TheZot

Well, I think I'm gonna leave it as it is for now -- I kind of like the aspect it gives to the story. Doesn't mean there wasn't an Alex at some point, and I've got a few thoughts on Chris' background that're just swirling around a bit that could come into play later. Things may be complex enough as it is. Or, y'know, not. Nothing wrong with a bit of extra complexity...

[This is a flashback. It needs a good transition into it, but it doesn't have one right now] Nine year old Chris Gagnon huddled under his blanket. It was partly because even in Arizona, April nights were cold. It was partly because he was a little afraid of his dad, who was drunker than normal. But it was mostly because it was 9:30 and past his bedtime, and he still had eight pages of the newest Alpha Flight comic to read. It wasn't the really newest issue, but it was the newest one he could get. Gary Preston's older brother Mike was going to college in Phoenix and had brought all his comic books home when he'd come back for spring break. Chris thought Gary was an asshole. He had his brother's comics, and that was enough to make him popular. He'd bought three issues. Gary had charged him a buck each, which just reinforced how much of an asshole he was. They weren't even in order

I need to make it clear, since it's actually relevant. (or part of it is) While she left at some vague point in the past, divorce papers were served four months ago, which is when Toby's spells started, Alex and Joe started dating, and Chris started having his dreams. There was another murder, which I just realized I'd forgotten to mention, dammit!

Well, it's still worth keeping in mind when I go back to redo this. If I'm going to rework it and release it as a serial novel then some amount of awareness of how it's read is in order. (Or hell, maybe I'll get nuts and if the rewrite works out well go shop it around for real. What the hell, everyone needs a collection of rejection letters. )

Okay, I'm going to have to make some notes to make sure I fix this in the next draft. Chris was referring to the spell Toby had a few chapters ago. He's being way too oblique -- I think I'm going to have to add in some flashbacks to what life was like for Chris back when he was young, which should help explain things.

[Mmm, suspense! I think. I've been practicing some new things with all this. Short sentences. Characters thoughts. cliffhangers! All sorts of things. It's been interesting] Joe's head whipped around. Standing at the corner of the house was the last person he expected to see. "Alex?" Joe asked. A little thrill went down his spine, right to his crotch. It was a good thing he'd worn the speedos after all. They were snug enough to keep any reactions

Ah, what's to be terrifed about? Sure, I don't necesarily know which way this is going, but the nice thing is that it doesn't really matter, not right now. This is mostly setup, probably the first third or so of a novel. It needs to be clear that something is going on, and it needs to be internally consistent, but that's it. Unfortunately I think poor Joe got tagged to be he Heroine In Danger. I expect he's going to be pissed. (And the urge to have Steve make "you're in deep shit" jokes at Joe and Chris' expense is going to be tough to fight off...)

Y'know, I hadn't even considered the fact that Alex could've been killed in the past and the killer was stalking people in the present. I actually kinda like that, possibly better than the idea I have on what's up with Chris and Alex. Hrm....

Heh. I'm trying to decide whether Mike's actually the serial killer or not. (I think there is one, at this point) I'm also trying to decide whether the girl Joe found a few chapters ago is actually his niece or not. (There's some dialog in the next chapter that ties in that may make that a possibility) I'm thinking this is going to end up half and half romance and suspense. Somewhere in there I think I'm gonna have to use the line "There aren't any monsters hiding in the shadows, Joe. The people have scared them all away." I can see either Steve or Chris saying that. (I can't imagine being a police detective in a large city or with the state police (I'm not sure which) would leave one with too many illusions about the depths to which people won't sink...)

