The owner of the house had changed her mind about dying, but by the time she had it was already too late. Most of her fingernails were broken off from trying to climb the concrete sides of the pool, and they’d left little smears where she’d tried to cling to the edge. She’d tried so hard to escape, to live, and yet it hadn’t been enough. It made Steph wonder what had happened before, what had drove her to this point. Where had her determination been, and why had it deserted her until she’d already kicked the pool ladder out of reach?



These were not questions that Stephen Lansens would usually ask. Death was death. But being a police officer meant having to ask the questions that you would probably overlook otherwise. He’d chosen to be on call during the holidays, so this was what he got to do on the first day of the year, when the other residents of Sedona would either be at home or out in one of the local joints.

New year’s day was a popular day for suicides in the neighborhood. The place was full of secrets, isolated, and morals were twisted. Sedona was the place where rich people who have done wrong went to disappear. He’d been called to two different houses that night, and both times, he’d arrived too late to be much good. The first had been a teenager who'd tied a wire around her wrist and electrocuted herself. The second had been Tami Smith, who was now being retrieved out of the bottom of her own pool.

In both cases, there were signs of depression. There was desperation. Most times, people saw New year’s as a time to start anew. A second chance. But Steph was sure that these women had seen it more like a mountain that they had to scale, and decided - if only momentarily - that they couldn’t climb anymore.

While these kinds of things would have been shocking in the big city, where there were mental health facilities to deal with these things and patients who cared to visit them, they were routine here. That was why Steph had chosen not to live in Sedona, but nearby, on the outskirts of it all. He knew from experience that death could get tiring. You could grow callous to it, too. But when you cannot show empathy, or feel sadness, fear, you’ve already lost.

Sighing softly, Steph - not in uniform, but still looking like a cop - stepped through the gate and back onto the street in front of the house. He’d done his job - the paperwork was waiting back at the station, downtown. He could leave. Glancing around, he noticed that several of the residents were standing near the windows of their large, glass houses, looking down at them. There was only one house that had a front yard on this street, and that one only had a driveway. The owner of said house was standing near a large, navy blue pickup truck - one that looked a little shabby for the neighborhood - watching him with eyes that reminded him of a silver shield.



He’d seen this woman - Scarpetta was her last name, if he remembered - many times. He was sure that she had something to hide, everyone in Sedona did, so his thought of her grey eyes being like a shield was probably correct.

The other families who lived on the street had pools and high fences. Their houses were tempered glass and steel, with multiple levels and balconies. The Scarpetta house was a lot less luxurious. It had a driveway, a picket fence, and only one level. The grass was dead in places, and looked like it hadn’t been tended to for years. He could see this because for once, Sedona’s year-round winter climate had been warm for two days. As far as he could tell, she lived alone, her only companion being a aggressive black dog that liked to pace the backyard and bark.

Steph’s phone let out a ring, and he let it intrude on his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about small, preventable deaths and the people who watched without emotion or a care. It was his chief on the other end of the line. He sounded tired.

“You finished over there, yet? What’s going on?”

“Changed-my-mind suicide.” He said. “Ambulance is cleaning it up now.”

“Fine. Go home, get some rest. We’ve got another long week ahead of us.”

After going on to say goodbye - then to convince his boss and long-time friend that he was actually going to take some time off when he was probably going to do overtime instead - Steph dropped his phone back in his pocket, noting the fact that the Scarpetta woman was still watching him out of the corner of her steely eyes, and got into his car.



Starting the engine, he looked back at the house where the drowned woman had lived and sighed again. There was nothing splendid about it - it was the same as every other house on it’s side of the street. The ex-housewife that had lived there would be treated the same in death as we was in life - left alone and forgotten. She had no next of kin. She would be buried by strangers in suits.



Shaking his head at the humorless stray of his thoughts, Steph pulled away from the curb.

Ooh, I like. Very promising!

Oooh lala That Scarpetta chick is preetty! I like the way you write-it's not all "Bob said hi. Sara giggled. They flirted." Descriptive ya' know? Anyways this seems interesting! Hope to read more ;p

Really good first chapter, looking forward to more

I like it
Waiting for more!

Darn! D8

Ooh, I like it! You really set the tone without being obvious. It's a bit dark, and I don't usually like dark stories, but this one just sucked me in! More please!
fyi, I think I caught a typo, "The ex-housewife that had lived there would be treated the same in death as we was in life," unless you were throwing in a little dialectical speech that I'm not getting

This looks very interesting and kind of unusual! Can't wait to read more.

Wow! Good start x Not too sappy x I hope you post more parts to the story!