Strange Valentine

By Meredith

Strange Valentine screams out to you! It is a walk through the unexpected, wild corners of the world. Fascinated you will read through these tales of woe and twisted love.
The cruelty, the anguish of the human mind and body speak out I n these shocking stories: a body torn asunder by unrequited love, brutal murders of roommates, unrestrained lust, lying bondage, treachery of enactmentbludgeoning murder, premeditated-prolonged pain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468583748

Meredith

Meredith is the author of many other novels: Concrete Jungle Iscariot’s Kiss Strange Fruit Negro Spiritual Cinderfella No Ways Home Burning Daylight Acoustic Soul Detroit native, Meredith is creating and defining his own path in the Hip Hop urban fiction publishing world.

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© 2012 Meredith. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 8/6/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8375-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8374-8 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Strange Valentine

Are these not echo’s of

Other stories, other times,

Other woes, other folks –

All wrapped in that same

Net of sexuality?

Is not Love hopelessly,

Helplessly tied

To the sexual drive?

And as Willie would say,

There is the rub.

These are not the

Episodes of those

Who fortune blessed

With conjugal rest,

Nor do they belong –

To those who early on

Did distinguish between

Love and Sexuality,

And the divorcement kept –

Not ruled by either sex.

These offerings, do I

Submit to you – not

For ridicule or sport,

Not for judgment,

Or moral deliberment,

Rather, they are, were

And will be fare –

Ragged, twisted motives

Effused and entwined

Within the telltale signs.

Strange, strange valentine!

Table of Contents

Strange Valentine

Le Coeur

Beauty

Electric Flight

Girl In The River

Nine Shots

Just Bones And Muscle

Liabilities of Confidence

Nightmare

Pagan Commentary

The Angels are Takin Care of Her

Le Coeur

Coeur of the feme

Torn from the body,

Lying alone

On the polished surface,

Waxen and sterile.

So small, so delicate

This heart—

Blanche, so white,

Bruised, stained blue splotches.

Where was the vibrant rouse?

Le Sang

Drained from it,

Squeezed dry, sucked out,

Quivering, the shell stood

In the sunlight.

The heart placed

Alone on the shiny surface.

Le Coeur signified

More than the core.

A Soul in Hell!

A live body

Walked with pain—

Raw anguish, hurt

Caused this display,

Discarded in a fit of fury.

A Lover, a Boy Friend?

No, a would-be-Lover

Spattered Le Sang

Like wine.

Wallowed in it!

The Corps, decapitated,

Dismembered,

Hacked asunder,

Severed every which way,

Organs scattered.

Le Coeur—fondled—

Trembling, broken,

Resting in its place of honor,

Separated from this wreckage

Of human flesh!

What human monster

Slaughtered to create

This Picasso

Of a live girl?

Breathing still—the tortured Avenger—

Savage Love-Hate must have

Possessed this frame.

No other human emotion

Could have demanded,

Anguised in its delight.

This massacre

Exudes a kind of

Victory

To the unrelenting someone

Obsessed, torn in pain.

The overpowering stench

Imbued his nostrils

And seeped into his pores

So that he was pulled further,

Further into the scene—

Staring down at the floor,

Flowing hair matted

Across one cheek—

Child, Temptress, Angel?

Clear, unblemished skin—

At seventeen you cannot give

What does not exist for you;

While some cannot relinquish

What their fancy has maintained.

The game of pretend,

The impossible dream

Struggled in the meane

Of such an ordinary

Even nose and chin.

The eyes, floating there still—

Large, lovely, liquidy

Green,

Lost, the ebb and flow,

Water caught in glass—

The eyes

Where you should look

To find

The temperament,

Only the vacant kept.

A dark smear upon

The bruised mouth

Drew the lips

Pocketing to one side

In a dimple spill.

Beauty, she was

Destroyed in Maniac hands,

With only a possible

Hint in the garish dark

Blood upon the mouth.

As though beauty

Stained at last

Upon the organ

Most likely to have

Caused a festering sore.

Pride, arrogance, condescension

Blast—wounds thrust

From the tongue—

Mocking, berating stings,

Flung in selfish pitch;

Or beauty un-aware,

Uncaring, shy,

‘A natural’, naïve

Rarely, noticing the boy

Who swooned—denied and snubbed.

No, this was not the one,

The other, but some

Combination of the two:

The dimple twisted with loathing,

The everlasting recoiling.

Leaning nearer, the sun

Struck the unsheltered cheek

Disclosing some narrow paths

Of lighter hue—

Tears of fear, compassion maimed.

Yes, that would have caused

The snap.

