Chapter 4:
Four hours had passed since Blake had found himself lying on the grass holding the naked form of Sophia Lovejoy in his arms, and looking back on them, he couldn't help but feel flustered. Moments after the fire-engines had finally arrived, the roof caved in on what was once Sophie's beautiful home. As the fire-fighters continued their battle with the flames, a team of Paramedics arrived, and after gawking at the three survivors, loaded Sophie, and Mr. Johnson himself into an ambulance. One of the two patients was loaded more against his will than anything else, however, having a Sheriff order him to get treatment did help.
After getting to the hospital, they took Sophie into the intensive care unit for the burns to her chest, and the regions where her manacles had chafed at the skin, and eventually burned her in the heat of the blaze. Blake, however, was only admitted for minor burns on his shoulder, and those which he had received on his palms when he literally tried to tear his friend free, and half succeeded. After being thoroughly wrapped, medicated, and forced to down what felt like hundreds of gallons of water, a nurse had informed him that he was to be released, as per the Hope county Sheriff's orders. A relief for a man who absolutely despised hospitals.
After said release, he promptly dashed to the ICU, where a nurse told him Sophie was in stable condition, and would be moved to a regular hospital room within the next twenty-four hours. He had openly rejoiced at this, and requested it be passed along that he would be by to see her. And that he was glad she was doing well, considering the circumstances. He also advised the nurse to do a better job covering her ankle piece, for form's sake. Safe in the knowledge that she was safe, and would heal, Blake walked out the doors of the hospital and found a site worth beholding.
As the sun was turning the sky shades of orange and pink, almost to its setting phase, a blonde cop, erm, Sheriff, leaned against a black, Chevy Silverado, which gleamed in the sun with a freshly washed shine. Her eyes were closed as she let a peaceful visage rest upon her face. He stood there for a moment, taking her in, half out of uniform, before he spoke. "Howdy, officer." He had expected her to laugh, but instead, she opened her eyes, and smiling, she strode right up to him and kissed him hard and fast. That, he thought, was the best part of those four hours.
Closely followed by getting his truck back.
On the way to her house (he lived in a motel room, and she had a very deep need for home cooked food, a shower, and some real sleep), she had explained how seconds after they ended their call she had been on route towards Sophie, and how after they rescued her (he was stubbornly making her claim some credit, though she did adamantly and admirably refuse), she had filed her report, and checking the red light cam, sure enough, there he was, officially cleared of being a suspect (to which he replied "Damn, guess you don't get to use those cuffs on me..."), she then explained how she went back to the crime scene, hopped into his truck, and as she pulled out, had the last fire-engine give it a good rinse, before calling the hospital and ordering his release (because, dammit, they had a date, and she wasn't gonna' miss it), closely followed by her pulling up and waiting for him to come out.
By this point in her tale, he sat on a leather couch in Veronica Anderson's two bed, one and a half bath, brick house, which actually had a white picket fence (her response to him pointing this out was as follows: "So what? I like white things, old fashioned things, and anything that can be used as a weapon. You better believe I can rip up one of those pickets and stab you in a heartbeat." He didn't doubt it for a second, and actually shivered picturing it), a chimney, and a two car driveway. Inside the house he found all warm toned hardwood, so smooth that you could walk barefoot and never be afraid. The walls were all the same tone of cream, with burgundy trim, each door was made of a new kind of wood (solid, unlike most doors). She had old fashioned windows, each seemingly separated into four sections of glass by a warmly rosy tinted wood (red wood perhaps?). The fireplace was made of the same aged red stone bricks as the exterior, and had a wide mantle that was filled with pictures of her and a man, presumably her brother, he looked just like her. She didn't have a TV, rather than that, she had a very large bookshelf overflowing with books (none of which were sorted in any way, which made Blake's OCD fire over and over) and it sat next to a large standalone lamp and a comfy looking paupasaun. There was only one table in the living room, a single, short coffee table made of another warmly toned wood. Having never ventured farther into the house, he couldn't tell you how the rest of it looked, but judging from the living room, with its simple, leather furniture (a single couch, and two recliners) and simple wooden touches, he thought that it was probably simplistic in a refined sort of way.
