Damsels In Distress by Melissa Willingham (whitelam books .TXT) 📕

Damsels In Distress

"Impending Insanity" 

Melanie Morrow tugged at the restraints which bound her to the gurney. No matter how much she twisted about and pulled at her bindings, they refused to give way. Realizing that all of her feeble attempts at escape were futile, she suddenly went limp. A tear slowly began to trickle down her cheek as she recalled a long ago conversation.

Melanie had only been ten years old at the time, but she remembered every word with crystal clarity. Her mother, Georgia, stood behind her chair, absentmindedly running a comb through her hair. In the mirror before her, Melanie could see that her mom had a faraway look in her eyes. That usually occurred right before she had a relapse and ended up going into a mental institution.

“Sweetie,” Georgia whispered, “I’m starting to feel bad again. I might have to go away for a little while. But I’ll return one day, just like before. Don’t think I don’t love you, because I love you more than anything in this world.”

“Oh, no! Not again, mommy. Please, don’t leave me. I love you.”

“It’ll be okay. They’ll put you back into one of those orphanages.”

Melanie’s cheeks became wet with tears. “But I’m not an orphan. I don’t belong with those kids. I want to stay with you,” she pleaded.

“I’m sorry, but Mommy needs a rest. Someday, you’ll understand when it happens to you.”

“When what happens to me? What are you talking about?”

Georgia smiled sadly at her daughter. “Honey, insanity runs in our family. I inherited it from my mother and she inherited it from her mother. It’s a crazy gene that was passed along. You’ve got it, too, from me. One day, you’ll see it surfacing in the mirror.”

Melanie was struck with terror at her mother’s words. The thought of going insane filled her with a fear she’d never known. She vowed to check the mirror daily, for the rest of her life, for signs of impending insanity. A sense of doom and gloom settled over her. Melanie had felt so happy to live with her mom, although she’d known it wouldn’t last. Georgia just couldn’t function in normal society for very long.

She would do well at first, finding a job, buying a car, and renting an apartment for herself and her daughter. Georgia would even receive a number of gentlemen callers, asking for a date. She was an attractive woman, who could easily have her pick of men. Sometimes she’d select a boyfriend she deemed suitable for a mate. But he never hung around for more than a couple of months before taking off elsewhere.

Georgia always slipped into a deep depression, which was guaranteed to send her partner packing. Melanie often felt sad that her substitute dads had left, since she didn’t know who her real father was. But sometimes she was relieved when the men were gone. Some of those creeps slipped in her room at night and crawled into her bed, when Georgia was passed out from a night of drinking.

They did things to Melanie that she instinctively knew were wrong. But she felt so ashamed that she couldn’t tell her mom what was happening. Georgia had enough stress on her already and Melanie didn’t want to add more tension. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, not then and not now, twenty years later. Yet that was exactly how she felt as she lay strapped down in an asylum.

She glanced up hopefully, when she heard the sound of the door being unlocked. Her doctor walked in, accompanied by a nurse and two interns. They gathered around her, scrutinizing her as if she were some freak on display in a sideshow.

Well, she wasn’t some odd character who earned money by being gawked at by disgusted circus goers. She was a full-fledged movie star, with fans who adored her and a lifestyle some people only dreamed of.

“Let me out of here!” she yelled. “I’m not crazy. I had a nervous breakdown. But I’m better and I want to go home.”

The doctor shook his head doubtfully. “I’m sorry, but we can’t do that. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here for a while longer.”

Suddenly, there was a commotion by the doorway. Melanie’s husband, John, rushed into the room to her side. “Doctor Michaels, my wife is not insane. Undo her restraints right now and sign her release. I’m taking her home with me. And if you try to stop me, my attorney will bury you.”

The doctor nodded and the interns unfastened Melanie’s bindings. Without another word, John scooped her up into his arms and walked out of the building.

She clung to him for dear life, whispering, “Oh, thank God. This nightmare is finally over.”

***

"Bewitched By A Vixen"

The cards had been dealt. I, Detective Robert Malone, was officially bewitched by a flaxen-haired vixen, with emerald-green eyes. Lenora Lennox possessed the kind of irises that pierced right through to your soul, drawing you into a tangled web. What an intricate pattern she wove! Talk about a femme fatale. If I had my way, I’d teach her how to count to sixty-nine and nail her right on my desk.

“Please, find him. I’m so worried about my man,” she pleaded desperately.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll turn him up in no time,” I promised.

“Oh, thank you, Detective Malone. I just don’t know what I’d do without him,” she purred.

“He’s a lucky rascal,” I returned. “If anyone can sniff him out, I can.”   

As I watched her swaying hips retreating, I knew the next move would be up to me. There was a lot riding on my course of action. I could easily end up knee-deep in a reeking pile of manure. I smelled a rat and not the one I caught in a mousetrap earlier that day.

She showed up at my office three days ago, asking me to help locate her missing boyfriend. Deke “Dickie” Richardson was one of the town ruffians. He’d garnered a reputation for being fond of the ladies and given to tossing back hard liquor, until he forgot who was president.