The maid who dared to compré

And sympathize,

Kindness in her Christian habitat;

Repugnance with grace,

Distaste and class—if you will—

My Lady with the locks of crème

Was not for thou—not any part,

Alas, excepting athwart!

Beauty

Kyle froze staring at the face he knew so well: the bony structure—so perfect, all the features placed correctly, the oval face, the splendid tousled mass of thick, luxurious dark brown hair. Jill wasn’t just a model—smart, attractive, clever at playing up her best features—she was a beauty! Had she not become a model, her relatives would have raved when they shared the family album.

The headlines hadn’t registered. His mind couldn’t accept the words: murdered in her sleep, bludgeoned to death. The killer used a large, heavy object causing multiple wounds—gashes and contusions. Her face was nearly unrecognizable. He thought he was going to be sick—right here on the street. Well, that’s what you got for not turning on the morning news first thing in the morning.

He moved away from the news stand as quickly as he could, hurrying through the lobby and into the elevator. He stood nearly smashing his face to the elevator doors as they closed on the sound of the starter’s castanets.

Kyle walked quickly past the reception area and down the hall to his immense studio. He brushed past Shelly and Josh and slammed the door shut on the cubicle he called his office. He sat down in the deep chair and turned on the radio. Minutes till the news blurted out the disgusting, outrageous facts again. They were blaming—Tom—he was the one she had just started seeing. Kyle pulled Tom’s face out of his head—his whole person: thin, younger than Jill, quiet, shy. Kyle smiled to himself, he had warned Jill, he looks like my kind, Jillie, not a straight guy. she had laughed at that one. You just don’t know, Kyle, she said, Tom’s not one of your buddies at all.

He went through the motions of the first session: the cosmetics poses, the string of photos. He couldn’t face the second one. He cancelled, picked up a paper in the lobby, sat down at his favorite exclusive hotel coffee shop, and poured over the newspaper. There was something missing. It was what was not there, he had to get hold of. Hold it up to view—discover how it happened to Jill. Events made sense, if you could find all the pieces. All he had was the frame.

Kyle had photographed Jill for the cover of L’s just two days ago. She had been happy, again. He had been so glad she was in recovery, becoming her old self, forgetting Charles Forthe. Happy he was for her.

Who wanted Jill dead? Why did they want her dead? Forthe’s wife, Tom, innumerable models—girls who were trying to get her jobs. If Forthe’s wife had wanted her removed, she could have worked that out long before. It wouldn’t have been too difficult with money, position and a string of lawyers at her disposal. She’d already been through the humiliation, the hurt, the sorrow and the agony of losing her husband. Revenge, vengeance! As for Tom—why would he kill her? For a large insurance policy? She’d hardly known him long enough to establish him as a beneficiary. No, Kyle didn’t think it was like that. Girls who hated her? Who hated her? Who wanted to take her place? Which one? What about another Forthe family member—a son, a daughter…, who? They’d see themselves as vindicators, administering justice to the guilty—the Bitch who brought dishonor on their Mother and caused her so much pain.

Nowadays, you never knew, even crimes weren’t straightforward. A half smile caught at the corners of his mouth. Dupes murdered others for hidden causes. What was missing? He’d have to put his finger on the nerve.

Jill wasn’t the kind of woman who made enemies—most people liked her. She wasn’t chummy with the girls. She wasn’t chummy, period. None of it made sense. Tom, he’d seen him three, four, maybe five times. He struck Kyle as the passive type. This murder was an extremely violent act. The perpetrator was probably angry beyond control, or did the murderer want it to look that way? What would have triggered such a feeling?

He’d have to find out. He’d have to make sense of it. Where to begin?

He was sure that Jill would have wanted him to pry—would have asked for his assistance—had it been anyone else but herself.

What could she have done so terrible to have caused this retaliation—this mutilation?

Vengeance, revenge? Someone was getting back at her in a big way!

Where to start? He wondered if Tom had a lawyer. Tom was a model too, just starting out. The union should have appointed one. Kyle would check this out first.

He asked for a phone and called his associate at the union hall.

No, Jerry said, we would have called a regular, but the Forthe family volunteered a well known legal.

Why the Forthe family?

The word from Mrs. Forthe was that she felt obligated because of her late husband’s long friendship with the girl.

Long friendship, scoffed Kyle, some friendship—they were lovers for close to ten years!

Ya, ya—I know, you know, the world knows, but the wife is still discreet—anyhow, she coughed up attorney and fees.

Sounds like guilt to me.

Now Kyle, just because Jill was your special friend doesn’t mean she was perfect.

Perfect or not, no one deserves that kind of death, and especially not her.

I agree! Do you want the name of the legal?

Yes, I do.

Paul Lyton.

Thanks, Jer.

"No problem, let me