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Scott Allan Tacke

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Member Since: Nov, 2007

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Price of Justice
by Alan Brenham

When straight-arrow detective Jason Scarsdale unwittingly befriends a woman secretly bent on murderous revenge, hes drawn into a web of malice that teaches him the value..  
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Yin and Yang
by Scott Allan Tacke
Friday, September 12, 2008
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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I clumsily tried to cram this into an 'Ottava rima' rhyme scheme, although I changed it by adding an additional syllable onto the final verse of each stanza.

I haven't had a chance to re-write this yet, so I'm not certain the iambic pentameter is consistent throughout (probably not). But all in all, it clearly shows I've been watching too many 'Forensic Files!' lol

 

 

 

 

 

I

 

A stealthy gator, waiting, half-submersed.

He snatches tender bosoms from the streets.

His twisted fantasies have been rehearsed

To help abduct all those his grin entreats.

Not one survives the realm of one so cursed,

And when they die, the cycle just repeats.

Reaching from shadows while stalking the night

Then snaring his victims, and fleeing the light.

 

I

A faithful bloodhound, sniffing on the trail,

He tracks the scent of souls long grown depraved.

Not missing any clue or small detail,

He paces crime scenes much like one enslaved.

No evildoer's crimes can long prevail

The steadfast justice he has always craved;

Taking the hunters and making them prey ---

Exposing all fiends to the light of the day.

 

II

With leather fingers gripping facial flesh,

He pulls her frightened form into his car.

He needs a quiet spot to start afresh

His sordid acts of torture, most bizarre;

Indecent designs as blood and tears mesh,

More pain than she's ever tasted thus far.

Her screaming mouth; a dark, open chasm.

Death brings release in his sudden orgasm.

 

II

With latex fingers touching yellow tape,

He straddles her body, rigid and cold.

MOs the same: mutilation and rape,

Naught but perversity there to behold.

Yet, ev'ry death helps his profile take shape;

Hopeful an identity will unfold.

The silent scream still frozen on her face;

A sickening sight he can't ever erase.

 

 

III

The witching hour summons without knell,

And draws him to the floorboards near the stair

Where down below awaits a soundproof cell

His cold, sadistic fetishes prepare.

He now must vivify this concrete hell;

A need that's grown compulsory to share.

Once gagged to stifle her desperate screams,

He tastes her fresh tears, then begins his routines.

 

III

A ringing telephone just after dawn

Awakens him to news macabre and grim:

Another body posed upon a lawn,

Gutted and dismembered, limb by limb.

He dresses, feeling nauseous and withdrawn,

Vowing to curtail this killer's whim.

Barking commands, he takes charge of the scene;

With a notebook in hand, he starts his routine.

 

IV

No blindfold now, for he must see her eyes;

Soon reveling in ecstasy each time

The needles or garrotte decrease her cries

From piercing shrieks to muted pantomime.

No matter though how carefully he tries,

He simply can't prolong this precious crime.

Her slow dissection soon grows more severe,

And in his frenzy, slashes her ear to ear.

 

IV

In sympathy, he closed her frozen stare;

The horror there had soiled his very soul.

It told a tale of terror and despair

That he was powerless to help console.

He wasn't close to God, but said a prayer

To help him gain some semblance of control.

He couldn't bear to see her so exposed

Hastening to zipper the body bag closed.

 

 

V

Wiping the crimson-red stains from his hands,

Resting, reclining with lit cigarette.

Seizing a few of his stray, pubic strands,

Snapping some pictures so he won't forget.

Calm again now, having met his demands,

Manic, he rocks, jubilant, yet upset.

Pleased with his deed, yet mourning her demise,

He locates a dump site to prop up his prize.

 

V

Alone with the coroner, helping to chart

Every wound on her body from forehead to gut,

A mere look reveals, their madman is smart;

No fibers or prints --- no 'open and shut'.

Yet as they prepared for the autopsy's start,

Wreathed in her hair lies a cigarette butt.

Extracted with care, though his fingertips shake,

He smiles, for his rival has made a mistake.

 

VI

Waiting for weeks, but the urge now is strong,

Though cops and press have revealed they have leads.

