#bookhoused

[misterjackpcts-blog]

“HARRY!”  Just the name alone brought a smile to Dale’s face, perhaps the first few cups of coffee were starting to do their magic by now. A hand quickly snapped out right patting the other male. “How are we doing this morning, Sheriff?”

[frxncaise]

Adoring brown hues scan his sleep laced features, the hand with her wedding band brushing a lock of hair from his face. The pads of her fingers lightly trail down his jawline. Her body curls into the warmth emitted by his, short legs intertwined with his much longer ones. His familiar voice and face never cease to make her heart flutter even if they are married. 

❝I do think so, mon amour.❞

@bookhoused ✩

[skymma]

@bookhoused | continued from here | ❛ Then why are you still here? ❜

❝Huh?❞

Harry finally breaks his staring contest with the white carpet. Something about the Palmer house put him into a mood. There was something liminal about it, something just on the edge of normality but not quite crossing the threshold. It wasn’t as though he didn’t like its inhabitants, Leland was always hospitable in and out of court, Laura was a more palatable than most of the high school population and Sarah, though kooky, was a decent host.

He’d been called this morning when a pair of barefoot prints had been found encircling the house, stomping the rose bush and leading back into the forest. It was far from a clear cut case. But that wasn’t really what was playing on his mind. He’d been stuck in thought for a good few minutes and it wasn’t a good look. It was the job of a police officer to pacify and protect, not disturb the population further by going into a small trance in their living room.

❝Sorry, just don’t know where to start with this.❞

He supposes it could be a transient, maybe someone with a vendetta, maybe a simple prank.

❝Has anyone been hassling you lately, Laura?❞

Laura doesn’t like the question, but then, she doesn’t like most anything about everything. It’s the kind of question she knows she can’t answer and yet wants to scream from the rooftop every single night her window has been opened and instead scratches it into her pages with escape in her mind and drugs in her body.

That’s another reason she doesn’t quite like Sheriff Truman in their home. Laura isn’t a law-abiding little girl anymore and hasn’t been for her whole life, or at least it feels that way. It isn’t that she feels threatened - Sheriff Truman is the kind of man who would be easily swayed by her smile, because he is a man at all. But it still makes her feel on edge.

The footprints do too. It makes her nightmares more real than they had ever been before, because it was her mom who had seen them and had called the Sheriff’s station. Her dad had already left for work.

And now her mom is smoking in the kitchen, and Laura is looking the Sheriff in the face, reminding herself that he’d been kind to her more than once.

“Not really”, she says, head tilted just a little to the side. “What do you think it is, Sheriff Truman?”