It was only a few moments before Veronica strode into the living room where she'd left him, now however, she was out of uniform, and wearing a simple sweater that seemed to match the tones of the fire they had ran through earlier. It was an odd thought, one he was keen to keep to himself, until she started a fire in the fireplace. Bellowing with laughter he finally gave voice to his thoughts. "My, my, Sheriff, haven't you had enough fire for one day?" She looked away from the growing blaze, shot him a silent wink, and then, pushing another log into the fire, she stood, pivoted on her heel and walked silently back out of the room.
Being a male, as she walked out, his attention latched onto the farthest back portion of her "hips" and he grinned a bit. Even in loose wind pants, she walked as if she was wearing tight jeans, and a holster at that; it was a beautiful sight to behold. One he realized he would like to see more often. As she disappeared from view, he turned to gaze into the fire, and let his thoughts run about their wild way.
What was he doing? Seriously? Blake Johnson, player extraordinaire, and here he was sitting in a woman's house, getting ready to have a nice, sit down, stay in, second date. Second date? As in date number two? Was he kidding himself? He hadn't had a second date in... Never mind that. He refused to look back that far in his past. But, there was a point there... he wasn't waiting on just any woman to come back into her living room and have dinner with. He was waiting on Veronica Anderson, which was in itself a laughable statement for Mr. Casanova himself. Firstly, he remembered her name; something he only did with one other partner in his life for the longest... No, he wouldn't think of her. He couldn't. Moving forward, the second part that was so hard to believe was that, and man did he want to laugh at this (and maybe cry about), his tactics for pushing away every girl after he roped 'em in and gave 'em the ride of their life, had failed on... on... the Sheriff? Oh hell, his accent was even comin' out in his thoughts now.
How messed up was that?
He could get up and go, get the hell outta there, his truck was outside, and she was home after all, that certainly cut the guilt factor of leavin' her alone. He could do it, run, go, forget... and he was lyin' to himself again.
She wasn't like any of the countless women he'd been with since... anyhow... he didn't remember a single name, didn't get a single number, no address, never a second date. Never. It was always a one night stand (or rather a one night stand, sit, lay, roll on top, swap position... etcetera), he never once would've considered being with any of those women after they gave each other pure pleasure of the most hormonal kind. One night. That was his rule, one freakin' night and then it was "Yee-haw! Adios!" And he moved on to whatever number was next in line.
He shook his head slowly at that thought, leaning forward to put his head in his hands.
That was quite the high number.
That was him. The asshole. The player. The Casanova. The one night stand. Whew, he was startin' to feel better, if only he could calm down enough that he didn't sound like he had just got off a long horn at the Ranch. Hard to believe he had once actually been a cowboy. Pushing that to the back of his mind, he turned again to the situation at hand. Why was he caving in to this woman so easily? There, a question was always a good way to define any situation. Now if only he could just answer it before-
Warmth spread at the base of his neck, slowly pressure started to release as two pinpoints of soft pressure slowly eased away the knots at the base of his neck. She pulled him up as he let his body go slack and leaned back, arms spreading. "What's on your mind, lover boy?" Her voice was like silk as she slowly massaged the knots in his neck away. He was stunned, taken off his guard, and he knew that he was going to say way too much, but it felt so freakin' good. There he was, thinkin' in an accent again.
However, he didn't care a lick.
"Love... life... and the pursuit of... a damn good massage... I mean happiness." His voice betrayed him, and in it he could hear his own weariness, his slowly dying wall that held in his deepest secrets. He was sunk. Truly and utterly sunk.
She laughed, the same musical tone that drove him insane, even over the phone. Damn, he wasn't gonna last a minute if she ever decided to interrogate him. "I'd say, from my experience, a damn good massage is a great equivalent for happiness." Her words soothed him, opened him up, as he knew they were meant to, usually he would have resisted, but... he didn't want to fight this time. He wanted to let go, to stop holding everything inside. He had held it all in for so long... "Blake... you know she's safe now, right?"
He let her take a bit more pressure off his neck before he indulged the need to respond. "Yeah... thanks for that. How many men do you have on guard for her?" The feeling of spreading relief suddenly stopped. He felt her hands tense.
