The Sorority

I try to feel how I am feeling for a moment. My side without a doubt stings, but the dulling effect of the pain meds makes it like a paper cut slowly having alcohol dripped on it. I look under the sheet and see a clean bandage wrapped around my lower abdomen.

"Welcome back," I hear and then see a female doctor at the door. She is dressed in a white coat with jeans and a button up blouse. Her hair is shiny and chestnut colored, braided behind her head and swayed as she walked. In her hand is a clip board I will assume has information regarding me on it.

She looks oddly familiar, but I do not know why.

"I'm doctor Simpson," she says then looks at Marlene. "Do you mind if she hears?"

"I don't care," I reply.

"The blade did nick your external iliac artery, but you keeping pressure on it and not removing the knife is the reason we're talking. Surgery was successful in stitching everything. Just a day of observation and you'll be ready to head home. Nothing extraneous for a month at least," she says, and I nod and look at Marlene who smiles at me.

"Rookie mistake, bring back up," I hear another voice say and turn to see Jill at the doorway.

"You following me?" I ask.

"Coincidence. Lunch?" she asks my doctor, and I am now very confused. Then I see them both in a single frame and I realize they are sisters.

"Yup," she replies to her sister then looks at me. "I'll prescribe some pain meds and antibiotics. I'll drop them off when I discharge you." She writes a few things on the clip board and leaves with her sister.

"Why are you here?" I ask, turning my head to Marlene.

"I can't be concerned? Just because we broke up doesn't mean I don't care when you get stabbed," Marlene replies. "Maybe I made a mistake regarding that."

"Regarding the breakup?" I ask, and she nods. It has only been a few days and she seemed so adamant before.

"You're not your family, and I shouldn't want you to be."

"But you do," I say, and she is very silent. "The reason you broke up with me, hasn't been resolved. This is a life is short moment, so let this cool off for a minute before you make any decisions on us." [NOTE: Third sentence starting at "This is..." does not make sense.]

Marlene sighs a little, but her expression seems to suggest she agrees before leaving without another word.

--

I lounge bored in my bed for most of the day. Shortly before I was to be discharged, I get one last visitor. I heard him well before I saw him. The sound of his shoes tapping on the floor as he exited the elevator and began down the hall makes my ears perk up. A voice follows the shoes, telling them that they have ten minutes before his radio interview through phone call.

I almost want to pull the sheet over my head and pretend to be a corpse.

My brother walks into the room flanked by his assistant Noelle who might as well be attached at his hip. Literally and figuratively if you get my meaning. He fucks her more than his wife, but of course I do not know that. He will fit in perfectly on Capitol Hill.

Quinten Kramner, the Democratic candidate for the third district of Connecticut. Truth be told he was never registered as a Democrat until last year when he threw his hat into the primaries. The last year has been insufferable as he has lied his way through every interview on policies he does not support. I know exactly why he is doing this; the faintest whiff of a Republican will not get elected in Connecticut.

Quinten is doing the John Kerry thing right now; wearing designer suits while saying he shops at JC Penney. He is wearing a Tom Ford two-piece suit with a pair of slip-on Berluti's. His HAIL watch is a little more practical than the other items for being under a grand. Even his haircut cost about a normal person's monthly car payment. I love how his approach is understanding the working class.

"How is my hero brother doing?" Quinten asks as he enters the room, a member of his staff with a camera following him.

"I was doing better about ten seconds ago," I reply, and he turns to the camera and gives it a politician smile. He plans on turning my injury into a photo op for poll numbers. Quinten makes a gesture to the cameraman, wondering why he has not taken the photo, then turns to see my middle finger.

"I'm dying with the moderate middle-class workers and I'm hoping for the endorsement of the police union, smile jackass," Quinten says, and I still refuse to play along. He swipes his fingers across his neck and the cameraman leaves the room, but Noelle stays while on her phone.

"New earrings Noelle?" I ask, and she flips me off without moving her eyes from the phone. "Stay classy."

"Seriously though, you okay?" Quinten asks, and I know I am talking to my brother finally. He slides a chair over to me, Noelle visibly annoyed because he was not supposed to even posture like he was staying very long. He unbuttons his jacket before sitting.

"I'm good," I say. "How's dad doing with the Senate?"