[i'm not sure if this is filler, setup (since it's only ~1200 words), or an introduction of more characters. But at least we learn something important -- Steve drinks domestic beer. (oh, the horror. The horror! )] Joe pulled into the driveway of Steve's house at five minutes to two. The house was like all the others on the block. It was a neighborhood of older houses, middle class since the time they were built a century or more ago. They were all two-story buildings, old enough to have porches and dormer windows. A little wear around the edges, but solid and comfortable. Some of them, Joe was sure, had seen five or six generations of their residents. There were even people out on the streets, little kids and adults and senior citizens. It was comfortable and solid and anchored. Joe smiled, relaxed despite himself. It was a beautiful summer day, sunny, bright, and just hot enough to feel like summer without beating you down. He'd come prepared, with two six packs of a good German beer and a beach towel stuffed into his gym bag. He was wearing a snug sleeveless lemon yellow t-shirt, a pair of black nylon swim shorts, and sandals. He wasn't sure why, but he wore his Speedos under the shorts. There was another car in the driveway, an ancient VW Rabbit. It was green, though you'd be hard-pressed to see much paint. It was covered in more bumper stickers than he'd ever seen. Joe looked at them, amused. There was a good chance the owner was Wiccan, likely left wing, and definitely fond of stickers. Joe doubted it was Steve's. He walked up to the front door and hesitated. This seemed like a good idea in the morning when he'd gotten up. Steve had been pretty clear the day before. For the tenth time he wondered why the man had asked him over. The invitation had been sincere. After what they been through together the day before, Joe felt like they had a sort of connection. That wasn't the reason, though. Still, he had been invited, and he was there, so it was too late to back out now. He rang the bell. Moments later came the sound of running feet, then the front door was flung open by a boy who looked startlingly like Steve in miniature. "Hello?" Joe smiled. "Hi, I'm Joe. Your dad's expecting me." He got an appraising look. The boy opened the door. "Daaaaaaad! Mister Hennesy's here!" Joe winced. The kid may have been small, but he had a voice that was probably heard at the other end of the neighborhood. Joe stepped into the house. "Dad's out back," he said. "Thanks," Joe said. He followed the boy through the living room and kitchen, then out the back door. Behind the house was a wooden deck, and past that an inground pool. A girl and young boy were in the pool, the boy wearing bright green inflatable water wings. There were a few lounge chair scattered around the pool, white tubing with floral cushions on them. There was a woman in a one-piece bathing suit lying on one of them. She was watching the kids, but gave a look in Joe's direction as he stepped on the deck. The deck had a long wooden picnic table on it, a few chairs, and a gas grill with a blue cooler next to it. Steve was at the grill, and a man and a woman were sitting at the table. The sound of sizzling and the smell of cooking meat hit Joe. "Oh, please," said the man at the table. "I can't understand why you don't believe. Clearly there are things beyond what can be seen with the mortal eye. You're a detective, surely you've found things you can't explain." "Usually when I explain 'em, I get to lock 'em up after," Steve replied. "Oh, hey, Joe," Steve said as he noticed Joe. "Joe, this is my crazy brother-in-law Mike," Steve said, waving a spatula in the general direction of the man he'd been speaking with. Mike smiled and flipped Steve off. "And that's his lovely, but equally crazy wife Linda. Whatever you do," Steve whispered conspiratorially, "don't mention Roswell. Or Ho Hos." Joe was taken aback. "Um, okay. Are twinkies fit for conversation?" "Absolutely." "Pay no attention to my excessively skeptical brother-in-law," Mike said. "He wouldn't recognize a real mystery if one jumped out and bit him in the ass." "Yeah, right, Shaggy," Steve retorted. "Want a Scooby snack with your burger?" Mike leaned back with a smile and casually flipped Steve off. "Beer?" Joe asked, waving the bottles. "In the cooler with the rest of 'em," Steve said. Joe popped open the cooler and put the bottles of beer into it. There were already a dozen cans of Budweiser in it

Nah, I actually meant it in that order. Second draft isn't finished -- it's the step before finished. (And the first draft, which this pretty much is, is going to go to the end, no question)