"How did you know I had guards set up for her?" Her voice still as soft as silk, wasn't focused on being seductive now, rather it seemed she had forgotten that she was playing the role of seducer, and had slipped back into the role of Sheriff, and now, a wary Sheriff at that.
Damn, just when the massage was gettin' good.
He spoke with the slightest of ease, not bothering extraneous details, there was no need. "Nurses don't carry guns. Or sit in an ICU room constantly. The red head has a piece on her hip and an ankle piece. She also doesn't have the slightest of clues how to check vital signs." The Sheriff gasped, and didn't bother hiding it. Well, if she wasn't going to hide anything, why should he?
*
"Nurses don't carry guns. Or sit in an ICU room constantly. The red head has a piece on her hip and an ankle piece. She also doesn't have the slightest of clues how to check vital signs." Veronica gasped, and no, she didn't bother hiding it. What was the point? It was obvious to her that he would have noticed her surprise either way, hell, he'd spotted Deputy Blevens easily. Then again, Reyna Blevens wasn't the best trained Officer for regular tasks, much less an undercover assignment. Shoot, Blevens was only in the office at all based on her technical skills, and that heart of gold. Veronica found it odd, however, that Blake had refrained from pointing out that he had made her Officer.
The Sheriff decided to leave that little conversation piece be, for the moment, no need to worry about it anyhow, he hadn't made the other two officers, and at least he hadn't pointed out that he had. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had in fact made them. Well, now it was time to get to the bottom of the country style mystery sitting in her living room, wasn't it? She almost laughed at the thought of Blake on a wanted picture, the heading reading "Suspected in Country Style Mystery, Reward offered for contributing information." The irony of it, she was the Sheriff after all, and she definitely wanted him.
Not very ladylike of a thought, but who cared?
"Do I still have to pay in Whiskey, or will Scotch do?" She asked, slowly moving her fingers along the side of his neck in smooth circles, each circuit seeming to put him ever so slightly more at ease. Oddly, it was putting her at ease too. It was weird to her just how that worked out. Either way, Veronica enjoyed this, being with another person. She had been alone for quite a long period, and was hungering for the connection.
She didn't think he realized just how much his accent was starting to show, nor, and she smiled at this, how attractive it really was. "Scotch will do, Sweetheart, ain't like I was really gonna' charge ya anyway." His voice was deep, and roughened like a wood grain just before sanding, maybe that was an after-effect of the smoke inhalation? Or was it something else, something she could blame on herself? That, was a really good thought.
"No payment then..." she leaned down, close to his ear, and whispered, slowly, as seductively as she could "Maybe I'll... make a donation..." she kissed his neck slowly, and feeling his pulse race beneath her lips she pulled back, and continued to massage his neck, taking care to lightly caress the spot where her lips had been, each circuit his pulse got a bit faster, and she smiled, a devilish grin. This would be fun. "But first... I have a few questions for you, Mr. Johnson." she said it with just a hint of playfulness added to each word, and realized she was driving her pulse up a bit too.
His voice was thick with sun dried wheat and the roughness of a very pissed longhorn. That was certainly an implement of torture to her. Fair was fair. "What would you like to know, Officer?" It was as if he put sensual emphasis on the word Officer, a precise use of emphasis meant to drive her crazy. For some reason she would never deny the fact that it worked, probably better than it should have. Definitely better than it should have.
"Why are you scared of... falling for a woman?" She knew almost immediately she should have waited, got deeper into the conversation, found some form of comfort for him before she asked the big questions. He tensed, all the knots she had just massaged out, every inch of relaxed muscle suddenly taunt, falling back into its usual stiff form. He had locked up on her, and just like that the safe snapped shut just beyond her reach.
"As opposed to... what?" His voice was tight, like the cord of a zip line. So much for being relaxed, so much for getting to the bottom of the mystery that presented itself to her in the form of Blake Johnson. Damn.
But she couldn't give up, not after barely trying, that wasn't her, would never be her. So she took a slow deep breath and walked around the couch, sitting next to him, she laid her hand on his. He looked away from her, staring deep into the fire, as if he was looking into another land, a different time. It hurt worse when he pulled his hand away from her. "Blake... it's killing you to hold it in... what is it?"