"That's done, it's out of committee and moving to full Senate vote tomorrow," Quinten explains. I am so glad I missed all of it. "Nikki might get appointed to the second circuit."

"Damn, good for her. You and Victoria still good?" I ask, inquiring about his wife. Granted I know -- but I do not know - he is sleeping with his assistant; she is still his wife and the mother of my nephews.

"We're fine, she is a very photogenic wife and good with press. Couldn't hope for better," he says, and Noelle does not even flinch. All politics with them. "You and Marlene?"

"Broke up a few days ago," I say, and he says that is too bad. My family really likes her, and she likes them. Honestly, she called my mom more than I did.

"Quin," Noelle says, pointing at her watch.

"Fucking cancel it," Quinten replies, and Noelle hands drop in frustration.

"I get it, I do. Your brother the hero cop..." she starts before I interrupt.

"...yes I am..." I say and she flips me off again and holds the finger.

"...is injured on the line of duty. Great photo op, and you get to start wining and dining the police and get the union endorsements. This radio interview is the third largest podcast in the United States with influence for more than just Connecticut. You can see your brother at your next convenience."

Noelle has always been a cold bitch. If you could produce a political operative in a lab, you would get her. Jet black hair styled like a lesbian but believe me she is not one. Glistening white teeth that almost never smiled, and a minimalist makeup routine, but very effective. A cutaway blazer from Anne Taylor paired with a MM LaFleur skirt. Her shirt is from Brooks Brothers. The real star of her wardrobe is those black and red Louboutin's.

"I'll see you this summer, go do the interview. I'll even give you the picture. First take off your jacket, drape it on the chair and loosen your tie a little. Makes it look like you've been here awhile," I say and look at Noelle who wanted to disagree for the sake of disagreeing, but nods to yield it looks good.

We take the picture and Quinten readjusts his tie and pulls his jacket back on. I cannot move enough to hug, but we fist pound.

"Keep riding him to the polls Noelle," I say and she flips me off over her shoulder as they leave.

--

The Kaiser drops me off at my apartment, standing close in case he needs to shoulder me, but I lunge forward without the need for assistance. I plop down on my couch, dropping the bag of my medications on the coffee table. I have already taken the pain meds and the antibiotic, but I will be out of commission for about a week. Lieutenant Queen said he may authorize light desk duty, but I will not hold my breath.

"You grab what I asked?" I ask The Kaiser who opens his messenger bag and places the case file on my coffee table.

"It's a copy," he says and closes his bag. "You need anything?"

"I'm good, thanks Will," I say, and he gives me a small nod before closing the door behind him.

I look at the newest part of the file regarding the attack on me. The female is still at large, but the male was dead at the scene where I shot him. Initial investigation already clears it as a clean shoot, but I will expect a visit from the Public Integrity Unit soon. Hopefully not the same Sergeant.

Identity of the male was confirmed as Travis Breckenridge. The female is now down to three individuals, assuming it is someone in the video, Hope Lighthouse, Jaqueline Moore, and Meagan Kilgallon. Scratch that, Meagan Kilgallon is not a suspect anymore. While I was out, one of the officers found her in Maine running the accounting for a lobster fishing company. Her alibi checked out.

Jaqueline Moore is a web columnist who is self-employed with a Patreon that receives seven thousand dollars a month. She lives in Illinois and has not posted since before three days prior to Amanda being killed.

Hope Lighthouse is a third-grade teacher in Iowa. The license plate of the rental car at the hotel was from Iowa. I scroll through the notes to see if they found anything about that and they did. Travis rented the car, and he is also from Iowa, within fifty miles of Hope. Did they ride down together?

I could be completely wrong, and the camerawoman tried to kill me.

--

Monday - 31 March, 2025

Three days into recovery I start going a little batty with boredom. They still have not positively identified the woman who tried to gut me. We do know Hope Lighthouse took a vacation and has already returned to work. Her timeline overlaps with mine.

Jaqueline Moore posted, apologizing for her delay in posts to her followers. We have submitted a warrant to get the IP address for her post so we know where she did it from.

