![\"image\"](\"http:\/\/media.tumblr.com\/f2ed72e7736a316bc08249c0d992da83\/tumblr_inline_mw2cqbVFxj1rms2iz.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
“I wrote just over 3,000 words yesterday… not the 10k that I was hoping for, but I suppose that’s why I have today to work, as well. I believe I’ve finally found a scene that works for me for the opening… and am writing actual prose now, not just information dumping back story and awkward maid and butler dialogue… though, I’m struggling with tenses some, much to my secretary’s dismay. Regardless, it’s under the cut… and I’ll continue writing, now.”<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
…<\/p>\n
The opening credits come in on blueprints; grainy and overlaid, one on top of the other, and another. Buildings \u2013 corporate office buildings, museums, banks. Each one gradually shifting, moving, until the patterns form the back of a playing card \u2013 a giant spade, with the other suits, intricate pattern twisting. The card slides out, revealing a deck. From this, several cards are pulled, stacked appropriately, and then turned over. But instead of normal face cards, similar to the ones used for poker, they are tarot cards.<\/p>\n
The reading, if done by those who know, would reveal signs for fools, hunters, a chase, the pursuit of knowledge, and ultimately, death. Death by someone close. Death of someone close. The cards shift into the image of a gruesome crime scene \u2013 flashing lights of a police car, blood on the ground, a pale white hand lying lifeless on the concrete.<\/p>\n
\u00a0Then the title \u2013 \u2018Insane Jane\u2019 \u2013 written in striking red and white on black.<\/p>\n
The scene then immediately transitions into a night club. Flashing lights, loud music, and a girl \u2013 blonde haired, brown eyed, black halter top against pale skin, mingling with the crowd. Despite the amount of people, she is decidedly alone.<\/p>\n
Chapter One<\/p>\n
I am Jane.<\/p>\n
Nothing else seems to make sense but that simple fact. The fact that I\u2019m here in this night club in Quincy, surrounded by people that I don\u2019t know, is insane. What am I doing? Hoping to be picked up? Do I actually like dancing? I do, but not like this.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man who asks is in his mid-twenties, unshaven, and drunk enough to be hitting on seventeen year-old girl that he\u2019s managed to work up the courage to talk to. At least, I think it\u2019s because he\u2019s drunk. I used a fake ID to get in here and know my way around the bar enough to be a regular, but I haven\u2019t really put any effort into looking any older than I actually am. Now he\u2019s showing interest and I\u2019m offering a shy sort of smile- a tactic that always works on his<\/em> type.<\/p>\n \u201cMarie.\u201d I lie, batting long lashes to disguise the fact that I want to roll my eyes so<\/em> hard. The resistance doesn\u2019t last as he gives me a stupid, slaving grin in response, and I turn away so that he won\u2019t see.<\/p>\n \u201cMarie. Beautiful name, that. Perfect for such a beautiful girl.\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m vaguely surprised that he can still speak with the potency of the cheap beer on his breath, but then, he may be a professional drinker. Those are the ones that are the most trouble in an establishment like this; they know how to drink and stay sober enough to function long enough for their lack of inhibitions to get them to act. It\u2019s difficult to say whether I prefer that or not; on the one hand, they\u2019re less likely to pass out or throw up on my dress. On the other, evenings with them are more likely to end in tears.<\/p>\n Despite knowing this, having experienced it far more often than I\u2019d like to admit, I glance back over my shoulder and give him a good once-over, actions exaggerated to make it clear what I\u2019m doing and what my intentions may be. With a twist in my stomach, it\u2019s made clear to me just how receptive he is when his hand touches my waist and slips down to my thigh.<\/p>\n \u201cYou flatter me,\u201d I finally say, pulling away with a shameless little laugh. Men like these have to be taunted a little. Teased into thinking that they have some kind of obstacle to overcome to rightfully win their prize. It\u2019s all just a game. He doesn\u2019t need to do anything at all to get me into his bed, not really, though it does seem to give them an aggressive edge. It gets the night over faster.<\/p>\n He pursues, this time catching me by the elbow with one hand, while the other reaches to sweep the hair away from my neck, where he kisses me.<\/p>\n That was easy. I\u2019ve only been here for thirty seven minutes, seventeen seconds, and I\u2019ve nabbed a target. Really, it was almost disappointing. I\u2019d have far too much time afterward to think, and god help me if he decides that he wants to try to talk<\/em> afterward. I wonder if this is really such a good idea. I know that it\u2019s not; I hate that I do this at all, in fact, but what choice do I have now? He\u2019s got his hand at the small of my back again, and he\u2019s leaning in to take another taste of my neck.<\/p>\n My name is Jane. I tell myself again and again. I am Jane. It doesn\u2019t matter what happens here, or in the back of this man\u2019s car, or back at his apartment. I am still Jane. I will always be Jane. That is the one anchor that I have, and the only one that I need.