[This should've been chapter six or thereabouts -- right before Steve visits Joe at work. Ah, well, something for the rewrite] Friday morning Chris Gagnon woke up feeling like he'd been run over by a truck. He was tired and achy and his mouth tasted like something had crawled into it and died. He wasn't too surprised, he'd had beer last night. A lot of beer. He rolled out of bed, holding his throbbing head. The worst part of it was the dream. They'd stopped when he was eleven. After the fire, when he'd left Arizona. They came back again when he was in high school. It used to be that drinking made the dreams stop. Alcohol deadened his brain, kept the visions away. Kept Alex away. And they'd stayed away, since college. He'd thought they were gone for good. They'd started again, four months ago. This time everything had been a little fuzzy, like real dreams. He thought they were real dreams. He'd hoped they'd been real dreams. Not last night. He couldn't remember too much, but he remembered dancing, and sex, and Joe. He groaned a little as he thought of Joe. Until the traffic stop, the man in his dreams had been vague and faceless, almost generic. Now there was a face to go with the body. The face that had been there for months. He just hadn't wanted to accept its existence. Faceless was a dream. Faceless wasn't real. Chris stood. He was shaky, feeling weak as well as hung over. His t-shirt felt grubby and stuck to his body. His boxers were riding up. When he shifted them he felt an uncomfortable tug in his pubes. He'd had a wet dream. He was thirty two, and he had a wet dream. About Joe Hennesy. He stripped angrily, tossing his dirty clothes onto the heap by the closet door. He stumbled into the bathroom and turned the shower on. It was hot and pounding, just what he needed to feel better, to wash the night away. Chris was toweling himself off, feeling a little better after his shower, when he saw Toby standing in the doorway. Just seeing Toby made Chris's morning better. He'd had four years of hell with Megan, four years of constant abuse and nagging, and even then, no matter how badly he felt, just holding his son made everything good. She was gone, but Toby was there, his little man. He was a slight boy, his brown hair straight and shaggy, hanging over eyes as dark as his father's. He had his father's beak of a nose, his coloring somewhere between Chris' easy tan and Megan's fair skin. He was adorable, standing there in his Scooby-Doo pajamas. He held a red gingham rabbit and was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Papa? I don't feel so good." Chris was over in a heartbeat, on one knee in front of Toby. He did look uncommonly pale, and as wobbly as Chris still felt. He felt Toby's forehead, but the boy wasn't hot. "What's wrong, sport?" "Feel weak," Toby mumbled. "Your tummy hurt? Anything achy?" Toby shook his head no. Chris gathered him into a hug. He was worried, very worried. Toby had been feeling like this on and off for the past four months. They'd been to the doctor's, more than Chris wanted to think, but despite all the tests nobody had found anything wrong. "Do you need to see the doctor, Toby?" The boy shook his head, more vigorously this time. "Okay. Why don't you get dressed, then we'll get some breakfast and take you over to Aunt Mary and Uncle Steve's for the day." "Pop tarts?" Chris smiled. "Sure, Toby. And a big glass of orange juice, Okay?" "'kay, papa." Chris held the smile until Toby had turned into his room. When the boy was out of sight he slumped to the ground, holding his head in his hands. The dreams and the hangover were forgotten. There was something wrong with his son, and he was scared to death that Toby was going to die.

Well, he'll be happy eventually. It may just take a while for him to get there... As for the murders, I'm still not sure. Nor am I sure who the victims were. (I have a nagging idea, but it's kinda nasty to the characters. Something for a note in one of the later chapters ) This is actually kinda interesting -- this is more or less what I do when I write stuff, but I make more plans and would have rewritten the earlier chapters alreadt. I actually like it, in a way. With the understanding that it's going to change when I do a second draft (and at this point I'm pretty sure I am going to do a second draft, and then finish this) I'm OK with it being a little wobbly. I know a lot can get fixed properly once the end's been gotten to at least once.

[insert witty and self-deprecating comment here] Joe was still getting the blood off his hands when Steve pulled up in front of his apartment. He'd been trying to get it off since they left and it was still there, under his nails and between the ridges of his fingers. "Gah, this stuff gets everywhere," Joe said as he pitched the wipe, now a light pink, into the trash bag to join the two dozen others he'd used. "Yeah, it can be pretty bad," Steve said. "Listen, it was a little late to say anything, but next time

[Hey, Joe's good with kids. Go figure. Can't tell if this is the start or the end of a sub-plot...] Joe put his best comforting face on, and tried to project as much reassurance as he could. He didn't have much experience with kids, but in his years in HR he'd had to deal with hysterical employees, psychotic episodes, stalking ex-husbands, and once helped deliver a baby. He hoped he could handle this. "Hey there," he said quietly. The girl shrank back as far as she could, trapped between the building, the trunk of the rhododendron bush, and Joe. He saw her shivering. Her fear was palpable. "My name's Joe. What's your name?" The girl just looked at him mutely. "Are you hurt? I think I have some

Well, he wasn't supposed to strike in the first place! Now I've gotta figure out what exactly's going on... (Which, OK, is something of an exaggeration, but I really hadn't expected to have dead bodies in this)

[And the plot thickens. Or at least congeals, but good enough] Inside the apartment building things were busy. Detective Russell didn't need anyone to tell him where things had happened. The blood smears on the open door of unit 1-B and the forensic team inside it were more than enough. There was a uniformed officer just inside the door to the apartment. Jensen. Rookie. He was looking green, but doing his best to hold it together. "What happened?" Russell asked. "Three fatalities, sir," Officer Jensen said. His voice was a little wavery. Reciting the details seemed to help him compose himself. "Two children, one boy one girl, and an adult female. Neighbor called this in at 11:45 when she saw the blood on the door. Officer got here at 11:57. There was no answer, the manager opened the apartment for us at 12:05. The bodies were discovered in the living room." Russell nodded. "Any other occupants?" "We're not sure yet, sir. The manager fainted when they discovered the bodies. That was twenty five minutes ago. MEs think that there might be three children. We're checking with social services. The complex management company is sending someone over to check the records. Manager was the only one in today." Russell sighed. Civilians. Great. "What about the bodies?" The speed at which all the blood drained out of the rookie's face told Russell everything he needed to know. He was tempted to give the guy an out and ask the medical examiner, but he knew there wasn't any point. He was a cop, and this stuff happened. "Not good?" "The ME said something about

