Tuesday Teaser: Charged

Every Tuesday I will share a teaser from Work in Progress' only.

So it will be teasers from all unpublished manuscripts. Nothing from already published books.

Taken from a WIP that I started in 2012 but as with my WIP Let Me In, I also hit a wall with this little superhero story titled, Charged. A lot of world building went into this, but for some reason my Muse wasn't getting along with the characters enough to want to continue with the story. It currently stands at 15k and I am determined to eventually completing it. Especially since I purchased the book cover back in 2012 also.

Please remember it is still a rough draft so there will be mistakes and details are subject to change. Plus after reading through it I already know I need to add a little more background detail here and there.

~ * ~

At the sound of a distinct buzz echoing throughout the entire building; I sighed and lifted my foot from the pedal of my pottery table.

 The rain was beating against my windows, and the gray clouds seemed to have swallowed the entire sky; a crystal warning that a storm was already brewing. A warning that I wouldn't be going to the market today after all and that I was going to get a headache. Great.

 Again, my room filled with the buzz of the doorbell.

 I quickly wiped my hands on a ragged towel and stood up, making my way across the upper studio to the stairway. I took my time walking down the staircase, only rushing when I heard the doorbell for the third time, as well as a heavy thud against the gallery door.

 Retrieving the keys from my pocket, I unlocked the ground floor stairwell door, stepping through to the gallery. The room was cold, more so than usual due to the bad weather, but since I was closed on Sundays, heating the room seemed pointless.

 Pulling the door shut behind me, I walked over to the window situation near the entrance. Peaking through the beige blinds, I saw the familiar form of Detective Green standing outside the main door. I sighed. Just the man I wanted to see on my day off; not.

 The collar of his black coat guarded his neck from the falling rain; the stiff material framing the grim expression on his face as he got up close to the stained glass, trying hard to see inside.

 With a muffled curse, I backed away from the window, and dipped my hand inside my apron pocket. I retrieved, and pulled on my thick pair of gray rubber gloves, before switching on the lights to the gallery. The faint pop of the circuit sounded, and the ground floor quickly flooded with soft white light.

 The annoying buzz of the doorbell echoed throughout the long hall, for the fourth time. 

"Open up, Delaney, this is important." Detective Green stated, with yet another heavy knock on wood.

 Everything was important to him, but then he was a cop after all; they really had no examples for comparison.

Walking over to the inner doors I quickly unlocked them, and pulled one open for him. "It's Sunday. I'm closed."

 "I'm not here to browse." He answered, and walked past me. His focus completely fixed on scanning the shop floor.

 I pinched the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath as a headache started to prick at my temples. "Somehow I doubt this is a social call."

 Another minute passed before he finally turned and faced me. Grey eyes locked on to me as if he had found the culprit he was searching the gallery for. His narrow lips were pulled down at the corners, a sure fire indication he was in his usual chipper mood. His ink black hair was soaked due to the vast downfall of rain; stray strands stuck to his square forehead, allowing droplets of water to crawl down his flushed cheeks.

 "It isn't." He reached inside his coat and pulled out a large, brown envelope.

 "You know, I should probably be offended at the fact you never come and see me for a simple talk, Marcus." Watching that I didn't step on the small puddles of water he had walked in; I shut the door and slid the bolt into place.

 "I don't think we would have much to talk about, Delaney."

 That much was obvious.

 Walking straight past him, I headed toward my office. "Since you have brought me a present I should ask if you received the one I left at the station for you this morning."

 "Yes." A slight expected pause. "Thank you."

 As always he sounded like he was chewing on glass, and as always the sound of his irritation caused a smirk to form on my lips. Thank you didn't quiet cover the delivery of a felon he had been trying to catch for the last four months, but it would do.

 "You're welcome."

 Light bounced off the carefully placed mirrors as we walked through the long cold room. The pieces of artwork hanging against the white washed walls were vibrant, and bold. Despite the fact that I had looked at all of them a dozen times, my gaze still wandered over each and every piece; admiration dawned once more for the artists who could still find a drop of beauty left in this godforsaken city.

 "You're escapades are starting to become front page news." Marcus commented.

 "Are they?"

 "Are you going to tell me you don't listen to the news updates?"

 I snorted. "I stopped paying attention to the news a long time ago."

