Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
It is hosted by Denise.
Let’s check in on Ian Devereaux, (and Anton and, of course, Stacey Whitelaw), as they continue to try to solve ‘the Case of the Missing Fig Leaf‘. The last time we saw them (Cliog an seo).
Prompt word:
TREE
“Consider, young lady, that which is arguably, the most enduring and pervasive of symbols in the history of the human race, ‘the Tree of Life’.
The voice was female, the inflection on the word ‘human’ jagged and the overall tone, that of every authority figure trying to mask fear; for my part, I was half an impromptu pair of carved-wood bookends, leaning against Anton, both of us devoid of options other than to watch and listen while Stacey Whitelaw and who I assumed was the head of Eibingen Abbey discussed someone’s fate.
The, not-Stacey-but-attractive-in-a-mature-accomplished-sense, woman exhibited the timeless attitude of every wicked-witch/cruel stepmother who’ve infected the pages of every post-Guttenberg book of bedtime stories used to frighten children into subservience; the only thing missing from her one sentence speech was, “…my pretty”.
In a word, insane; “…as derived from the German word: verrückt,” the memory of Professor Buck provided the voiceover in my head, “…literally past participle of verrücken “to displace,” “applied to the brain as to a clock that is ‘out of order’ “; I tried to smile at the thought a language professor from grad school would be my spirit-guide, while a discussion that no doubt included, ‘what to do with the bodies’, played on a slanted stage, the result of the angle at which I was leaning against my police liaison.
Stacy was standing in front of a desk that missed being a throne by a leather-corned desk blotter and one-too-many pen holders, her stance was the insolently casual posture favored by the young when angry but compelled to remain in the room; to her credit she waited for the older woman to complete her interrogative lilt before speaking.
“I’ve always wondered about that whole origin of religion thing and keep meaning to ask an expert,” Stacey frowned at the phone in her hand like a friend too drunk to help, gave up and said, “but, you know, I got a life,” looking over at Anton and me for a decent ‘fuck you’ interval before turning back to the woman who might be as dangerous as she looked, Stacey smiled, “Not to get overly ‘arguable‘, what say you revive my friends and show us the door out of Casa de Crazy Bitch?”