[Y'know, this wasn't here when I started the story. And Joe's probably going to get in so much trouble. Oh, yeah, I'm practicing cliff-hangers. They seem useful things.] Detective Russell pulled up into the apartment complex driveway. Like a lot of complexes in town, it was a collection of small buildings. These were brick, six apartments per three story building. There were twenty of the things lined up ten on a side. The complex itself was relatively new, maybe thirty years old at most, but the street was lined with trees and even in the summer sun the place was dark and a little chilly. It was one in the afternoon, and the complex was mostly quiet. That just made the ambulance and the squad cars around the fifth building on the left look all that more out of place. Joe hadn't said anything as they were careening through the streets, afraid to distract Detective Russell and have them crash. Now that they'd slowed he felt it might be safe to ask. "What's going on?" "Don't know yet," the detective said. He was distracted, eyes darting everywhere, looking for anyone unusual. He had no more information than what dispatch had given him, but that was enough

[And at the end... plot sign! Yay, something besides romance, sexual tension, and hints of madcap farce. 'Cause, let's be honest, who wants to read about sex anyway? I know it bores you guys to tears...] They drove in silence for a few minutes, into one of the dingier sections of town. Detective Russell parallel parked in front of a ratty pizza restaurant and got out. Joe followed, feeling nervous and uncomfortable. He was very over-dressed for the neighborhood. There was no way Joe was going to let him know that, though. Head high, move forward, keep control, take no shit. "Taking me out to lunch, Detective?" he asked, fluttering his eyelashes. "I thought you were married." "And she's built much better than you," Detective Russell replied, not missing a beat. "Your ass is too flat." Joe gave a little laugh. He hadn't expected the instant come-back. "A lot of people are very fond of this ass," he said, sliding into a booth. A little twinge reminded him exactly how fond Alex was of it. "No doubt," Russell replied. "That's what I want to talk to you about." The guard Joe had started to drop was immediately back up. "Alex." "Yeah. Alex." "What about him?" A waitress had come over to the table. She was as old and dingy as the restaurant itself, and looked as much of a fixture of the place as the torn vinyl booth cushions. "Hey, Doll," Russell said. "The regular, please." She nodded. "He ain't your regular. Breaking in a new guy?" "Something like that," Steve said with a grin. "What'dya have, sport?" she asked Joe. "Uh, a salad?" She looked at him like he was an alien. "Salad?" Russell asked, as the waitress walked away. "I wanted something without grease," Joe replied, sounding a little defensive. Detective Russell grinned. He'd made that mistake the first time he'd come here. He'd let Joe figure it out himself when the time came. "So what did you drag me out here for?" "I'm curious about last night," Russell said. Joe's eyes narrowed. "Last night was my own damn business," he said. He unconsciously shifted a little in the booth. It might not've been Russell's business, but Alex had been very affectionate, and he'd been having a problem sitting down all morning. "Maybe," Russell replied without heat. "Alex Gagnon, right?" Joe nodded. "He from around here?" "What do you think," Joe snapped. "You work with his brother." Russell had some reservations about that, but he kept them to himself just then. "Chris hasn't mentioned he had a brother," Russell said. He failed to say that Chris hadn't mentioned a brother for twenty years. Nor had Chris' grandmother, who Steve had known since he was three. And she'd talked about Chris, his good-for-nothing father, and her long-suffering almost daughter-in-law a lot in the years before they'd died and Chris had come to live with her. Joe snorted. "No surprise. Alex is gay. None of my family talks about me, either." "I want to be clear here, Joe. I don't have a problem with you, or who you date. That's not the issue." Joe looked at him with suspicion. "What is the issue, then?" "There isn't one." Joe frowned again at Russell. The man was lying, he could tell. "You're lying to me. Don't." Russell raised an eyebrow at Joe. He was an excellent liar, something that normally served him well. Chris was the only other person he knew of who could reliably catch him out. "Fine. Have you ever seen Alex's drivers license?" "What does that have to do with anything?" "Humor me." Joe tried to think. It wasn't the normal sort of question. Well, normal for him, at least. Maybe this was regular police small-talk or something. "Maybe," he said after a minute. "We got carded once or twice. Bernie thought it was funny." "What state was it from?" "It was a Connecticut license," he said. "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure," he snapped. "I run the damn HR department. I know what licenses look like." Detective Russell frowned. That only confirmed his suspicions. There was no record of an Alex Gagnon in the DMV's computers. That meant the license was fake or Joe was lying. While Russell'd be willing to put money on Joe being happy to tell him to go f**K himself, he couldn't see any reason Joe would lie about it. And there was only one other person who'd have a license to prove they weren't Chris Gagnon. The waitress interrupted with their food. She put a small pepperoni pizza in front of Russel, and, with a disgusted flourish, dropped a bowl full of lettuce in front of Joe. There was one, lone, albino tomato slice lying on top. Joe poked at it with a water-spotted fork, then lifted up one limp leaf. It was shiny in the light, and dripped with oil and vinegar dressing. "There's more grease on my salad than on your pizza," he said. "Yep," Russell said. He bit into a piece with enthusiasm. "You eat here often?" "Most days," Russell answered. "How come your arteries haven't turned to stone?" "The station-house coffee cleans 'em right out. Works pretty well on the drains, too." Joe shuddered. "Maybe I wasn't hungry after all." "Live a little," Russell said, handing him a slice of pizza. "Uh

