simon is also on his way too." Sam groaned at hearing his older brother's name. Simon always made Sam feel like shit and like Sam was never good enough. He could only imagine the gloating that was going to come from his brother now that his secret was revealed.
"He still is your brother. I'm going to try to find your wife, and you need to figure out what is important. Her or the drugs."
UNTITLED NEW STORY
"The first victim is Jess Haydens. She was twenty years old and had just graduated from college at the top of her class. She was on track to start her internship by shadowing a therapist so she could focus on becoming a psychiatrist. She was murdered about three weeks ago in her apartment. Her neighbor called the caps when she hadn't seen her in about two days. The second victim is Holly Carter, who was murdered two weeks ago. She graduated top of her class, she was twenty-three, and she was a computer software engineer. Then there is Sydney Pope, twenty-four, murdered last week. She graduated top of her class, and she was a librarian on track to opening her own bookshop. The similarities being the obvious that they were all Black women, and they were murdered the same." Artie explained.
Mercedes sat on top of the conference room table, "The killer has an eye for killing successful Black women."
Sam looked at her over his shoulder as he finished taping up the photos, "What gave you that idea?"
"Each of the women graduated at the top of their class. They are young and are on the track to being dominant in their field of work. The killer either has a fascination or a problem with it."
"How would you explain the murder method."
"It isn't messy to them. He drowns them and dries them off. Drains their blood and doesn't make a mess. According to the files, each of them was found in their bed sleeping peacefully. The killer is finding beauty in the work. They know the victims. They are watching them before they actually kill them. A sense of knowing who they are before they are gone."
Sam looked at her as he folded his arms across his chest, "So what do you think we are looking for."
"Male, forty years old or older. However, the maximum age is fifty. Strong build, like you, Sam, but larger. He is probably working in the academic field or something close to it. That's why he is thriving off of the academic validation part of the victims. There is something there for him. He could possibly be killing Black women because he was once in love with one, and she didn't want him. So now he is retaliating against everyone who is like her or reminiscent of her."
"I've searched the databases for the nearest universities and colleges surrounding the area, and I am finding a few that match the description Mercedes gave," Artie announced.
"Check for the ones who may have quit the job on a pension or were placed on leave. If he is studying the victims, he is going to need more time to do so. I doubt a professor would have time to give a lecture, stalk his victims, grade exams, and then carry out a killing spree." Sam added.
Mercedes looked at the board, "There is something that we are missing, I am sure."
"Well, we haven't checked the crime scenes." Sam pointed out.
"Can we check them tomorrow morning?" Mercedes questioned.
"Of course, Ms. Jones," Sam replied, letting his southern accent draw out when he replied.
"Thank you, Detective Evans."
Artie watched the interaction between the two, "Anyways, since we need to comb out some details and have a fine description of what we are looking for, do you guys want to order Chinese food? It's looking like another long night."
Sam cleared his throat, "Yeah, that's fine."
"You guys know what I want. I have to make an appointment, but I will be back. I won't be about too long." Mercedes spoke as she grabbed her phone and purse and left the building.
She had gotten used to visiting her mother under these circumstances. She visited her every day on Monday at the same time. It was their routine. Now, most people would have wanted Mercedes to stop visiting her, and she probably should have. Her massive PTSD was still a factor; she still had nightmares that only allowed for her five hours of sleep every few weeks, and she still had a shaky hand. However, Vivienne Jones was still her mother. No matter how many news outlets tried to prove that Vivienne Jones was the brutal murderer of her husband, Oswald Jones.