Ignore all chapter numbers. This is number one of the last minute installments of For the Love of Elaine….Enjoy! Your comments will spur me on as I complete the remaining story-line.
Summary: For the Love of Elaine, set in the 1930s, recounts the investigation of young and sweet Elaine Whitney’s murder, focusing on the contrast of love with lust and the effects of guilt. The main characters include Gifford Boswell, the elderly Chadwick estate butler and guardian of Elaine; Ian Donald, the estate’s young gardener and close friend/lover to Elaine; Richard Farrell, the Chadwick’s newly hired personal detective; and Vera Sloan, the bitter, tough-as-nails, platinum blonde with an unconquerable ambition to escape her life as the estate’s cook. In the last installment, Vera confronts Farrell and states her intentions to tell the truth.
LOOKING IN THE MIRROR
Farrell stood in front of the jailhouse. He barged in, showed the policemen his identification, and sauntered down the jail row to the end of the corridor. The detective unlocked the cell and entered. Ian looked up, his expression changing from surprise to wrath to contempt. Farrell took measured notice of each emotion. He stared into the smoldering fires behind his eyes.
“You know, don’t you?” Farrell shot, the intensity on his face frightening.
Ian refused to answer but observed him with eagle-like eyes.
“It seems everyone knows—still I win. Disappointed, Ian Donald?” the detective queried, pasting the old chilling smirk on his face and turning to admire the moisture running down one of the walls. “Ah, you probably suppose I still can be convicted—tomorrow perhaps in the heat of the trial—a miraculous twist! Ha!” His ruthless laugh emptily echoed down the cold, cement hall.
He suddenly turned to face Ian, his eyes narrowed. “You won’t honor me with the pleasure of your conversation, will you?”
His silence boomed a firm “No.”
“Ah very well—the better for me—for now I can gloat without interruptions. Are you listening? Here comes the disdainful confession you so long to hear.”
Ian searched his face and Farrell knew he saw the underlying fear behind his wry smile.
“A year ago, I met Elaine Whitney at Miss Guthrie’s School for Girls as I worked as part of the security there. I saw her and I wanted her. She was more beautiful than anything in the world—soft and bright.” He pleasingly observed Ian vehemently stretching his strong hands. He continued, “I ravished her every move until I became obsessed. I had to possess her as she possessed me—body, mind, and soul.”
Ian’s face was a picture of fury.
“So, I courted her. Roses and chocolates, visits—and caresses…” Farrell gazed into Ian’s eyes and knew he had achieved his goal. He smiled coolly. “Yes, I marred that pure temple with my hands…and my lips.” He paused.
Ian looked ready to throttle the man before him. He stood up and faced the wall, his strong body shaking with anger—hate.
“Ah, not quite ready to kill me yet, I see. Shall I continue? No need to fear, Ian Donald, she never reciprocated my feelings. In fact, she feared me—body, mind, and soul—they all trembled in my presence.” He grew quiet before proceeding. “Oh,” he mockingly sighed, “if she had only hated me I wouldn’t have murdered her. But alas for poor, sweet, beautiful Elaine—she looked at me like a monster. She saw what I truly am—so, what could I do but fulfill her expectations? I followed her to Chadwick Estate, set up my residency, and plotted her death; and who better to pin it on but yourself—the one man Elaine allowed to profane her temple with more than my love ever came to…”
Ian spun around and charged at Farrell, thrusting him against the wall, his arm pressing against his neck. “You never loved,” he breathed and pressed harder against Farrell’s throat.
“Do it know, Ian,” the man hissed. “Now, before it’s too late.”
Ian read the hunger for death in Farrell’s eyes. “I’m not you. A monster deserves to live a death and not simply have his life ended.” He released him.
The detective’s eyes burned. His mask had fallen.
Deadly silence filled the cell.
With a great cry, Farrell turned and smashed the small mirror behind him with his fist. It shattered and fell to the floor. Looking down, he saw stared at his own distorted, grotesque reflection in every shred of glass.
He fled down the corridor.