Book Attempt #2: Corpse Page 1

Okay, I failed my last attempt to write my story. The reason I didn't like it was that I really had a hard time getting into the storyline itself. This time I'm going to try continuing a story I've already started and really like. I'll post a bit of it on a daily basis for you to take a look at and give me your opinion. The story is called Corpse. I hope you like it.

PROLOGUE:

The body of Carol Hannity was found exactly one week after she had gone missing. There was no doubt when she was found that she was dead; her chest was a mush made so by countless stab wounds. Her staring eyes echoed the fear she had displayed in her last moments of life.

Like the two other victims before her, she was a single mom, living a quiet, yet stressful life in small town on the far outskirts of Chicago. The police found relatively few differences between this murder and that of Chloe Wilson and Audrey Babbit. Granted, all three were from different small burbs surrounding the city, but the rest was the same. They were taken from their small, unassuming homes in the middle of the night. All three had been divorced, left to raise there children on their own, during varying periods of time and all three were taken while their small children slept.

The deaths were violent: multiple stab wounds to the chest with a large knife. The first blade had been serrated, the other two smooth, but that was the only difference. It didn’t take long for the Chicago-land area to proclaim the presence of a serial killer who was stalking young single mothers.

The press was all over the matter and the police were trying, but getting nothing from their investigations. All they knew was that the killer had slaughtered three women in a span of six weeks and the constant fueling of the flames by the local media was making the pressure unbearable by the day. They needed a break, but without evidence there was absolutely nothing they could do but hope that the killer had made a mistake and given them the one thing they needed to find the trail.

It was November and it felt as if the oppression of winter had already set in. The city and its entire people within fifty miles found no solace even in their homes as the sounds of settling house, blowing wind or passing traffic set them on edge. It was going to be a long cold season, made so by the cloak of oppression brought on by the presence of the Windy City Ripper.

CHAPTER ONE:

I94 traffic was horrible, as it was every morning, as Jonathon G. Pitts drove his Chrysler Crossfire along his normal route into work. While it was a nuisance, it didn’t stop the young executive from gunning the engine and whipping in and out of the tightly packed cars. Countless times he flipped off the anonymous horn honker behind him as he pushed his way forward through the never-ending line of cars. He was immune to the glares he got as he quickly accelerated by his fellow Detroiters.

Like always, Jonathon was focused on one thing and no one else particularly mattered. He was what the white-collar world called a go getter and their blue-collar counter parts called an asshole. Part of that had to do with his upbringing and part from his perception that he was better than just about anyone. He owned the world and everyone else needed to pony up their rent or get off his planet.

Jonathon was an up-and-comer in the automotive industry. He had graduated from GMI/EMI (now Kettering University) and was a young hot shot in the engineering/design area as an intern for automotive industry during his collegiate years. It hadn’t taken long for Pitts to get a full-time offer following graduation.

He had bided his time, being cordial, making friends and learning as much as he could. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out who were the movers and shakers, allowing him to begin the slow, methodical process of ingratiating himself with the decision makers. By the time his third year was over, his relationship with the design manager was solid enough for Jonathon to begin his push for advancement.

An issue with a new product line led to tensions between the group supervisor and the design manager. The issue arose regarding some critical specifications that were not met by the design team. Jonathon had known all about the issue but failed to mention it to his boss, knowing well that there had been countless errors in the program and that the group supervisor was teetering on the edge. In the end, the supervisor requested a transfer out of the position.

Jonathon, always quick to make an impression, immediately recognized the mistake, and with little prodding, took control of the design team and pushed through changes that fixed the problem and allowed the project to meet the deadline by two days. The next day Jonathon was promoted, celebrating by purchasing the completely decked out Crossfire he now weaved in and out of traffic.