I can only look at files for so long before I decide to head to the street and walk the block to the convenient store at the corner. The bell chimes above me, and the sound of soft music reverberates in my head which is momentarily drowned out by a blaring horn outside. I think it is Nepali, as the owner of the store, Madhav, is from Kathmandu.

"Chase, the usual?" Madhav asked with his strong accent.

"No, my pills don't abide alcohol," I say and walk to the fridges for a drink. An energy drink sounds pretty good right now. I have not had one since I was up studying for the detective exam, and before that, I had not had one since college.

I walk back and place my Red Bull on the counter. He rings me up as we both hear the bell at the door chime. "Welcome!" Madhav shouts.

"Good evening," I hear a female voice say and turn my eyes for a moment to see her. A black female with lighter mocha skin and straight black hair. Tall, but not taller than me. She looks familiar but I do not know why.

I hand Madhav a five-dollar bill and he begins to provide me my change. "Is that all?" he asks the woman, and she ensures him it is. All she is getting is a drink as well.

"Long day?" she asks, and I turn over my shoulder. "Red Bull, this close to bedtime." It is ten at night so the Red Bull would demand an explanation.

I turn and look at her closer. Fuck is she familiar. The pills are making me a little cloudy though, so I cannot focus in on it. She is wearing tight white jeans and a crop top revealing her navel with a ring and perky cleavage. Her shoes are small cork sandals with a full sole heel, giving her those few inches that makes her deceivingly tall.

"Long week," I reply, moving my shirt out of the way to reach my back pocket and return my wallet, revealing my badge to her, and my bandages.

"That looks shitty," she says, and I nod and thank Madhav while she holds up her hand which is wrapped at the wrist. "I got my own bandage. You a cop?"

"Detective," I say, stepping away from the counter and cracking the can open. I really need this right now. Not to be stereotypical, but a detective may be less than a good thing to be for a black girl.

"I know a few cops...you're bleeding," she says, and I look at my shirt and see my bandages are wet. Really, that is all that it took.

"Shit," I say.

"I can wrap you up real quick," she offers. "I learned a few things at the Y."

I take her back up to my apartment, taking a moment to clear up the coffee table and put the files back in the folders. I show her where my first aid kit is, and the extra bandages Dr. Simpson gave me.

"That's a stab wound," she says, when she removes the bandages. "It doesn't look like a stitch popped though. It might have finally just bled through."

"What's your name?" I ask. We are this far, and we have not even gotten to names.

"Erica," she says, as she cleans the wound and applies the new bandage.

"Chase," I reply as she finishes. "Thanks."

"No problem. I need to find a hotel, since I am only passing through," she says, and gets up to leave.

"You can stay the night," I say, trying not to sound presumptuous. "Couch isn't too uncomfortable."

"I couldn't impose."

"You just patched me up, least I can offer," I say, and she sits back down again.

"What to do with my one night here?" Erica says with a grin, biting her lip, then kisses me. I do not fight it, and lean into the offer. "I've always wanted to say, I fucked the law and won."

Stripping starts at the couch but finishes in the bedroom. Her shirt and bra are between the couch and the door, and her pants and panties are between the door and the bed. My clothes are strewn out in a similar fashion.

I am not going to lie; I am looking forward to this. Partly because I have been in a relationship for years, and partly because this is my first black girl. The pussy tastes the same I can report. The way she grabs my hair while I lick her pussy is much harder and aggressive than Marlene.

When she starts pulling my ear, I know she is trying to get my attention. I crawl up to her face and she grabs my dick and starts to aim it in. Erica is grinding up on my dick, and damn does it feel good. When my face shows I am hurting because of my side, we switch positions to her on top, and she fucks me silly.

Erica bounces off my dick, grabbing my hands and guiding them to where she wants me to hold. Her ass. Her hips. Her tits. Her neck. She starts to furiously rub her clit and orgasms on top of me. I take back over toward the end and I announce I am close. She slides me out and jerks me off until I cream all over her stomach.

I fall to my side next to her, and she keeps slowly stroking my cock.

"Don't quit on me now," she says and slithers under the covers and starts sucking my dick. I do not rally, and I will blame the pills, but she curls up and continues to play with herself next to me. After a minute she takes my hands and shoves my fingers into her.

