Barefoot in the Parking Lot Sample
The Body
January 17
Andy Reid was one of the lucky few who had never seen a corpse, so it wasn’t surprising that when he came across one, he recoiled in horror and broke into a cold sweat. His heart thudded wildly as he receded a few steps and stared at the body, realizing how different it was from seeing one on screen.
The man lay motionless on his back, a serene look on his face. An open wallet, various membership cards, and a syringe were scattered around him. At first Andy thought the man was asleep, but then he noticed that there was no movement in the chest. The man was not breathing.
“Whoa, dude, is he … dead?” asked Stephen in a trembling voice as Andy bumped into him. Now, Stephen did have experience with death, having attended his dear grandpa’s funeral when he was nine. It was a memory that still spooked him to this day. Fearing the worst, he had moved behind Andy for protection, George right beside him.
“Sure seems like it,” replied Andy. Morbid curiosity took over, and he trudged back to the body. George followed him.
“You think he’s a junkie?” Andy asked, pointing to the syringe.
“I don’t think so. I mean, he looks clean and healthy. Besides, both his sleeves are buttoned up. He couldn’t have been shooting himself up,” replied George.
By now, Stephen had mustered enough courage to join his friends. To think that until ten minutes ago they had been dining at their favorite restaurant, swapping anecdotes and tall tales about which hot woman had eyed who, the kind of talk you would expect from twenty-somethings who had downed a few drinks. To think that just five minutes ago, scanning the parking lot for his car, Andy had spied a pair of long, shapely legs that made their way up into a short, pink skirt and an attractive rear. He had admired the view, his mind racing, wondering whether the rest of that body was just as mind-blowing. Wondering whether he should talk to her, whether he would be lucky enough to get her number.
The woman had turned a few seconds later, spotted him, and disappeared into the darkness. He could still picture that terrified face. And now they stood in the same spot where she had been.
“Hey, he reminds me of … Is he really …?” Stephen said as he bent down to reach for the cards. Almost simultaneously, George went for the syringe.
“Guys! Wait! Don’t touch anything!” commanded Andy, proud that years of watching crime shows was finally paying off. He was well aware they shouldn’t be touching anything at a crime scene. “Let’s call the cops.”
Andy noticed the disappointment in his friends’ faces but was relieved to see they were in agreement. He dialed 911 and calmly provided all the details — as calmly as he possibly could, considering that his heart was still beating a thousand times a second. Then they waited patiently in the quiet of the night. No one was in the mood for tales anymore.
January 17
Andy Reid was one of the lucky few who had never seen a corpse, so it wasn’t surprising that when he came across one, he recoiled in horror and broke into a cold sweat. His heart thudded wildly as he receded a few steps and stared at the body, realizing how different it was from seeing one on screen.
The man lay motionless on his back, a serene look on his face. An open wallet, various membership cards, and a syringe were scattered around him. At first Andy thought the man was asleep, but then he noticed that there was no movement in the chest. The man was not breathing.
“Whoa, dude, is he … dead?” asked Stephen in a trembling voice as Andy bumped into him. Now, Stephen did have experience with death, having attended his dear grandpa’s funeral when he was nine. It was a memory that still spooked him to this day. Fearing the worst, he had moved behind Andy for protection, George right beside him.
“Sure seems like it,” replied Andy. Morbid curiosity took over, and he trudged back to the body. George followed him.
“You think he’s a junkie?” Andy asked, pointing to the syringe.
“I don’t think so. I mean, he looks clean and healthy. Besides, both his sleeves are buttoned up. He couldn’t have been shooting himself up,” replied George.
By now, Stephen had mustered enough courage to join his friends. To think that until ten minutes ago they had been dining at their favorite restaurant, swapping anecdotes and tall tales about which hot woman had eyed who, the kind of talk you would expect from twenty-somethings who had downed a few drinks. To think that just five minutes ago, scanning the parking lot for his car, Andy had spied a pair of long, shapely legs that made their way up into a short, pink skirt and an attractive rear. He had admired the view, his mind racing, wondering whether the rest of that body was just as mind-blowing. Wondering whether he should talk to her, whether he would be lucky enough to get her number.
The woman had turned a few seconds later, spotted him, and disappeared into the darkness. He could still picture that terrified face. And now they stood in the same spot where she had been.
“Hey, he reminds me of … Is he really …?” Stephen said as he bent down to reach for the cards. Almost simultaneously, George went for the syringe.
“Guys! Wait! Don’t touch anything!” commanded Andy, proud that years of watching crime shows was finally paying off. He was well aware they shouldn’t be touching anything at a crime scene. “Let’s call the cops.”
Andy noticed the disappointment in his friends’ faces but was relieved to see they were in agreement. He dialed 911 and calmly provided all the details — as calmly as he possibly could, considering that his heart was still beating a thousand times a second. Then they waited patiently in the quiet of the night. No one was in the mood for tales anymore.