marcostrago
Member
Chapter One
Harry Lordsmith, 35, and divorced for five years for reasons that were quite different from the mechanical, almost rehearsed ones he’d give you, drove down Lincoln Boulevard in his raggedy, old white Ford Escort, it’d jerk every once and a while, due to the timing being off. It had covered too many miles, and seen the inside of one too many shops to still be on the road, but through a fluke or some sheer miracle it kept on going. And that was enough for him.
He was on his way home, his eyes straight forward on the road, squinting due to the sun shining brightly and reflecting off his windshield, as it always did this time of year. His mind was clear and calm. The first time it had been that way in nearly five years, ever-since everything that was good in his life had fallen apart. Beatrice Lordsmith, now 30, had been hospitalized in the Douglas County Hospital for the mentally ill up in Lincoln. She been a typical southern belle, and was sweet and soften spoken, and young Harry had become smitten with her from the start. They went out on several occasions to the movies, and dinner. On one of those particular evenings, they were having a dinner at the Dixie Diner, where they regularly frequented. But this was to be a special night that would change the two lovers’ lives for ever. It was the night Mr. Lordsmith would propose to young Beatrice Jones of Lincoln, and she would be overtaken by the suddenness and sincere manner of his proposal not to mention the exquisite stones in the ring he kept in a black box, which he had fished out of his jacket pocket-she said yes without hesitation.
Six months later, and they got married, and went on their honeymoon in Cancun, Mexico. Sadly, it was cut short, because of a severe tropical storm that would later become Hurricane Rita. Even an abruptly ended honeymoon couldn’t prove enough to dampen these two’s spirits. They remained happily married for two years, and in that time had a son, Thomas Lordsmith, until one day something from sweet Beatrice’s past caught up with her, and forced her to revisit a past she had worked hard to forget.
Sweet Beatrice Lordsmith had come awake to find her husband missing, forgotten was the fact that he was still at work, and in a rage she ran through the house like a mad woman, shouting out obscene language, and found Harry’s shotgun in a hallway closet nearest their master bedroom, and found a tiny box of shells under a section of the wood panel flooring that been cut out and foundation removed. She walked through the house, shouting, “I’m gonna kill that sonnabitchâ€
Harry Lordsmith, 35, and divorced for five years for reasons that were quite different from the mechanical, almost rehearsed ones he’d give you, drove down Lincoln Boulevard in his raggedy, old white Ford Escort, it’d jerk every once and a while, due to the timing being off. It had covered too many miles, and seen the inside of one too many shops to still be on the road, but through a fluke or some sheer miracle it kept on going. And that was enough for him.
He was on his way home, his eyes straight forward on the road, squinting due to the sun shining brightly and reflecting off his windshield, as it always did this time of year. His mind was clear and calm. The first time it had been that way in nearly five years, ever-since everything that was good in his life had fallen apart. Beatrice Lordsmith, now 30, had been hospitalized in the Douglas County Hospital for the mentally ill up in Lincoln. She been a typical southern belle, and was sweet and soften spoken, and young Harry had become smitten with her from the start. They went out on several occasions to the movies, and dinner. On one of those particular evenings, they were having a dinner at the Dixie Diner, where they regularly frequented. But this was to be a special night that would change the two lovers’ lives for ever. It was the night Mr. Lordsmith would propose to young Beatrice Jones of Lincoln, and she would be overtaken by the suddenness and sincere manner of his proposal not to mention the exquisite stones in the ring he kept in a black box, which he had fished out of his jacket pocket-she said yes without hesitation.
Six months later, and they got married, and went on their honeymoon in Cancun, Mexico. Sadly, it was cut short, because of a severe tropical storm that would later become Hurricane Rita. Even an abruptly ended honeymoon couldn’t prove enough to dampen these two’s spirits. They remained happily married for two years, and in that time had a son, Thomas Lordsmith, until one day something from sweet Beatrice’s past caught up with her, and forced her to revisit a past she had worked hard to forget.
Sweet Beatrice Lordsmith had come awake to find her husband missing, forgotten was the fact that he was still at work, and in a rage she ran through the house like a mad woman, shouting out obscene language, and found Harry’s shotgun in a hallway closet nearest their master bedroom, and found a tiny box of shells under a section of the wood panel flooring that been cut out and foundation removed. She walked through the house, shouting, “I’m gonna kill that sonnabitchâ€