Maureen Bashaw

Killerscent Maureen Bashaw

Fort Myers police officers Tom Cameron and Hank Lamp stared as the autistic teenager rocked back and forth, cradling the gun while his mother lay lifeless, on the bed. Brian stared back at the two cops, the one with the belly falling over his pants, the other, skinny as a pole. They both had guns pointed at him. Em, the neighbor woman, looked as white as Gulf coast sand. Brian shivered. Why are the cops here? Why doesn't Ma wake up? Whyyyyyy? Why doesn't Em wake her up? Why? Why? Why? My head hurts. I need to hit my head. I need to flap my hands. Sweat trickled over the palms of Brian's hands as he rocked faster and faster, his eyes wide with fear. What's happening? I need to tell Ma who was here. I need to flap my hands, flap my hands, flap, flap, flap. Why doesn't Ma wake up? Whyyyyyyy? My head hurts so much."Drop the gun," yelled Cameron. "Drop the gun. NOW." The boy tightened his hold on the weapon and continued to rock as Cameron and Lamp surveyed the scene, the body of a woman on the bed, the wild-eyed teenager on the floor waving the gun. Why are the cops here? Whyyyyyy? Are they gonna shoot me? Whyyyyy? Maaaaa. Wake up. I wanna tell you who left the smell of musk. Brian began to scream. Eeeeeeeeeeooooeeeee. ***** A portion of sale of books will be donated to Adonis Autism Assistance Foundation.