[Look, forward motion of what I think may possibly be a plot. Or a sub-plot. Something like that. And a title!] Detective Russell parked his car in one of the empty handicapped spots in front of the Maple Building. He wasn't sure what, past the sign labeling it, distinguished it from the Oak, Spruce, Chestnut, or Birch Buildings he'd passed, but he supposed the cookie-cutter office buildings required cookie cutter names. And they were all cookie-cutter, a half dozen buildings, three story glass boxes set at 'exciting' angles, with sections of grass, the occasional picnic table, and a few trees. He remembered when it had all been corn fields and cow pastures. He figured it was lucky it was nearly noon, since otherwise the reflections of the sun off the buildings was probably blinding. He got out of his car, straightened his tie, and strode up to the entrance. The whole building was the offices of Powell Enterprises. From what he'd found they provided payroll and human resources services for companies that didn't want to have their own departments. They were, so far as he could tell, completely legit. The receptionist at the front desk was well dressed, blonde, and aesthetically proportioned. She gave him an appraising look and a smile that made it clear she knew what she was doing, too. "Welcome to Powell Enterprises. How can I help you?" Steve showed his badge and smiled his own professional smile. "Detective Russell," he said. "I'd like to speak with Joe Hennesy, please." "Certainly, sir," she said. She picked up the phone and hesitated for a moment. "Should I call security first?" "I think that won't be necessary," he said. As he tucked his badge back inside his jacket pocket he made sure to flash his gun. Her eyes widened just a little. She dialed a number from memory. "Joan? Could you ask Mister Hennesy to come to the front desk? There's a police detective here to speak with him." She listened for a moment. "No, I don't think you should say. Just ask him to come down. Thanks, Joan." She hung up the phone. "He'll be right down, Detective Russell. Would you like to have a seat?" "No, thank you," he said. He only had to wait a minute before Joe rushed in. He was dressed well, in a tailored charcoal grey suit that accentuated his slender body. His hair was a little mussed, and he looked like he'd been running. "Carol, what's going on? Joan said

More's on the way. I'm in the middle of 9, and know what 10's going to be. I'm a little unsure as to where things go from there, since the story's taken a serious turn from where I had originally planned. This is a bit stream-of-consciousness, so I'm nearly as in the dark as everyone else is. (Possibly more, since I had a relatively solid idea where things were going, but that turns out not to be all that close to where they actually are...) I think I'll be flipping the switch on future installments as I write them, or every couple of days, whichever's longer. I figure I'm better off with a semi-regular release schedule of these mini-chapters than I am blasting out a whole wad of 'em at once then having a week or two delay because the train's too crowded to do any writing on.

