Post by lightfire on May 29, 2008 17:31:10 GMT -4
This is about the painting Nighthawks. In English, we had to choose a picture from five my teacher gave us and write a story based on it. I hope you like it!
If you've never seen Nighthawks, you can go here to see it.
The Man I've Been Waiting For
“Are you sure you can do this?” Harvard asked.
“Yes,” I replied steadily. “I’m ready. I can do this.”
“Maggie, you’re the only one can.” Harvard clapped his hand on my shoulder. His brown hair flopped into red-rimmed eyes. The days of no sleep and our current case had taken their toll on Jerry M. Harvard.
I sat at my computer. It was the third week since my undertaking the task: I had made no progress.
I logged onto the internet. I had one new message on my email account. It was titled Tip. I read it with increasing excitement. It was a tip-off! The guy-the serial killer-had been spotted! We must take the utmost care not to alert him.
I sighed and leaned back against my chair. This serial killer had been on the loose for months. He had jumped from city to city, town to town, and, having no specific category for his victims, was extremely hard to get wind of.
Recently, however, we (my agency) had started seeing clues: every murder had the same signature on it. His signature-two X’s in a pattern that formed a perfect diamond in the center, usually burned into a surface.
And my tip-off had come from a trusted networker, a former client who often sent me news of murders and kidnappings.
My phone rang. I sighed and answered it inattentively.
“Hello?” the caller said.
“Hello, this is Margaret Stewart’s office. May I help you?”
“Maggie, this is Harvard. We just got another murder for the file.”
“When are we?” I asked.
“The 31st. On 31st street.”
“I just got a tip-off. I’ll check this place out.”
“See ya around, Mags.” Harvard hung up.
I walked to 31st street on the intersectin with washingtn, my office’s street. There was a taped-off sction about twenty blocks or so o=ro my left, way off in the distance. My 20/20 vision and the sloping road enabled me to see it. Made sure that the “invisi-cam” on my mirrored sunglasses was in place and ready to go; then I put them on. It was reasonable, actually: The day was quickly going to 90 and beyond.
The taped-off section was marked by POLICE ONLY signs and caution tape. I stepped over it and scanned the area for police officers.
“Maggie again?” someone behind me said gruffly. I whirled around.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Summers,” I greeted the experienced sergeant. “I. . . came to investigate.” I grasped my clutcth tightly.
“Feel free to do whatever. But you know the policy, --”
“Yes,I know, don’t move anything,” I told him whiel rollong my eyes affectionately. “Thank you for reminding me anyway. I just might forget.”
“O’course, Ms. Stewart. Any time,” Mr. Summers called as I walked away, calling my bluff. I smiled mischievously.
Getting back to business, I strode briskly to the body. It appeared to be a young man, of about 19 years of age. His beard was still undeveloped and his hazel eyes still widened in shock. I leaned down and carefully searched the ground around him.
“Miss, are you from a detective agency?” someone asked. “If not, please remove yourself from the scene. Someone as delicate as you shouldn’t have to see such gruesomeness.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I said over my shoulder, still focused on the ground. “I’m okay.”
“Seriously,” he insisted. “Please remove yourself. You shouldn’t be examining a dead body.”
“I’m a detective,” I assured him, still concentrating for the telltale mark of the murderer.
“All right, but if you find anything, please leave,” he persisted. I stood up, turned around, and started in surprise. He was handsome, with a white hat pulled over his eyes, which sparkled a brilliant green in the hat’s shadow.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss . . .” He offered his hand shyly.
“Stewart,” I supplied warmly. I took his hand, equally as shy as he.
“I’m Dan.” He smiled.
There was an awkward pause as we assessed each other. Then we both smiled into each other’s eyes. He obviously liked what he saw; I did, at least.
“Do you want to meet for dinner?” Dan’s expression was carefully blank.
“Of course.”
“Where should I pick you up?” he asked, his face suddenly eager.
“My office is on Washington, all the way down there, on the right,” I explained, pointing in that direction. “It’s the third building on the right side, an alabaster.”
“Okay. Is 5:30 a good time for you?” I nodded.
“I’ll leave you to your investigating, then,” Dan murmured. He pressed his lips to my hand. I watched him leave in shock.
My search yielded the murderer’s mark. That’s the second one this week, I thought with a sigh. I had left the scene with a sense of impending doom.
Dan was true to his word and picked me up from my office at 5:30. He drove a sleek black sedan that ran completely on electricity. I was left to stare at all of the strange devices and gadgets on the dashboard. He explained to me as we drove that his parents were inventors and they were getting the car patented.
At 6, we pulled up to an expensive Italian restaurant. We had a formal dinner, and I was glad I was still in office clothing. It was formal enough for the dim candles and romantic setting of the huge property.