She was right, and she knew it. It was killing him, she could see it on his face, see the way his jaw muscles twitched just thinking of it, but that was the question, wasn't it? What was it? What could possibly strike a man of his obvious strength so deeply? He continued to gaze into the fire, and she felt she'd lost, but in a way, so had he. If only he'd let all that pain out, then at least they would both win, in a way. She looked into the flames then, these were an odd comfort while the ones they had faced earlier seemed to be threatening. An odd way to think, yet it was the only thing she could think of that wasn't-
"Five and a half years ago... that's when I started to fear what love could do to me." His voice stopped her mental words like a twelve car pile-up could stop traffic; instantly and unexpected. She turned to look at him, and squeezed his hand, seeing the anguish of memory on his eyes, she never let his hand go, only sat, listening, as he told a story that made her wonder how he survived all these years holding it inside.
*
Five and a half years before Blake Johnson woke up next to the beautiful blonde Sheriff of a town called Hope, he had woke up next to the brown eyed, brown haired beauty named Serenity Atkinson. Her skin fair, a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, bright green eyes, and a soft smile, she was perfect to him. Everything he would ever need, and she was proudly carrying the key to their eternal happiness, a soon to be born, bouncing baby girl, who would be named Katrina Louise Johnson. Life was perfect.
Having met in middle school when a particularly self-inflated bully had tried to force a kiss upon the unwilling Serenity, and a much smaller version of Blake Johnson had found it to be in his power to stop the self-inflated jerk (paying for his heroism with a nasty scar where the bully had tried to cut his eye out, and missed, scarring his nose), the two had instantly become friends, and watched each other date other people, each feeling incessantly jealous of the other's chosen partners, until, at last, the day before senior prom Blake Johnson, driving his best friend Serenity home from school, abruptly stopped in the middle of the road, and praying to every god he could think of, he kissed Serenity.
Her reaction was instantaneous, and instinctive, she smacked the hell out of him. Then, less than a second later, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him, long, and slow. Thus, they began their relationship, the happiest one either had ever had, each of them suddenly breaking it off with their previous partners, and making it known that they were (finally) together, the next day at prom.
Serenity's ex took it very well, not only moving on as if he'd only stopped at a red light that had suddenly turned green, he had another girl on his arm before the doors opened for Prom. However, the opposite was only half of the effect that was held over the stunning redhead Blake had been with until he finally got the guts to kiss the girl he truly wanted to be with. His ex was distraught, utterly crestfallen, and totally heartbroken. This would bite him in the ass in years to come, but at that moment, a small twinge of guilt was all he felt, telling himself that, logically speaking, had he lied to her that he truly wanted to be with her any longer, the effects would have been much worse.
Two years of pure joy passed, where the teenagers met the troubles of adulthood head on, Serenity, an ace at all things math and science, had taken a grand undertaking in college and the world of charitable donations. Blake, on the other hand, aimed not to further his education, but to use what he knew to help people as much as he could, and so began the freelance investigations of Mr. Johnson. Or so he told Veronica, in keeping with his oaths. Little did either of them realize that everywhere they went, somewhere in every memory they had over those two years, a pair of emerald tinted eyes glared into them, fiery red hair begged for their attention, and yet it was never given. Not once. And thus, their downfall.
Her name was Anna Stockholm, but soon Blake forgot it, the memories of Serenity seeming to obliterate those of Anna, the memories of Ann's lips on his, her body pressed needingly against his, all seemed to evaporate much the same way water does over time, but for her, there could be no other memories. For her, he was everything, for her, he was her dark obsession.
So it went, as time passed, she sat a table away in restaurants, watching Serenity order from her seat. She watched the harlot hold Blake's hand in the park, she watched the witch hold the hand that should have been holding her's. Anna watched as he spun the usurper beneath the stars, she watched as he kissed the thief's soft pink lips. She should have been spinning with him in love's dance, she should have been kissing him in that passionate embrace. All the while, he belonged to Serenity. That was wholly unacceptable. Absolutely wrong.
