Creative Book of 10 Best Short Stories Read online

  He then turns his attention back to the Defendant. “I must apologise for that outburst, Mr Retsino. It was not aimed at you and I meant no disrespect to you. Your predicament echoes something in my own life, which I will not go into.” He pauses and the Defendant looks a little more at ease.

  Robert Dewcliff can’t suppress another few chuckles before he can speak again. “How old are you, Mr Retsino?”

  “Thirty-four Sir,” he replies, obviously wondering where this is leading.

  “Do you have a family of your own?”

  “No Sir.”

  Robert Dewcliff stops and ponders for a while, tapping his nose with his ‘steepled’ fingers. The sense of anticipation in the courtroom is palpable.

  He continues. “Do you read much, Mr Retsino?”

  “Yes Sir. I love to read.”

  The solicitor rises and addresses the Magistrate with some exasperation in his voice. “Your Worship, this hardly seems relevant.”

  Robert Dewcliff responds with a smile, “Indulge me, Mr Johnston.”

  The solicitor sits down. Robert Dewcliff focuses his attention on the Defendant again. “What in particular do you read?”

  “Novels, mostly crime. And…” He hesitates. “I like to read the law reports in the library.” He looks embarrassed.

  Robert Dewcliff smiles, his hunch confirmed.

  “Mr Retsino, I have a proposition to make.” He stops to gather his thoughts. Retsino looks expectantly at him and then at his solicitor.

  Robert Dewcliff speaks again, this time to ask the Prosecutor and the solicitor to step forward. When they reach the Magistrate’s Bench, Robert Dewcliff speaks quietly to them.

  “Clive, I know your client has pleaded ‘not guilty’ and you have not completed the defence case. What I have in mind is that the Defendant plead ‘guilty’ and…”

  Both lawyers start to interrupt him, but he holds up his hand to prevent them. He continues, “…I will impose a non-custodial sentence with conditions.”

  Clive Johnston opens his mouth, hesitates, then asks, “What conditions do you propose, Robert?”

  Robert Dewcliff responds. “ I will announce those openly to the Court and then you can consult with your client. He can then agree or disagree. Fair enough Clive? And what about you, Alan?” This last is addressed to the Prosecutor.

  Both lawyers think for a while, before both agreeing to this unusual suggestion. They return to their places at the Bar Table. Clive Johnston turns around to the Defendant and asks him to sit down. He then explains to him what the Magistrate has suggested. While this is going on, the buzz of conversation rises in intensity in the public gallery, as people wonder what is going on.

  Retsino is almost angry as he says to his solicitor, “But you told me to plead ‘not guilty’ so that you could try and get me off.”

  “Sure,” Johnston replies, “but I think your chances of getting off are slight and you might well go to gaol for a change. What the Magistrate is offering is to keep you out of gaol, although he said he would put conditions on it. I imagine he’ll put you on probation with community service.”

  “For how long?” his client asks.

  “No idea. But he did say it was up to you whether you accept the conditions.”

  Retsino thought for a while, before asking, “What if I decide not to accept his conditions?”

  “He could then decide to lock you up for a while.”

  Retsino looks shocked at this. Some of those in the gallery are trying to hear what the two are saying. During all this, Robert Dewcliff is in quiet conversation with the Clerk, while the Prosecutor is making notes.

  Johnston thinks for some moments, then says to his client, “I know this magistrate. He’s always fair and he has a reputation for unusual solutions. He’s one of the few magistrates or judges I know who seems genuinely interested in justice.” He pauses, then continues, “I think it’s worth the risk.”

  Retsino sits and thinks. He is petrified of going to gaol. Why has he been so stupid? He is intelligent enough to understand that what he did to land up in Court again was largely a protest against his father, for his constant attempts to control his son. And his father has refused, again, to come to Court to support him. He is on his own and needs to take control of his life. He sighs and looks up at his solicitor.

  “I suppose I don’t have much choice, do I?” he asked.

  “You always have a choice, Fabio. You always have a choice. But I know what you mean.”

  Silence falls between them. Finally Retsino heaves a sigh and says to Johnston, “Okay. I’ll take the risk.”

  Johnston nods, turns toward the front of the Court again and stands up. Robert Dewcliff looks up and an expectant silence falls over the Court.

  Johnston speaks. “Your Worship, my client will change his plea to ‘guilty’ and throw himself upon the mercy of the Court.”

  “And the mercy of the Court he shall have,” Robert Dewcliff replies. He continues. “Mr Retsino.”

  The latter stands up as his solicitor sits down.

  Robert Dewcliff looks at the Defendant steadily, before continuing. “Mr Retsino, what I am about to put to you may seem a strange proposition. I suggest that when I have finished putting it to you, you take some time to think about it. And I am quite happy to hear any response you may have.”

  The Defendant nods and Robert Dewcliff continues. “It seems to me that the strife you find yourself in (not for the first time), is partly a result of your following the wishes of a demanding father,”

  The Defendant looks surprised.

  Robert Dewcliff smiles. “I understand that better than you know. It also appears that you have a keen interest in the law – I might even venture to guess that it could be your calling.”

  The Defendant nods again.

  “What I propose is the following. That you be placed on probation for two years. That you immediately seek entry into a law school and that you pursue a degree in law. That, provided you apply yourself assiduously to your studies and pass your first year, your probation will be discharged at that point. I assume that successful completion of your first year of study in a field you are passionate about, will obviate any further supervision by the State.”