<\/p>\n \u201cJane!\u201d<\/p>\n I lift my head out of its tilt, which I\u2019d done to give the man more access to my throat, and froze. The voice that had known me, the real me, belonged to Kent Hartwell, the son of Boston\u2019s chief police commissioner. While I considered ignoring him to keep my cover, the temptation only lasted half a heartbeat before I dropped it entirely. The man that held me, wanted me, was of no consequence. Once I left the club, now without him, I would file him away under failed conquests and lock that memory away. Getting rid of Kent was not so easy.<\/p>\n He approached, tanned skin darker under the neon bulbs of the club, which made his eyes, widened with shock, that much more pronounced. I couldn\u2019t help but laugh at that expression on his face, and pulled away from the man to remove the vulnerability from my posture.<\/p>\n \u201cAh, Jane, I\u2019m surprised to see you here.\u201d Kent attempted to maintain a professional attitude in all of our interactions, and this was no exception. Between the all-too-serious tone of voice and the flustered fumbling, the effect was completely ruined.\u00a0 \u201cWho\u2019s your friend?\u201d<\/p>\n I could tell by the way that his smile gradually dampened as he spoke that the man behind me had begun to posture. It was time to cut ties to my evening\u2019s entertainment, even if I didn\u2019t want to admit the relief that I felt. That was Kent, though; a regular knight in shining armor, whether I wanted him to be or not.<\/p>\n \u201cOh,\u201d I blink and look back over my shoulder at the man, who\u2019s put on a pre-emptive smug smirk, moving up behind me to curl his fingers around my hip. So arrogant, this one. He might have been a good time, really. Kent would owe me more bruises later. I keep my eyes on the man\u2019s face a few moments longer than necessary to answer, just so that I can watch the pride fracture on his face. \u201cI don\u2019t actually know. Just what is<\/em> your name, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n The man blanches at that. \u201cSteve,\u201d he stammers, and tightens his hold on my body while struggling to maintain his illusions of control. \u201cCome on, Marie, it\u2019s time to go.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMarie. That\u2019s a new one.\u201d<\/p>\n Kent is unamused, as usual, which only increases my<\/em> amusement.<\/p>\n \u201cIt is. A new name, anyway.\u201d\u00a0 I pull out of Steve\u2019s grip again and am met with little resistance. Although I honestly would have been much happier never knowing Steve\u2019s name, I reluctantly make a note that he\u2019s not drunk enough to not know what he\u2019s doing. His movements have been deliberate. He\u2019s still got enough of his higher functions to know that when a girl pulls away like that, they mean no.\u00a0 So either Steve\u2019s not such a bad guy after all, or he doesn\u2019t want to risk having any witnesses \u2013 like Kent \u2013 to discount his stories of ignorance and accidents.<\/p>\n Part of me wants to know how it would have played out, but like this Steve that I\u2019ve built up in my head, I don\u2019t want Kent to think that I\u2019m a vapid idiot, either. He knows too much.<\/p>\n Kent folds his arms across his chest and I do the same, mirroring his now incredulous expression with a brow raise of my own.<\/p>\n \u201cJane, really\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n I laugh. \u201cDid you forget that I\u2019m a detective? I\u2019m undercover, and you are blowing it.\u201d<\/p>\n Suddenly, the warmth of that body behind me disappears. I don\u2019t turn to watch him; I only need to track Kent\u2019s eyes to know that he\u2019s already sliding back into the crowd to look for a new target. Or, if he\u2019s actually a letch, he\u2019s attempting to leave the club without any further investigation.<\/p>\n I relax when Kent does, but it\u2019s only temporary as my temper flares right after. \u00a0\u201cWhat are you doing, anyway? This isn\u2019t Boston. Isn\u2019t this out of your jurisdiction?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m helping to track someone down.\u201d\u00a0 Kent frowns at me, holding onto his arms where they hold his disapproving pose with just a little too much fervor. I wonder if he\u2019s resisting the urge to take me into his arms, or perhaps to take my hand and drag me from the club. \u201cThat\u2019s not important. What are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI told you; I\u2019m a detective.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re seventeen!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m a young detective, but that doesn\u2019t change how good I am.\u201d<\/p>\n He finally can\u2019t stand it, and reaches for my wrist. I let him take it, but only long enough to gauge the strength of his grip before slipping out of it. He\u2019s slipped into big brother mode, which means that my time here at the club is nearly over. I came to Quincy instead of Boston in hopes that I would avoid Kent, but he always seems to catch me at my worst.<\/p>\n \u201cYou need to go home. It\u2019s late. Please tell me that you haven\u2019t been drinking.\u201d<\/p>\n I take the body of my hair and twist it between my fingers, rolling it over my shoulder to bury the low cut of my dress in curls. He really doesn\u2019t need to see me like this.\u00a0 \u201cI haven\u2019t.