Yet, Anna continued to watch, never quite going over the edge, never quite snapping until... after two years she saw Serenity stride out of the bathroom and into view of the bedroom window. She was holding something... something thin, it was oddly shaped... what could it be? Then she saw them both, nearly jumping for joy, shouting something... it was barely audible out their open window but it sounded like... no it couldn't be possible... it Could Not be...
But it was. She was pregnant. He had slept with her, worse he had given that bitch everything, why the hell hadn't he given her that? Why?! What was so damn special about her?!?
The next day as the young, happy couple, strode through the mall, Anna fumed. She had had it with waiting, she had had it with Serenity taking her man. It had to stop!
Looking through Blake's eyes, the situation was far different. He was happy, the happiest he'd been in his life. It was perfect really, he had a hold on the perfect woman's hand, and in less than a year he would be holding his baby. Life was perfect. Life was beautiful. Life was filled with hope.
Yet as he walked he began to realize that they were being followed, every time they walked into a store, he realized, sitting on a bench in front of the store was the same red headed, green eyed woman, always staring at them intently, as if he were a treasure, and Serenity a thief. Odd as it was, he refused to let it aggravate him, or dampen his happiness, until the redhead made it an irrevocable must to deal with the situation, by calmly striding up to him, tapping his shoulder, and as he turned, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him down for a kiss.
Heat spread through his cheeks as he pushed her away, doing all he could to avoid physically hurting her, while at the same time, forcing as much space as possible between them. "What the hell?!?" He shouted it a bit louder than he had intended to, and as people turned, starting to look now, he knew that making a scene was officially inevitable. Oh well, what other choices did he have?
To his surprise, Serenity spoke with the smoothest of ease, her voice hiding any fury, but full disdain, had no chance of being concealed. "Long time no see, Red. Please continue to act as if we're still in high school, I dare you." He could almost see venom fly from her lips as heat lasered from her eyes. "Remember who walked away happy then, or did you forget prom?" He turned and looked at her, a look of curiosity and wonderment. What the hell could she have been talking about?
"Excuse me?!?" The redhead's voice was shrill with defiant rage. "You think you ever really took him from me? You think he actually cares for you, you bitch?!?" He spun facing the defiant and furious redhead, an anger burning so deep inside him, he was ready to- "Tell her Blake! Tell her how I was your first!! Tell her how we made love in the car you still drive!!! How we kissed beneath the stars, and named that shooting star after us!! Tell her you love ME!!!" Silence fell as he finally understood what was happening. Heat flooded his body as understanding dawned on him.
"Anna?!?" His voice was incredulous as he stared at the woman he now recognized to be his ex. "What the hell are you doing here?!? Damn, girl! Don't ya think it's 'bout time you give up?!?" He was royally pissed and as he turned to walk away, laying his arm on Serenity's shoulder, he heard his ex cry out a statement as chilling as Ice water running down his back.
"You'll never be happy Blake, if I can't be happy, neither can you, nor anybody else!" He could never tell you why that statement scared him so, and yet he calmed down as he got into their '69 GTO, and putting all that had happened in the mall out of his mind, he started the engine with its usual grind, and smiling, he pulled out of his spot and onto the road.
Nearly seven months of happiness passed before the pieces of his memory became jumbled bits of flashes at best. The feel of Serenity's hand soft and warm, secure in his. A green light flashing at the exact same moment as a musical laugh. The flash of light through the passenger window, a fog horn like sound from feet away. A shrill scream. Terrible, red hot pain all across the right side of his body. Utterly complete darkness.
*
By this point in his story Veronica was stunned, and very nearly in tears, yet the now much less mysterious man continued to speak. "I... I didn't wake up for five days." She squeezed his hand at this, his attention still locked in the flames, eyes red and puffy though tears had yet to fall, his left arm tenser than she had ever seen it. "The nurses wouldn't tell me at first... no one would... they only talked about me." She squeezed his hand tighter at this, and looking intently at him she spoke for the first time since he'd started his tale.
"Blake... what'd they say?" She wondered for a moment if he'd answer and found that he would as he took a calming breath before he spoke again. His voice still wavered, but now it was building in strength, getting steadier.