[Another chunk 'o story, quite by surprise. I hadn't expected to get here quite this fast] Thursdays Joe went clubbing for fun. Not anything serious, and since he'd started dating Alex certainly not to get laid, but just fun. Drink some, dance some, be around people and have a good time. He enjoyed it, and what was wrong with that? He could lose himself in the music, let the last bits of the workday drain away, and just relax. It had been a kind of shitty day at work, but then last night had been kind of shitty too. When Detective Russell had dropped him back at his car he found the window still open, and the driver's seat was soaked. He got to drive home sitting in wet, and remembered he needed a towel in the morning only after he'd sat down. It'd been downhill from there. It didn't matter, though. The music washed over him as he stepped into the club and it took everything away with it. Joe smiled and started to move with the beat as he walked into the building, pushing his way through the small crowd towards the bar. "Joe!" The bartender waved and moved over to him. "Hey Tony." Joe gave him a smile. They'd dated briefly, years ago. It hadn't worked but they'd stayed friends. "The usual?" Tony didn't wait for the answer, filling a glass even as he spoke. "You bet," Joe said, draining half the drink. The ginger ale was fizzy. "When're you gonna move up to real drinks?" Tony asked. "When you stop needing alcohol to look good," Joe replied. They did this just about every night the club was quiet enough to joke around. In truth Joe didn't drink because he didn't like what he saw. He had never been sure if the monsters he saw when he was drunk were real or only in his mind, but either way it was more than enough to keep him sober. "Saw Alex in here earlier," Tony said. Joe perked up. Alex was exactly what he needed. "Thanks, man," he said, dropping a five on the bar. Tony cheerfully flipped him off as he swept the bill into the tip jar stuck back amongst the vodka bottles. Tony never let him pay for soda, so Joe always left a tip and ran before Tony could hand it back. Joe didn't care, his job paid more than well enough to afford a few bucks for drinks. Joe scanned the dance floor looking for Alex. He found him, the sole shirt in a clump of shirtless young men, his dancing wild and graceful. Joe smiled for a moment before he slid in behind him, wrapping his arms around Alex and kissing him on the shoulder. Alex moved his head obligingly to one side, giving Joe clear access to the side of his neck. The body under Joe's arms was well muscled with just a little bit of padding, the body of someone who worked, not worked out. Not perfect, not cut, but strong and a little yielding, and comfortable to be against. Joe nuzzled into Alex's neck, just enjoying being wrapped around the man he loved. And he did love Alex, deeply, though Joe hadn't yet come out and said it. Alex slowed his dancing but didn't stop. The two of them swayed together like that for a while, moving towards the edge of the floor as they did. Alex had his eyes closed, enjoying Joe's ministrations. When the song stopped, Alex turned in Joes' arms and the two kissed deeply. "I missed you, babe," Joe said as they came up for air. Alex smiled. "Tough day?" He worked Joe's shoulders, kneading out the tension that was in them. Joe sighed and purred. Joe pulled back abruptly and smacked Alex on the shoulder. "What was that for?" Alex asked. He smiled at his boyfriend anyway. The smack hadn't hurt, it was just Joe's way of getting his attention. "You never told me you had a twin brother." Alex's smile faltered. "Um, well

Twins? Maaaaaybe. Or... maybe not! As I write this I'm halfway through chapter 7, and the three leads are absolutely certain they know who Alex is. The three answers are, of course, mutually exclusive. As soon as I figure it out I'll be sure... well, I'll be sure to tease the hell out of people for a while as I make sure I've got the right answer.

D'oh! Yes. Fixed. Thanks!

[Yeah, yeah, short. I'm trying to write every day, shooting for ~1k words. Haven't quite managed, but at least the story's moving forward. A new chunk every day I write one, keeping a few in the can as a buffer, in case I finally figure out what's going on and need to throw out stuff] Thursday morning Steve caught Chris at the coffee machine. True to stereotype there was a box of donuts, but since they were plastic, decorative, and someone's idea of a joke that was probably OK. The muffins, on the other hand were real. And far worse for you than the donuts were, but that's life. "Only two more days of traffic duty, man," Steve said as he poured himself some coffee. It was black, strong, and would melt pennies. It was just the way he liked it. Chris just grunted as he poured his own cup. He hated traffic duty with a passion. It meant too much driving, too much sitting on his ass, and too many people trying to lie about how fast they were going. It always gave him a headache. Especially the lying part. "It's your own fault," Steve said. "You shouldn't have told the Captain to go f**K off." Chris gave Steve an evil look. "I was sick. And he was being an ass." "And that's so rare around here," he replied, reaching for the last chocolate, chocolate chip, walnut muffin. Chris snatched the thing off the plate and took a bite, looking straight at Steve. "Bastard," he said, without heat. "Yeah. And?" "You never told me you had a twin brother," Steve said. "I don't." "But that picture