Reading Sample of "Distorted Lullaby"

Good evening, may I tempt you with a reading sample of Distorted Lullaby?

Distorted Lullaby

Chapter One: A Shocking Crime:

November 1st, 2012.

The remote town of Patterson, Colorado awoke from the mundane to a violent murder investigation on the morning after Halloween.

“Mr. Grey, I’m here to weed your ditch for the last time this season!” the teenage neighborhood garden boy shouted as he rang the door bell at 108 Wendell Drive. “Mr. Grey! Mr. Grey?” He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the screen. The tiny numbers read 7:45 a.m. I’m here on time, the garden boy thought. He looked at the front door. They usually are up by now. After ringing the bell three more times and pounding on the door for extra measure, the garden boy wandered around to the backyard and peeked over the gate. He noticed the tips of  brown hair poking out around the corner of the house.


“Mr. Grey?” he asked. “Are you back here? Mr. Grey?” All of the color drained from the boy’s fat face when he found forty-two year old Trevor Grey near the stone pathway lying in a pool of his own blood. He stumbled away with his phone tightly clutched in his hand. It didn’t take him long to dial 911.

Within minutes, three police officers scanned the backyard for clues while the coroner examined Trevor’s body. The blows repeatedly covered the victim’s head, neck, back, and shoulders. Most of the damage crushed his skull, causing a massive hemorrhage. One of the three cops on the scene took pictures of the body before placing down the number for the crime scene.

The weapon appeared be the slender heavy metal pipe carelessly dropped on the ground inches away from the body. Maybe Mr. Grey and one of his drinking buddies got into it last night and the violence escalated to murder? The two remaining cops, one a middle-aged man and the other a female rookie about twenty-three years old, looked at the body shaking their heads.

“Liver temp says he’s been dead for at least seven hours,” the old coroner said, looking up at them. The Hispanic rookie knelt down next to the bloody corpse in front of them.

“You think he got what was coming to him for a long time?” she asked her senior partner. The rookie held up her camera and took another picture before the coroner turned the body over. Her older partner shrugged with his morning coffee in hand.

“Seems that way,” he replied deep in thought. “What do you believe happened?” The rookie rose to her feet as she tried to picture a scenario in her head.

“Well, he could’ve gotten into a fight and the other person killed him,” she said. She tried to think of something else, but shook her head. “That’s all I have right now,” the rookie admitted. “We don’t have the full picture yet.”

“That is correct,” her partner answered. “Which is why it is a good place to start is looking at the victim’s history.” The rookie nodded as she remembered stories around the station of how the police kept coming to this house one too many times on complaints of the victim’s drunken and violent behavior. In truth, everyone hated Mr. Grey, but yet they feared him all the same. When he was intoxicated, violence always followed. If anyone got Trevor angry, they would be lucky to be alive by the time he was finished tearing them to pieces. Even the neighborhood garden boy hated coming over to 108 Wendell drive to do yard work.

“I would try my best to get the job finished as quickly as I could,” he told the cops when they first arrived on the scene. “I would hate to know what he would do to me if he disapproved of my work.”

“Then why come back to this house summer after summer?” the middle-aged cop asked him. The garden boy shuffled his feet.

“Mr. Grey paid me really well,” he answered. “He did scare me, but I needed the money. I’m going away to college this summer.” The rest of the neighborhood gave frightening stories about how Trevor would damage property and start fights every time he came home from drinking at the local bar with his co-workers from road construction. However, no one knew exactly what to do or how to fix the problem. In the end, they just let him be.

Probably someone got fed up with his pathetic senseless violence and finally took a stand. Maybe overdid a touch, but they certainly got their point across. The police could understand if this turned out to be a case of self-defense from this savage animal. Heck, from what they heard, everyone in the town would love to shake the culprit’s hand. But who did this phenomenal job? So many suspects to choose from in this town and the police didn’t know where to begin. However, the story took a sharp curve on them. Turns out, the answer was closer than they thought, inches closer, to be exact.

“Hey, guys!” the third officer called out. “I found his wife!” The rookie and her senior partner looked in shock as they walked over to their colleague. The wife, Maureen Grey, sat on the ground trembling. She bit down repeatedly on her thumb, making it bleed. Her hands, face, neck, and clothes were all covered in blood while bruises did the same thing to her skin. She had tiny cuts on her wrists and handprints on her neck. Both of her eyes were badly black. The tiny woman looked as if she was high on drugs. Dried tears stained her otherwise beautiful face while new ones streamed down her battered cheeks. She looked cold from the Halloween night before. She moved her lips as if mumbling something under her breath. They tried to listen in, but the police couldn’t make out what she was saying. Mrs. Grey seemed to be replaying last night’s events over and over in her head and couldn’t turn them off. She looked like she could break easily if someone touched her. The older colleague examined her closely as the rookie slowly leaned forward to the poor woman.

Did you enjoy the read? You check/purchase my book at this address.

Happy reading! 🙂

–Signed, Noizchild

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