"Four surgeries. I went under twice. There was so much glass, not to mention that a few pieces were embedded in my lungs. They said it was a miracle I'd survived. Much less ever walk again..." he looked as if he could feel all the pain all over again, as if he was reliving it all once more. She shivered imagining that. "It took two days for someone to tell me... she was gone on scene..." a tear finally slid down his cheek, a single drop of water that glistened in the fire light like a bright diamond. "They never caught the other driver... hit and run, no prints in the cabin, just a shopping bag from the mall with a receipt dating back about seven months..." Veronica stared at him, and it all began to fit into place for her.
"No prints on the bag either?" He only shook his head. She knew then, almost immediately, why he was afraid to be with anyone else. "She's still out there. You think it's her, don't you? You think it's your ex?" He didn't answer, didn't do more than nod. Never had to do more than nod.
She sat there, staring into the fire, his hand in hers. Here was a man who had once had everything. He had his perfect profession, one that explained why he seemed to notice so much at that. He had his perfect girl, awoke to her every morning, felt her heartbeat each night. He had a baby on the way, his child, and his sweet darling child. Then he lost it all. After all that, what had Blake Johnson become?
A tear of anger slid over her cheek as she thought. He had lost everything. Ran, as fast and as far as his beat up Blazer could take him. He had lost his home. He gave up hope. Gave up on love. He even gave up who he was, choosing to hide his pain deep inside. He let his heart die, sacrificing it so that he could find a shred of peace. It was saddening, deeply, and darkly saddening. After becoming a helper of the people, a man of bright, powerful light hearted happiness, he lost everything, and became... a shell. A man whose only ambition was to drive his black Chevy to a bar each night, sleep with a different woman, and awake the next day pleased in a primal way that would never equal the love he once had. He was broken. Shattered. Doing his best to become scum. Could he become that? Could he really?
She didn't think so. He may have tried his hardest, but that didn't mean he succeeded. Yeah, she had to admit, he had managed to bed more women than was morally righteous. So he was dealing with his grief with an extremely sexually stimulated life. But this was also the man who, less than twenty-four hours before this, had sped, drifted, and broke three laws to save a life. In all honesty, if he hadn't run in that blaze, Sophia Lovejoy would have been unceremoniously cremated, and when Veronica had arrived, she might have ended up meeting the same fate. Yet, something was still stabbing her in the heart. Why the hell hadn't he tried to get Anna? "Blake... Why didn't you go after Anna? Get her somehow, make her admit it?"
Watching his reaction, she understood almost immediately, an understanding that happened to solidify her belief that he wasn't as bad as most would have her believe. "What, get revenge? Hell no, sorry Sheriff, that's out of the question." Before she even had time to ask why he answered her. "Serenity believed that to get revenge brings you to the same level as your adversary. I will never be on the same level as the bitch that took my life from me." Anger was hot in his voice as he spoke. "She was and will always be a murderer, unworthy of forgiveness, so she can go to hell. I just won't send her there, not while I honor Serenity's memory." Veronica had her mystery solved but she had just one more question to ask, and he didn't waste time responding.
"What will you do if she tries to hurt you, or those you love again?"
"I never fell back in love, so she wouldn't. But if the friggin' bitch tries to take any of the people I love from me again..." his accent was the thick accent of a very pissed off rancher from the Wild West. She could already picture him wearing a gun belt and twin revolvers. "There ain't a place on earth as hot as the hell I'm gonna' put her in." The way he said it left no doubt that was the reason he was wearing a four inch long blade. Revenge may have been out of the question, but the Sheriff knew that if it came down to first or third-party self-defense... she'd help bury the body before she even thought about hauling Blake to jail.
*
Blake wouldn't admit vocally that he felt better after he finally told someone, but the fact of the matter was simple, he did. Even if he had fudged a few of the details. He was still tense when Veronica let go of his hand, and kissing him on the forehead, walked out of the room.
He sat there, his thoughts swirling in his mind like a raging tempest as he starred once more into the flames. Why had he told Veronica Anderson so much of the truth? Was it because she was the Sheriff? Was it because she was stunningly beautiful? Or maybe it was because she was brave enough to risk her life for Sophie? No, he knew deep down that it was for another reason all together. Veronica Anderson wasn't just the exceedingly brave and stunningly beautiful Sheriff of Hope, Texas. No, she was more than that, she was genuinely caring, and not only had she asked why he was afraid, but she had listened to his answer. Not only did she notice he was afraid, she cared about the reason why. To top that off, she had trusted him, enough to let him into her home. Trust was very valuable to him. That being said, where in the hell was she?