“I’ll take you to my aunt’s house,” Dan told me, brushing his fingers against my hair. “I think you’ll like it.” There was a pause as we waited for the waiter to bring our check. “So, what were you doing at the murder site today?”
“Oh, well, my agency is investigating all of the murders in Philadelphia. A lot of the murders across the country are connected.”
“How?” Dan leaned forward. “What did you find out so far?” There was an urgent note in his voice I couldn’t identify.
“So far, every murder we’ve added to our file has the same design burned somewhere.”
Dan’s eyes grew wide. “So how close are you to solving this thing?”
“Not very,” I sighed. “None of the clues fit. Sometimes he leaves a message, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s a grandmother, sometimes a young girl, sometimes a teenager. Sometimes it’s a middle-aged man, sometimes it’s a teacher in her twenties, sometimes a doctor in his 50’s. It’s so frustrating! The only thing that is for sure is the design.”
He abruptly stood up. “We’ll go to my aunt’s house in Ardmore. It’s a huge place. I think she and you will get along quite well.”
We drove in silence to his aunt’s house. She was a grand, beautiful lady close to 40. She led us to her back lawn, which was indeed a huge place. Dan and I sat alone there, watching the stars alone for the remaining hours of the night.
At midnight, Dan rose and gently pulled me up. I whispered, “Will you aunt let us--”
“Shh!” he murmured. And he kissed me there. My heart ached as it had never ached before. I guessed then that he was the man I had been looking for my whole life.
“If we keep on doing this, it might end up far from harmless!” I gasped when he finally pulled away. I sank to the ground and fainted just as strong arms caught me.
I came conscious within the hour. It was almost one, and I was in a chaise lounge in Dan’s aunt’s parlor. Dan was leaning over me with a worried look on his face.
“I think you’re okay now,” he whispered. “Do you want to catch an early breakfast for energy?” I nodded weakly, so he helped me stand up and walk to the car.
We arrived at a café called Phillies at about one-fifteen. Amazingly, it was open.
“I work here,” he explained. “My shift is at 4.” He ordered us both coffee. I sipped mine gratefully and set it down on the side farthest from Dan, on my left.
“I just started this site,” he told me confidentially. “The design is like this.” He drew the murderer’s sign on the counter with his finger. I shook uncontrollably.
Because obviously, Dan was the murderer I had been searching for.
Isn’t it ironic? I think he’s the man I’ve been looking for my whole life.
And he is.
If you've never seen Nighthawks, you can go here to see it.
The Man I've Been Waiting For
“Are you sure you can do this?” Harvard asked.
“Yes,” I replied steadily. “I’m ready. I can do this.”
“Maggie, you’re the only one can.” Harvard clapped his hand on my shoulder. His brown hair flopped into red-rimmed eyes. The days of no sleep and our current case had taken their toll on Jerry M. Harvard.
I sat at my computer. It was the third week since my undertaking the task: I had made no progress.
I logged onto the internet. I had one new message on my email account. It was titled Tip. I read it with increasing excitement. It was a tip-off! The guy-the serial killer-had been spotted! We must take the utmost care not to alert him.
I sighed and leaned back against my chair. This serial killer had been on the loose for months. He had jumped from city to city, town to town, and, having no specific category for his victims, was extremely hard to get wind of.
Recently, however, we (my agency) had started seeing clues: every murder had the same signature on it. His signature-two X’s in a pattern that formed a perfect diamond in the center, usually burned into a surface.
And my tip-off had come from a trusted networker, a former client who often sent me news of murders and kidnappings.
My phone rang. I sighed and answered it inattentively.
“Hello?” the caller said.
“Hello, this is Margaret Stewart’s office. May I help you?”
“Maggie, this is Harvard. We just got another murder for the file.”
“When are we?” I asked.
“The 31st. On 31st street.”
“I just got a tip-off. I’ll check this place out.”
“See ya around, Mags.” Harvard hung up.
I walked to 31st street on the intersectin with washingtn, my office’s street. There was a taped-off sction about twenty blocks or so o=ro my left, way off in the distance. My 20/20 vision and the sloping road enabled me to see it. Made sure that the “invisi-cam” on my mirrored sunglasses was in place and ready to go; then I put them on. It was reasonable, actually: The day was quickly going to 90 and beyond.
The taped-off section was marked by POLICE ONLY signs and caution tape. I stepped over it and scanned the area for police officers.
“Maggie again?” someone behind me said gruffly. I whirled around.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Summers,” I greeted the experienced sergeant. “I. . . came to investigate.” I grasped my clutcth tightly.
“Feel free to do whatever. But you know the policy, --”
“Yes,I know, don’t move anything,” I told him whiel rollong my eyes affectionately. “Thank you for reminding me anyway. I just might forget.”