\u201d Another lie, but an easy one. I\u2019ve only had a little; only enough to take the edge off. Kent didn\u2019t carry a breathalyzer or anything on him, last I checked, and I wasn\u2019t about to let him kiss me, so I was reasonably safe in this sea of alcohol fumes and sweat. \u00a0\u201cNot that it\u2019d be any of your business, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n He reaches for my wrist again and I avoid being caught by turning and walking back through, toward the DJ. It will be more difficult to listen to Kent\u2019s protests when drowned out by the throbbing bass and screaming synth. Still, he pursues, and I wonder what it must look like to the other dancers. What it might look like to Steve, who could still be watching. Perhaps waiting. Would he linger in the parking lot and exact his revenge when one or both of us. An interesting thought, that.<\/p>\n When he does catch me, it\u2019s concern and not anger that permeates his presence. His eyes search mine and then my face when I avert my gaze. The way that he tears right through those walls and masks is too intimate for me, and the need for a decision takes priority over all else. I fold and let him take over, baby me, send me home, or I fight. Though, with Kent, it usually ends up being a combination of both, because I can\u2019t fight him for long. It\u2019s not his fault that I am the way that I am, or that I read him like an open book.<\/p>\n I twist into his arms, letting him keep his hold on my arm, and laugh. \u201cYou need to lighten up, officer.\u201d<\/p>\n He hesitates, then shakes his head. \u201cCome on, Jane, let\u2019s get you home.\u201d<\/p>\n With a simple half step, I get out of his grasp. \u201cNo. I\u2019ve still got work here to do.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat, you mean being picked up by some guy like\u2026 like Steve?\u201d<\/p>\n I shrug. \u201cI\u2019m doing an investigation in this area; I need people to talk to me, to willingly volunteer information.\u201d When he rolls his eyes, I feign an innocent smile. \u201cNo, not like that. God, Kent, I\u2019m not a slut.\u201d<\/p>\n More lies. Kent hesitates, but relents. He knows my history better than anyone else, but he\u2019s too polite to point that out. Instead he turns to the regulations that he\u2019s so fond of. \u201cHow did you even get in to this club?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFake ID.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor Marie, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u00a0 They\u2019re so easy to fabricate, and no one bothers to check. It makes it very easy to waltz in and out of these kind of places, which is where all of the sleazy people with the dish on what I need survive and thrive.\u201d Although he believes the details of my story, I can tell that he\u2019s unconvinced of the thesis. I sigh. Time to put on the charm. \u201cI can make one for you, if you\u2019d like. Private photography session at my place?\u201d<\/p>\n God. He hesitates a moment and I wonder if he\u2019s really going to accept, which nearly sends me into a panic. But, tried and true Kent comes through for me yet again with a firm shake of his head.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve got a badge that gets me in to where I need to be, Jane. I don\u2019t have to lie.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s because you\u2019re on an internship, Mr. Hartwell, and not a private investigator.\u201d<\/p>\n He sighs. The logical fallacies at work are eating at him and I can see that it bothers him.\u00a0 Still, I\u2019m flirting with him, and I know that he likes that. Watching the mental gears shift in his head is far more interesting than it ought to be, than it\u2019s safe to be. I know that I won\u2019t ever be in love with him, and it\u2019s not fair to treat him like this.<\/p>\n \u201cYou could be,\u201d he eventually says with a sigh. \u201cDid you turn it down again?\u201d<\/p>\n I shrug. I haven\u2019t turned them down. I\u2019m in the station several times a week back in the town of Lyndoch where I live, working with the people under my father \u2013 Police Chief Tom Wickham. But even involvement with the hard working men and women of the force (which was miniscule compared to what Kent dealt with), my need for freedom to do as I pleased had not stopped my work as a private investigator. A detective.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on, Jane. Did you drive?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I took the train.\u201d I wasn\u2019t about to drive my cherry red BMW to a night club. That was just asking for drama. Besides, before Kent showed up, I had<\/em> intended to get more drinking in. It would have helped to dull the pain from the headache that always came on with my so-called unsavory activities. \u00a0\u201cCome on, Kent\u2026 you know that things are dull at home. I\u2019ve got to get out to get any interesting news. And that guy\u2019s still out there, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSteve?\u201d His brow lifts again, this time in skepticism.<\/p>\n \u201cNo. \u00a0Not Steve. I\u2019m talking about the serial killer that-\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cYou know we\u2019re not supposed to be talking about that.\u201d\u00a0 Kent shakes his head, slipping his arm around my back so that he can guide me toward the stairs. \u201cIt\u2019s still not entirely public knowledge.