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The girl of Dudley's dreams might literally be the girl of his dreams.
He wanted a new life. He found it. |
Wishing
Chapter 6
“An(d) what, may I ask, is a Forensic Poet?”
“It’s a rare occupation, and I am its leadin(g), if not only, exponent.”
“Ooh I'm impressed, do tell me more.”
“Um, let me think. Okay, when they discovered fingerprints, criminals (q)uit wearing gloves, rig(h)t?”
“Right, thanks to Charles Wheatstone.”
“Er, yes. Really? Anyway, then they stopped leaving fi(br)es or cells for DNA analysis, ri(g)ht?”
“Right. (A m)an calle(d) Playfair I think, (b)ut carry on.”
Bra(v)ely, Adam pressed on with, “But they never, ever, consider the rhyme o(f) the crime.”
“Which is?”
“She was dead, on the bed, and the murder weapon was hidden in….”
“The shed?”
“Exactly. A Forensic Poet could save the police millions of man-hours thrashin(g) through grass with sticks. (F)aint is a le(g)end. In fact, Gideon i(s) the key to an era of creat(i)ve crime-solving.”
“My goodness,” she sai(d), then loo(k)e(d) at him in a way no woman had ever looked at him after revealing that he (s)old taps for a livin(g).
“Did you just m(a)ke all that up?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Just l(i)ke that?”
“What’s y(o)ur point?”
“I don't know. Why are you here Adam? What i(s) it you’re looking for?”
“I don’t kno(w) Lisa. I just keep looking and one day I’ll know. If my life was a house-plant it would need re-potting. I’m just looking for something that isn’t taps. I wish…”
She waggled her finger at him. “Oh no, when you wish upon a firework you only get one wish Adam. That’s the rule. Don’t say what you wish for, say what you want.”
“I want a different life,” he said.
She looked at him and the serious tone was still there. “You might have found it. Will you come with me to find my jacket?”
“An(d) what, may I ask, is a Forensic Poet?”
“It’s a rare occupation, and I am its leadin(g), if not only, exponent.”
“Ooh I'm impressed, do tell me more.”
“Um, let me think. Okay, when they discovered fingerprints, criminals (q)uit wearing gloves, rig(h)t?”
“Right, thanks to Charles Wheatstone.”
“Er, yes. Really? Anyway, then they stopped leaving fi(br)es or cells for DNA analysis, ri(g)ht?”
“Right. (A m)an calle(d) Playfair I think, (b)ut carry on.”
Bra(v)ely, Adam pressed on with, “But they never, ever, consider the rhyme o(f) the crime.”
“Which is?”
“She was dead, on the bed, and the murder weapon was hidden in….”
“The shed?”
“Exactly. A Forensic Poet could save the police millions of man-hours thrashin(g) through grass with sticks. (F)aint is a le(g)end. In fact, Gideon i(s) the key to an era of creat(i)ve crime-solving.”
“My goodness,” she sai(d), then loo(k)e(d) at him in a way no woman had ever looked at him after revealing that he (s)old taps for a livin(g).
“Did you just m(a)ke all that up?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Just l(i)ke that?”
“What’s y(o)ur point?”
“I don't know. Why are you here Adam? What i(s) it you’re looking for?”
“I don’t kno(w) Lisa. I just keep looking and one day I’ll know. If my life was a house-plant it would need re-potting. I’m just looking for something that isn’t taps. I wish…”
She waggled her finger at him. “Oh no, when you wish upon a firework you only get one wish Adam. That’s the rule. Don’t say what you wish for, say what you want.”
“I want a different life,” he said.
She looked at him and the serious tone was still there. “You might have found it. Will you come with me to find my jacket?”
