The Novelist
folder
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,620
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,620
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I don't own Law and Order or the characters on the show. I'm not making any money from this story. I do own my own original characters.
Tasty hotdogs
*Dum dum*
CENTRAL PARK
Maggie watched as Detective Goren looked over the rumpled pages she’d given him to read. Neither of them had eaten lunch and when he’d offered to take her somewhere, she’d brought him to the park to her favourite hotdog vendor. She didn’t come into the city much, but when she did, she loved to get a good New York hotdog. She might have imagined it, but Goren looked like he’d been surprised and then almost pleased at her suggestion. The vendor was a big fan of hers and even had a little picture of her posted on his stand that said, “MARGARET SANDERSON EATS HERE.”
As soon as they’d stepped outside the police department, Maggie had put on a big pair of sunglasses. “I’m not in the mood to sign autographs just now,” she said, unsmiling. Goren frowned a little; she’d seemed so nice and open last week. Something serious was definitely on her mind.
They sat together on a bench under a tree to eat and she’d just passed him the papers without saying what they were. Goren’s eyes widened as he read through her short story. It was about five murders at a writer’s convention. The first guy’s head was smashed in with a typewriter, the second guy was strangled with a computer cord, the third was crushed by a bookcase, the fourth was thrown from the fifth floor of the publishing company that had rejected her manuscript, and the fifth had a pen jammed into his eye so far that it pierced his brain. The story just left off in mid-sentence before the plot was resolved.
“When did you write this?” he asked her, completely stunned.
“About six years ago,” she whispered, sniffling a little. “It was for a writing competition, but I got the flu and didn’t finish it. I’d forgotten all about it, which was why I didn’t say anything last week when you came to see me, but when I saw the news last night about the second murder I remembered my story.” She took her sunglasses off and looked up at Goren with wet eyes. “How can this be happening? This is the only copy and it’s been sitting in a box in my closet for years!”
Goren shook his head. This was pretty unbelievable and was probably a coincidence, but still... The detective in him kicked in. “Did you know Jenn Delmarr?” he asked. Maggie looked flustered and upset. She tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bun and pulled her sunglasses off to rub her eyes.
“Yeah,” Maggie said. “Well, not personally, I guess. She reviewed one of my fist novels... she didn’t like it.” She looked at her hotdog and took a big bite, almost like she was telling herself to eat something, when she wasn’t really in the mood.
A man came down the nearby path and stopped almost opposite them. Maggie looked away while he pulled open his fly to pee on a tree. Goren barely bothered to turn his head, but held up his badge. “Don’t make me get up while I’m eating, man,” he said. The guy zipped his pants up and moved on in a hurry.
“Thanks,” Maggie smiled, shyly.
“No sweat,” Goren shrugged. “That’s one of the less exciting aspects of my job; telling drunks not to drop their pants in public.” He finished his hot dog and looked over her story again.
“What do you write on, usually?” he asked. “Your laptop?”
“Yes,” Maggie said. “It’s easier to edit as I go. I can delete and insert things.” She propped her sunglasses up on her head and sipped her Coke absently as she watched some joggers go by.
“And your writer friends?” Goren asked. “Does anyone use a typewriter?”
Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Who uses typewriters anymore?” she asked. “It’s hard to even get the ink rolls! You might as well just chisel your manuscript into a stone tablet.”
Goren chuckled. She had a point.
“I’m over-reacting, aren’t I?” Maggie asked. “Do you think I’m making something out of nothing? I do it so much when I write my stories, that maybe I’m doing it now.” She leaned forward, earnestly.
“Maybe,” Goren nodded as he folded her story back up. “Maybe not.” He smiled and cocked his head to one side. “You know, you’re very self-aware. You’re able to evaluate your own reactions and responses objectively. Most people can’t do that.”
“Thanks,” Maggie smiled. Goren smiled, too. He couldn’t help it.
CENTRAL PARK
Maggie watched as Detective Goren looked over the rumpled pages she’d given him to read. Neither of them had eaten lunch and when he’d offered to take her somewhere, she’d brought him to the park to her favourite hotdog vendor. She didn’t come into the city much, but when she did, she loved to get a good New York hotdog. She might have imagined it, but Goren looked like he’d been surprised and then almost pleased at her suggestion. The vendor was a big fan of hers and even had a little picture of her posted on his stand that said, “MARGARET SANDERSON EATS HERE.”
As soon as they’d stepped outside the police department, Maggie had put on a big pair of sunglasses. “I’m not in the mood to sign autographs just now,” she said, unsmiling. Goren frowned a little; she’d seemed so nice and open last week. Something serious was definitely on her mind.
They sat together on a bench under a tree to eat and she’d just passed him the papers without saying what they were. Goren’s eyes widened as he read through her short story. It was about five murders at a writer’s convention. The first guy’s head was smashed in with a typewriter, the second guy was strangled with a computer cord, the third was crushed by a bookcase, the fourth was thrown from the fifth floor of the publishing company that had rejected her manuscript, and the fifth had a pen jammed into his eye so far that it pierced his brain. The story just left off in mid-sentence before the plot was resolved.
“When did you write this?” he asked her, completely stunned.
“About six years ago,” she whispered, sniffling a little. “It was for a writing competition, but I got the flu and didn’t finish it. I’d forgotten all about it, which was why I didn’t say anything last week when you came to see me, but when I saw the news last night about the second murder I remembered my story.” She took her sunglasses off and looked up at Goren with wet eyes. “How can this be happening? This is the only copy and it’s been sitting in a box in my closet for years!”
Goren shook his head. This was pretty unbelievable and was probably a coincidence, but still... The detective in him kicked in. “Did you know Jenn Delmarr?” he asked. Maggie looked flustered and upset. She tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bun and pulled her sunglasses off to rub her eyes.
“Yeah,” Maggie said. “Well, not personally, I guess. She reviewed one of my fist novels... she didn’t like it.” She looked at her hotdog and took a big bite, almost like she was telling herself to eat something, when she wasn’t really in the mood.
A man came down the nearby path and stopped almost opposite them. Maggie looked away while he pulled open his fly to pee on a tree. Goren barely bothered to turn his head, but held up his badge. “Don’t make me get up while I’m eating, man,” he said. The guy zipped his pants up and moved on in a hurry.
“Thanks,” Maggie smiled, shyly.
“No sweat,” Goren shrugged. “That’s one of the less exciting aspects of my job; telling drunks not to drop their pants in public.” He finished his hot dog and looked over her story again.
“What do you write on, usually?” he asked. “Your laptop?”
“Yes,” Maggie said. “It’s easier to edit as I go. I can delete and insert things.” She propped her sunglasses up on her head and sipped her Coke absently as she watched some joggers go by.
“And your writer friends?” Goren asked. “Does anyone use a typewriter?”
Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Who uses typewriters anymore?” she asked. “It’s hard to even get the ink rolls! You might as well just chisel your manuscript into a stone tablet.”
Goren chuckled. She had a point.
“I’m over-reacting, aren’t I?” Maggie asked. “Do you think I’m making something out of nothing? I do it so much when I write my stories, that maybe I’m doing it now.” She leaned forward, earnestly.
“Maybe,” Goren nodded as he folded her story back up. “Maybe not.” He smiled and cocked his head to one side. “You know, you’re very self-aware. You’re able to evaluate your own reactions and responses objectively. Most people can’t do that.”
“Thanks,” Maggie smiled. Goren smiled, too. He couldn’t help it.