Lenora’s beau was bound to pop up soon enough, after satiating himself with some devil delights. I’d spent the past few nights combing the sewers, talking to every low life scumbag this side of the Big Apple.

***

As I left the office, I thought I’d venture on down to Vista Boulevard. A couple of my sources told me I might pick up Dickie’s scent there. So off I went, to gather the breadcrumbs discarded on the trail. They don’t call me ‘Bloodhound Bob’ for nothing.

On my way, I stopped off at a local watering hole, for a couple shots of bourbon. It was one of those dingy, dimly-lit joints complete with pool sharks and tramps. I ignored the working girls, despite their attempts at pitching their merchandise. I wasn’t one to be suckered in easily and if I got any action, it wouldn’t be with the likes of these broads. I preferred dames who possessed class with their sass.

After I wet my throat at the bar, I headed for the exit. Bumping into ‘Slick’ Stevens, the town slush, I mumbled a hasty greeting. Then I asked, “Hey, you seen Dickie around, lately?”

“No, I haven’t,” he replied, scratching his greasy head absentmindedly. He grinned, displaying a row of semi-rotten teeth. “Why? He in trouble or something?”

“Nah, not that I’m aware of. His girl’s been to my office, wanting me to check on his whereabouts.”

“Oh, I get it. Well, I ain’t seen him. But if you find Dickie, tell him he owes me fifty bucks, will ya?”

“Sure thing, Slick. Say, drop by my office tomorrow. May have a job for ya. See you around.”

As I made my way to the door, I noticed one of the sharks giving me the eye. ‘Shifty’ Nickels was the biggest pool hustler and confidence man around. I’d recognize that flat-top anywhere.

Never one to shrug off a bad vibe, I approached the lion in his den. He glanced down at the table and bent over, pretending to ignore me, while he lined up his next pool shot.

“You got a problem wit me, Shifty?” I demanded. “I seen you throwin’ darts in my direction.”

He paused briefly, glaring up at me, with venom in his gaze. “Nah, I ain’t got no problem wit you, Bloodhound Bob. Now, do you mind? I got a game to run here,” he hissed impatiently.

“You seen Dickie recently, pal? His chick, Lenora, says he’s missing in action.”

“Hadn’t seen him and don’t care to,” Shifty spat out, dismissing me, as he returned to his shot.

***

Parking at the corner of Belton Avenue and Vista Boulevard, I slid out of my Packard. I stealthily began exploring the area Dickie was known to frequent. Passing street lamps and sauntering down dark alleyways, I went. I encountered the occasional punk kid and scruffy beggar. But other than that I was relatively undeterred in my mission.

I knocked on a few doors, asked some questions and flashed a photo of Dickie. The whole time, I swore I could feel someone’s eyes upon me. It felt eerie, making me more than a little nervous. I kept one hand in my pocket, firmly fastened around my snub-nosed revolver. I was on the ready to draw and fire at a moment’s notice.

Without warning, someone grabbed me from behind. I whisked my gun out and spun around, training it on the individual. I was surprised to see the face of none other than Dickie himself.

“Wait, don’t shoot! I mean you no harm,” he cried out, raising his hands up in the air.

Satisfied that he carried no weapon, I walked towards him cautiously. “I’ve been lookin’ for you.”

“I know. See, I had to hide out here. Shifty’s been after me. I owe him some money, from a rotten pool deal,” he explained.

“Looks like I just found ya,” Shifty yelled suddenly. “This wise guy unknowingly led me right to ya.”

He started firing bullets, as we both scrambled for cover. I returned the shots, until one of them struck Shifty in the chest. He landed on the pavement with a loud thud, groaning in agony. With one hand, I scooped him up by his collar and drug him to my Packard.

I figured I’d take him to the hospital, so they could patch him up. Then I’d deposit him at the station and drive Dickie home to his Lenora. Afterwards, I’d file a report at the office, before heading home to call it a night. Another case solved and squared away by Bloodhound Bob.

***

"Returning To Casa Del Mal"
 
 "Whoso rewardeth evil for good, evil shall not depart from his house". Proverbs 17:13

Once again, I had the dreary dream.  Walking slowly up the narrow lane, I come to a formidable Gothic mansion. It stands proud and majestic, yet haunted with ghosts from the past.

Reluctantly, I approach the white, picket fence which encircles the property. It was built to keep people out, but I always feel as though it were designed to capture me within its evil embrace.

Clouds of misty fog and hallways shrouded in darkness surround me. One single, dimly lit candle I hold illuminates the shadows, as I make my way along.

Behind each door, I know there is a clue. The trick to the game involves selecting the right room to enter; the one that contains the mysterious surprise I am seeking. If only I can find the answers to the questions I desperately yearn to discover. Painful memories take me back to days gone by.

As a child I lived and played in this house, a mere pawn of my parents. They constantly quarreled and placed me in the middle of their debates.

Growing up, I felt like a tug of war was being conducted, with me as the rope. I don't recall ever feeling loved or wanted by anyone. Instructions given