Caution can't hold him, he's waited too long;

Capture and fear cannot quell this man's needs.

He then sees a girl he has stalked all along,

He calls from the car and his shy act succeeds.

She steps from the curb, accepting his ride,

Opening the door and then getting inside.

 

VI

Impatiently he's waited for results;

For weeks the lab's extracted DNA.

He's bore the public's slanders and insults;

The scapegoat for technology's delay.

And none with whom he questions or consults

Could give him needed answers 'til today.

Genomic values and blank fields replete,

That only a 'hit' or a match can complete.

  

 VII

He pulled away and drove off down the street,

But something in his eyes caused her alarm.

Instinctively she knew she should retreat,

Though he assured her that he meant no harm.

He flashed a knife and so too, his deceit,

But she made no attempt now to disarm.

She reared and kicked and pushed the door ajar,

He swerved from the blow, and she leapt from the car.

 

VII

The search through data for offenders grew;

Through bleary eyes, he watched the PC screen.

Reports came in, each staggering but true :

A girl had escaped and shared what she'd seen.

A sketch had been made, and right then he knew,

Swift would be justice, with no in-between.

He holstered his gun ---prepared to dispatch ---

The program had stopped with a positive match.

 

VIII

Heartbeat increasing; adrenaline surge

Fishtail and skid, but she'd now disappeared!

Waiting, he hoped that she would reemerge ---

No use and things were now worse than he'd feared.

Scanners informed him the cops would converge

Putting an end to this life he'd revered.

With flashing lights and sirens in his wake

He sped off to outrun this gravest mistake.

 

VIII

Armed with a witness and now DNA,

He firmly believes he can finish this quest.

Life that had spiraled with stress and dismay

Would right itself with a single arrest.

He went to his car with no more delay

To end the hunt to which he'd grown obsessed.

Squad car pursuit through the streets of the town

To collar their suspect and take the man down.

 

IX

Stifling paranoia and choking fear

Fleeing in panic with no where to run

Outcome and climax becoming too clear

Webs of his life of deceit now undone

No thought to surrender, only persevere;

Somehow continue what he has begun

Shouts to pull over and guns drawn behind

His destiny now, more than ever, maligned.  
 

IX

Growing bravado and courage regained,

Drawn to the chase as their mark leaves his car.

A few steps behind, but his pace is maintained ---

Knowing the chase will not go very far.

Leaping and pouncing, he got him restrained

Gun butt to skull quickly ends their brief spar.

Few muffled cries and a half-hearted kick;

Surrender complete when he felt the cuffs click.

 

X

Slow germination from childhood's abuse

Blooming alone in the soil of neglect

Each psychopathic yearning, so obtuse ---

Allowed to grow and fester there unchecked,

Until the rotten fruit they would produce

Became a crop he'd reap and not reject.

Years of misuse reached their low ebb in time;

A cycle of harvest, but this one of crime.

 

X

Always surrounded by love and support

He learned his admiration for the law

Doubtful at times, though (but) he'd never abort

The sense of morality only he saw.

Criminals roamed ever present, athwart

His efforts seem to wane, but not withdraw.

His crusade returned from whence it sprang

Once more to its apex, as yin does with yang.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



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Reviewed by Paivi Giannios 9/8/2012
A very skillfully written narrative poem--I like how the two participants of the story act in a parallel way throughout. While one "With leather fingers grip[s]," the other "With latex fingers touch[es]" and so the "stealthy gator" and the "faithful bloodhound" complement each other. The poem is very effective; it is structured very thoughtfully and carefully. As a reader, I do welcome the ending where the "faithful bloodhound" would "never abort/The sense of morality only he saw." While the poem of course needs to have the two different sides to be what it is, as a reader, I am left mostly, at the end, with a feeling of embracing the "crusade" of diligence and discipline.
Reviewed by Axilea MU 9/14/2008
Your narrative poem and great skills make the reader follow the story and yet, the philosophical answer is in the title made of complementarity.

Axilea
Reviewed by Sandie Angel 9/13/2008
It's a bit too long for a poem, this could have been made into a short story. However, this has been a good read.

Sandie Angel :o)
Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader) 9/13/2008
Interesting indeed...stay safe and well...HUgss
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