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, please, everyone knows about it.\u201d<\/p>\n He doesn\u2019t listen, making a bee-line for his goal. It should be quieter up there, which means that he\u2019s at least not willing to patronize me quite so much as to force me to leave, but he\u2019s not going to let me out of his sight. It\u2019s equally as annoying, but I guess he\u2019s earned a little bit of a break from me and my attitude. Honestly, I don\u2019t see how he can stand to put up with me the way that he does. The flirting that I do to keep him at bay must be exuberating the problem, but I\u2019m not about to stop.<\/p>\n \u201cJust because the news has reported some unrelated killing doesn\u2019t mean that the general public is aware of the situation as a whole.\u201d He shifts positions to take my arm, leading me up the stairs, and I let him. \u00a0<\/p>\n He loves me. He knows it. I know it. He knows that I know it. But I\u2019m never going to love him back. This isn\u2019t his fault, either; he\u2019s a great guy. Handsome, sweet, valiant. Everything that a girl could want as a counterpart to her damsel in distress. But I\u2019m not in distress, not anymore, and he\u2019s already done his saving. The first time I met him\u2026 and I mean really met<\/em> him as opposed to seeing him around at district summer parties with the force, was the night that my mother died. When they pulled me out of that dirty basement at nine years old, I was thrust in to Kent\u2019s arms, who was then ordered to hold me until my father arrived and could take over.<\/p>\n Kent was barely ten years old then, and already so obedient to every order that Commissioner Hartwell barked. He held me tight in his arms and I wondered, staring at the ground past his shoulder, if that was what it was like to have nothing left. I had my life, my father, my home left. My future. And in Kent\u2019s arms, I might have had the beginnings of young love budding, especially when he blushed when I looked at him. But I couldn\u2019t feel anything other than agony.\u00a0 It didn\u2019t bring my mom back. Her blood, then dried, caked my face and hair. No amount of holding would fix that, even though it was easily better than the horrors that I\u2019d just been rescued from.<\/p>\n That was the problem. Kent had saved me that night, and in the process marked himself. I can\u2019t see him without remembering that night, and reliving a part of that agony over again. That\u2019s the problem with deictic memory; it\u2019s half as useful as photographic and so much more painful. \u00a0But that\u2019s all difficult to explain to someone who has always tried so hard to be there for you, always with that careful smile, respectful gestures, and vulnerable heart.<\/p>\n Not that it kept those in charge from trying to set us up. A marriage, they said, between the two of us would help the RP of our district. Strengthen the ties over the boundary. Secure more funding for Lyndoch, which it sorely needed. But that was insane. We\u2019d never even been on a real date. And I wasn\u2019t about to let him start. Every time he tried to ask, I\u2019d pushed him away. Showed him a little more of myself- the parties, the bad habits, but he still persisted that it didn\u2019t matter, even though it really, really did. It hurts to see him disappointed. But I just can\u2019t let him in like that. He deserves better. And I have things to do.\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" “I wrote just over 3,000 words yesterday… not the 10k that I was hoping for, but I suppose that’s why I have today to work, as well. I believe I’ve finally found a scene that works for me for the opening… and am writing actual prose now, not just information dumping back story and awkward […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[4057,4055,4041,4056,3253,4054,241],"class_list":["post-5063","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-but-i-guess-he-doesnt-know-all-that-much-about-night-clubs-in-the-end","tag-hakuba-also-has-a-distinct-problem-with-sense-of-place","tag-hakunano","tag-i-thought-hed-be-better-at-that-given-his-detail-skill","tag-oocic","tag-so-much-text","tag-so"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/archive.gabapple.com\/tumblr\/whiteknighthakuba\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5063","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/archive.gabapple.com\/tumblr\/whiteknighthakuba\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/archive.gabapple.com\/tumblr\/whiteknighthakuba\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archive.gabapple.com\/tumblr\/whiteknighthakuba\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archive.gabapple.com\/tumblr\/whiteknighthakuba\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5063"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/archive.gabapple.com\/tumblr\/whiteknighthakuba\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5063\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/archive.gabapple.com\/tumblr\/whiteknighthakuba\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5063"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archive.gabapple.com\/tumblr\/whiteknighthakuba\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5063"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archive.gabapple.com\/tumblr\/whiteknighthakuba\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5063"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}