Enough time passes and she feels my erection begin to return and press against her leg. Turning away, she dropped herself onto me and rode hard, her ass slamming down onto my pelvis. At the angle I am concerned I will slip out of her, but I do not.

Erica falls forward and we adjust to doggy, her throwing herself back to fuck herself on my cock. Good thing too, I can only give it to her so hard with my injury. She shouts her orgasm and a minute later I declare the nearing of my second. I am put on my back so she can suck my dick to a conclusion.

Her tongue work, the cranking of my shaft, the way she kept her mouth cupped on my tip. She spit my jizz back onto the head so she could slurp it back up again, and it was mesmerizing. Erica lands next to me in the bed, giggling as I shut my eyes. That was so good I do not even remember falling asleep.

--

Monday - 24 March, 2025

Jaqueline Moore

I have already been told that Amanda is the last to leave work. Her pattern of life was spelled out for Travis and me. Amanda leaves at two after locking up the bar and setting the alarm. She leaves out the back and walks twenty feet to her car. She drives home four blocks away, reads for an hour then goes to sleep.

Travis and I wait outside of the bar for about thirty minutes before we see her appear out the back, locking up the building, and checking by giving the door a good pull toward herself. Her purse is over her shoulder as she walks, fishing her car keys out.

I move before Travis does, him following me as I quickly step into the parking lot. She does not seem to notice us and beeps her car unlocked.

"Amanda," I say to get her attention. She freezes when she sees us, and I can practically see all of the fucked up shit going through her head. Amanda presses her car locked again and slowly approaches us. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?" Amanda asks, then looks over at Travis, her look of disgust much more potent toward him. "I take it you heard about it, the suit I'm filing."

"Look, blowing this thing wide open won't fix anything. You're not the only girl in a video, think about the others who could be affected by this," I say, her huffing and pointing a finger at me.

"Like you? Is your video you getting raped by five men?" Amanda asks.

"You weren't raped..." Travis starts, but she shuts him down immediately.

"I was blindfolded, lied to, and taken advantage of, all under false pretenses. All for Kappa Gamma Gamma," she says with an exaggerated blonde girl voice. "I am so fucking tired of feeling shame, guilt, and constantly thinking to myself what the fuck did I do wrong? I was raped, and I will take all you fuckers down."

"That will never hold up in court," Travis says.

"Then what the fuck are you worried about? Your wife knowing you have a rape baby?" Amanda asks, and Travis' chin shakes in anger. "I don't know how, but he's an angel. When I finally built up the courage and met him, I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of anymore. You two can't intimidate me to drop it."

"Amanda, some of the other girls are mothers. Wives. You will destroy their lives when this goes public," I plead with her. My video will go public.

"My life was destroyed and I am only now getting it back together. You might want to lawyer up," Amanda says to me, then turns to Travis, who stabs her in the stomach.

"Can't let that happen," he says, Amanda gasping and dropping her purse as he pulls back, then stabs her again. Amanda holds his wrist and looks at me. Her eyes are begging for my help because her mouth can't form words.

"I'm sorry," I say with tears in my eyes as I reach into my pocket and remove my folding knife. I flick it open, and after a moment of hesitation I stab her after Travis pulls away again.

"Please," Amanda says, her face washed in tears as she tries to shout. I pull back and stab her again, her releasing a grunt that nauseates me. I pull away and step back crying, as Travis mercilessly stabs her again. Blood is already pooling around her purse and I look at my hands which are covered in her blood.

Amanda pushes herself off his blade and stumbles to her car, slamming against the side. Travis calmly walks to her, and I slowly follow. We both switch our grip to swing down on her. I was told this may make it harder to identify it as two blades.

"Please," she says again, and we reply by stabbing her with a downward blow. She slides down her car, blood streaking against her door, and crumbles to the ground on her side. My hands are shuddering as Travis puts his knife away and grabs her purse. We need to make it look like a robbery, so he dumps some of the contents, her phone falling out and cracking when it hit the ground.

I crouch down and check her hands and neck for jewelry. I steal the locket around her neck and the bracelet on her wrist. I can hear her choking on her blood as I stand back up.

"Help," I hear her utter, and her voice is so terrified as she grabs my pant leg. I tug my leg away and step back.

"I'm sorry," I say, and leave her to die.

--

Wednesday - 27 March, 2015