“O’course, Ms. Stewart. Any time,” Mr. Summers called as I walked away, calling my bluff. I smiled mischievously.
Getting back to business, I strode briskly to the body. It appeared to be a young man, of about 19 years of age. His beard was still undeveloped and his hazel eyes still widened in shock. I leaned down and carefully searched the ground around him.
“Miss, are you from a detective agency?” someone asked. “If not, please remove yourself from the scene. Someone as delicate as you shouldn’t have to see such gruesomeness.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I said over my shoulder, still focused on the ground. “I’m okay.”
“Seriously,” he insisted. “Please remove yourself. You shouldn’t be examining a dead body.”
“I’m a detective,” I assured him, still concentrating for the telltale mark of the murderer.
“All right, but if you find anything, please leave,” he persisted. I stood up, turned around, and started in surprise. He was handsome, with a white hat pulled over his eyes, which sparkled a brilliant green in the hat’s shadow.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss . . .” He offered his hand shyly.
“Stewart,” I supplied warmly. I took his hand, equally as shy as he.
“I’m Dan.” He smiled.
There was an awkward pause as we assessed each other. Then we both smiled into each other’s eyes. He obviously liked what he saw; I did, at least.
“Do you want to meet for dinner?” Dan’s expression was carefully blank.
“Of course.”
“Where should I pick you up?” he asked, his face suddenly eager.
“My office is on Washington, all the way down there, on the right,” I explained, pointing in that direction. “It’s the third building on the right side, an alabaster.”
“Okay. Is 5:30 a good time for you?” I nodded.
“I’ll leave you to your investigating, then,” Dan murmured. He pressed his lips to my hand. I watched him leave in shock.
My search yielded the murderer’s mark. That’s the second one this week, I thought with a sigh. I had left the scene with a sense of impending doom.
Dan was true to his word and picked me up from my office at 5:30. He drove a sleek black sedan that ran completely on electricity. I was left to stare at all of the strange devices and gadgets on the dashboard. He explained to me as we drove that his parents were inventors and they were getting the car patented.
At 6, we pulled up to an expensive Italian restaurant. We had a formal dinner, and I was glad I was still in office clothing. It was formal enough for the dim candles and romantic setting of the huge property.
“I’ll take you to my aunt’s house,” Dan told me, brushing his fingers against my hair. “I think you’ll like it.” There was a pause as we waited for the waiter to bring our check. “So, what were you doing at the murder site today?”
“Oh, well, my agency is investigating all of the murders in Philadelphia. A lot of the murders across the country are connected.”
“How?” Dan leaned forward. “What did you find out so far?” There was an urgent note in his voice I couldn’t identify.
“So far, every murder we’ve added to our file has the same design burned somewhere.”
Dan’s eyes grew wide. “So how close are you to solving this thing?”
“Not very,” I sighed. “None of the clues fit. Sometimes he leaves a message, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s a grandmother, sometimes a young girl, sometimes a teenager. Sometimes it’s a middle-aged man, sometimes it’s a teacher in her twenties, sometimes a doctor in his 50’s. It’s so frustrating! The only thing that is for sure is the design.”
He abruptly stood up. “We’ll go to my aunt’s house in Ardmore. It’s a huge place. I think she and you will get along quite well.”
We drove in silence to his aunt’s house. She was a grand, beautiful lady close to 40. She led us to her back lawn, which was indeed a huge place. Dan and I sat alone there, watching the stars alone for the remaining hours of the night.
At midnight, Dan rose and gently pulled me up. I whispered, “Will you aunt let us--”
“Shh!” he murmured. And he kissed me there. My heart ached as it had never ached before. I guessed then that he was the man I had been looking for my whole life.
“If we keep on doing this, it might end up far from harmless!” I gasped when he finally pulled away. I sank to the ground and fainted just as strong arms caught me.
I came conscious within the hour. It was almost one, and I was in a chaise lounge in Dan’s aunt’s parlor. Dan was leaning over me with a worried look on his face.
“I think you’re okay now,” he whispered. “Do you want to catch an early breakfast for energy?” I nodded weakly, so he helped me stand up and walk to the car.
We arrived at a café called Phillies at about one-fifteen. Amazingly, it was open.
“I work here,” he explained. “My shift is at 4.” He ordered us both coffee. I sipped mine gratefully and set it down on the side farthest from Dan, on my left.
“I just started this site,” he told me confidentially. “The design is like this.” He drew the murderer’s sign on the counter with his finger. I shook uncontrollably.
Because obviously, Dan was the murderer I had been searching for.
Isn’t it ironic? I think he’s the man I’ve been looking for my whole life.
And he is.