His question was answered a moment later when she strode back in, and tossed her cell on the couch, before walking to the kitchen and shouting "Blake, dear, what would you like for dinner?" Blake never answered her, due to the fact that as she asked, she received a text, and as soon as he read it, scrolling by on her screen, he was already sprinting to the door, knife drawn. The time had come at last.
*
Less than five minutes before her date dashed out her door, armed and ready to kill, Veronica Anderson walked to her bedroom, and pulling out her cell, made a very fateful call.
The space where Veronica spent the most time in her day to day life reflected the same style as the rest of her house. It was simple, warm toned wood made for the base of the room in the form of the floor, burgundy trim was also found here, however the wall paint was a warmer tone than cream, closer, she thought to a sunset pink. The walls were bare of pictures, as the only member of her family left, her brother, was already well represented above her fireplace. Instead of pictures, there was a single safe, containing multiple forms of firearms, and an extensive store of ammunition. There was also a single gun rack less than a foot from her bed that held a constantly loaded, pump action, twelve gauge, shotgun, and two forty-four caliber magnum revolvers, also constantly loaded.
The dial tone ended shortly after it started, to be replaced by the pixie like voice of a woman who had, until moments before that, been wearing a nurses outfit. "Blevens. We just swapped out Sheriff, I would give you more but that's all I've got." Reyna Blevens didn't hide the Yankee in her voice, she was born, and raised in Brooklyn, proud of it. However, she was prouder to consider herself a Texan, and a Texas Law Hand at that.
Veronica, who could never help but smile at the mix of pixie pitch and Brooklyn stick, was grinning as she spoke. "I know Reyna, you're doin' great, seriously. But I need a favor, and make it quick, alright?" The silence on the other end of the phone for a single second was all the confirmation she needed. "Run a search on the name Anna Stockholm. She'd be about twenty five now, red hair, and green eyes, from north Texas. Cover your bases and run the search with violent tendencies-"
One of the reasons the Hope Police Department was so keen to pick up Reyna Blevens was that they needed a tech wiz, and Blevens was the best. Top scores out of the academy in all things technology were good enough to get her into the Hope department, even if every one of her other scores was mediocre at best, and here was a prime example of why she was where she was in the department. "Twenty four years, eight months, two weeks, three days old, Anna graduated from Midlothian High School, moved to Fort Worth, Texas two weeks out of School, says she has priors for Drunk Driving and an Assault Charge. There's a sealed file from a hit and run investigation in Fort Worth from about five years ago, not enough evidence for holding though. Ma'am, two fatalities in that case, one an unborn child of a Miss Serenity Atkinson, the other deceased, and a-" Veronica had expected Reyna to get the information, but not nearly that much, and certainly not so instantaneously, she cut of her tech officer mid-sentence.
"I know, she's our only lead in the Lovejoy arson, run a cell track if you can, maybe we'll get lucky and she'll be on the phone, text me your results ASAP. Gotta go. Good work Blevens." With that, she let the line go dead. Strapping her favorite Magnum to her hip, a gift from her brother, she turned and strode through the living room, tossing her cell as she went. "Blake, dear, what would you like for dinner?"
He never answered, and only the door banging against her entry hall wall gave her time to glance out the window and see him charge the red convertible that sat across the street, red hair glinting from the driver seat, a cell phone pressed to the woman's face. Well what do ya' know, it was her lucky night.
Note for the Readers:
Hey, Justyn here. I just wanted to thank you for reading this far into the book. Listen, Blake Johnson has been a major project of mine for years. To me, this book is like a life's work. These characters truly are alive in a way, in the pages of these tales, and in my mind. I hope they are for you too. There are about to be some major events for the InfinityVerse and for Blake Johnson as a whole, and I'd like you to be there for this journey. So, please, head on over to facebook of instagram when you have a chance and Search hoganbooks or hogans.books on insta, and give the page a follow so you'll get to be a part of this next chapter. Thanks everyone!
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