 Mostly because it was full of prejudice bullshit; twisting incidents. Making the police look like heroes, and not actually telling the public what they needed to know. Seventy years and they were still feeding the public nothing but fear, and hate.

  "Lynthia is the one who keeps me up to date with what is going on in our wonderful city." I unlocked the door and stepped inside my office. Flipping the switch, I walked over to my desk, sitting down immediately to rummage through my draws and look for the painkillers I always kept in there. "Journalists will report what they know will sell and have the most effect, you know that."

 "I also know that the Chief isn't happy at the attention you're rubber wearing alter-ego is drawing to herself." He stated, closing the door.

 "I'm not drawing attention to myself. Sometimes there are witness', and sometimes the victims sell their story for some extra money, that‘s not my problem.”

 “You could stop.”

 “Hey, I didn’t ask to be born with a bad heart, and I didn’t ask for my new one to go psycho after my accident. I also didn’t ask to live in a city pulsing with crime, and inhabited with every possible piece of shit living. But since I’m still alive, and I can actually do something about half the stuff that goes on in this hole, I will.”

 God, the man goes on like I enjoyed being a walking electro magnet. He’d damn well think different after a few rubber burns on unwanted areas. I can say with all honesty that rubber really wasn’t meant to be worn anywhere apart from feet and hands.

 Finding the packet, I popped two pills out and swallowed them dry. “I won’t stop helping people because your boss is having a fit over the fact that I'm continuing to tidy these street up better than his own men."

 I dropped the packet back in the draw, and closed it. My gaze shifted back up to a suddenly tense Marcus. His stubble covered jaw had popped to the side; his teeth clenched.

 Honestly, men and their stupid egos.

 "I hardly—"

 "The mayor hasn't said anything." I stated, holding my hands up. "In fact I'm sure Lynn said that he was rather thankful for—what the heck have they nicknamed me?"

 The slightest hint of amusement danced in his tired eyes. His lips twitched as he replied, "The Spark."

 "God, I sound like some eighties super-heroine." I shook my head. "Well, he isn't complaining, and it's not like you've done anything to stop me."

 "You saved my life, the least I can do is keep your secret."

 I decided it was best not to remind him that he didn't have a choice. Also that I had actually saved his life three times, and if I hadn‘t he wouldn‘t have been bumped from officer to detective, which wasn’t bad for a man who had recently turned thirty.

 Sitting back in my seat, I stared at him. "Now, what can I do for you today, Detective?"

 Taking the seat across the way from me, he pulled out the documents hidden inside the large envelope he was carrying, and threw them on the desk. "I really wish you would get a computer deck." He grumbled, spreading a variety of pictures in front of me. "Do you know how difficult and expensive it is to get prints?"

 Here we go again. Always going on like I didn't wish I could have all these nifty little devices everyone else got to play with.

 "Do you know how expensive it would be to replace everything that I would keep accidentally frying?"

 "How the hell do you keep records of everything?"

 "Lynthia has a portable. She brings it in with her and types everything up."

 His tension faded slightly at the mere mention of my fiery haired, big-eyed assistant.

 He kept his attention fixed on the pictures. "Where is Lynthia today?"

 Fighting the want to taunt the interest held in his tone, I simply said. "It's Sunday, she's at home. Now, I know you didn't come here to ask me about my assistant. . . ."

 He looked up, brow slightly furrowed. "Of course I didn't."

  I crossed my legs, and clasped my gloved hands on my knees. "Well then, what's up?"

 Flapping his coat, he lent back in his chair, taking on the all too familiar role of a man of authority. My jaw clenched at his ignorant action. Ignoring the small pinch below the surface of my skin, I wiped the droplets of water off my cheek.

 He studied me. "How well do you know, Christopher Jackson?"

 Every muscle in my body froze. "Chris?” My brows arched in unison, eyes growing wide as I stared at him. “You've come here to ask me about, Chris?" The mere thought of those golden cat eyes, and that wicked grin sent an annoying pulse of electricity around my body; turning every ounce of tension in to liquid fire.

 Marcus‘expression remained placid. "You were friends, weren't you?"

 The laugh that passed my lips was sharper than blades gliding against one another. "I would hardly call us friends."

 He arched his eyebrow. "Would partners be a better way to describe your relationship? Or perhaps lovers, is?"

Neither was better, just accurate. 

Copyright © 2017, Charged,  Elizabeth Morgan