  Robert Dewcliff pauses to watch the effect of all this on the petty criminal standing before him.

  Retsino’s face goes through a series of metamorphoses: incredulity, worry, relief, joy, worry again, puzzlement. He has tears in his eyes as he addresses the Magistrate. “Thank you Sir. I don’t know what to say. How did you know these things?”

  Robert Dewcliff smiles and answers, “If you appear before me again, I expect it to be as a lawyer. That will be the thanks I would like. Now, I suggest that you go off with Mr Johnston to discuss what I have put to you and return to this Court later in the day with your answer. We will formally conclude the matter then.”

  Robert Dewcliff turns to the Prosecutor. “Mr Appleby, have you any comments to make?”

  The prosecutor rises. “Your worship has again shown the wisdom to tread a path none of us would have thought of. I have no objections.”

  Robert Dewcliff gives a slow nod of acknowledgement. “Thank you, gentlemen. I adjourn this case to later this day.” He bangs his gavel down lightly on its block and asks the Clerk to announce the next case.

  Blood Bride

  Grace Richardson

  Blood Bride

  The morning sun tinged the pavements as Greg waited. ‘Calm down…’ the purgatorial words repeated over and over in his anxious mind. Calm down. Cars whizzed past on the dry roads, like annoying swarms of flies, hell bent on breaking his concentration. His mind would just focus…then around the corner comes another of those noisy and spitting buses. He grimaced at the time. Pulling his cigarettes from his pocket, he examined the tan and white sticks his doctor had warned him so often about. Sod it. It was time for another. He was about to light up, when his motion was stopped by a relieving sight. Melanie. Breezing round the
corner with an air that was wonderfully contrasted with the speeding cars, she walked as if caressed along by the morning breeze, which was the only consolation between the choruses of pollution following each miserable wave of traffic. Her blouse blew gently in the wind, making Greg feel cooler, as if a current of refreshment glazed over his hot and uncomfortable skin. The breeze was only a momentary relapse in the heat, as the anxiety returned with a vengeance. This woman was the reason for his discomfort. The reason for the unwelcoming nerves that bubbled inside his abdomen.

  The proposal of marriage would not be easy. For one thing, he and Melanie had been together a while, and never even considered taking things a step further. But just seeing her sweep towards him amongst the decay of the everyday world made his heart leap. He fingered the ring in his pocket. The gold band and rough diamond that glinted on top was hopefully going to find its way out of the pocket’s darkness, and onto a worthier platform. She approached. He swallowed bile, and felt himself shaking a little. He was confident it was the right thing to do, but feared any unexpected damage to his chances. They would move in together after the marriage. This ‘seeing each other every three days’ system was not enough. He always held a fear in the back of his mind that the three days between their engagements would be long enough for her to meet another. He swallowed hard.

  Melanie swung up to him, smiling with those increasingly white pearls between her lips, she greeted him with warmth that was more welcome to Greg than the heat of the day. He enveloped her in his arms and appreciated her, down to the smooth fabric of her coat, the silky sensation of her blowing hair. “Hi babe,” he whispered into her ear, and he felt her grip tighten. “Greg, what’s wrong?” the words fell suddenly from her mouth, like prophetical bullets, sensing his fear. Greg hesitated. Was now the time?

  She broke from the embrace and looked into his eyes, the pools of deep, troubled blue in his face. “Mel,” he stuttered, secretly cursing his weakened voice, “We’ve been together a long time, right?”

  Her expression faltered. He swallowed again. “I wanted to ask you something important.” Her face softened. She took his hand and sat on the low wall with him, her eye contact remaining secure. “Mel... will you marry me?” he took out the ring that his fingers had been tracing for a full hour, and many times before that. Her eyes fell to the diamond ring that protruded hopefully from his fingers.

  Her response was not immediate, much to Greg's anticipation. She sat, gazing at the ring in his hand, in a trance that appeared quite doubtful. He was about to withdraw the ring in embarrassment, when she spoke. “Greg, I will marry you…but what about the fact that we can’t live together?” Springing to embrace her, he was stopped by her hand pressing delicately on his chest, kerbing his excitement. “Mel, you know we can live together when we’re married. Distance won’t be an issue any more!” his eyes shone with a hopeful glaze. Melanie looked grave. “I love the countryside so much, I couldn’t move to a town to live with you.” Greg thought hard, how was he to destroy this problematic rock that came between him and happily ever after? Scanning his mind for a solution, he smiled. “We could look for a house in the country together,” he beamed, “I can get a job transfer to whichever area we’re in!”

  Melanie thought a moment, her hazel eyes snuffed by the cloud across her face. “But I’d need time alone. I feel smothered if I’m constantly with you. It isn’t that I don’t love you, but I need space to think.” Greg nodded. The best he could do was to agree. “Then we can do that. When I go to work each day, that will give you plenty of time alone.” His words were to ricochet off Melanie’s following thoughts. “I need evenings alone though, I never sleep completely soundly when someone else shares the bed. It’s just the way I am.” Desperate to reinforce his proposal, he told her that he would have a couple of nights a week at his mothers, to allow the space she was after. Eventually, he hit the jackpot. Her face softened, and she allowed her lips a smile that confirmed the engagement. Gripping Melanie tightly in an embrace, he did not allow the doubtful discussion to ruin his spirits. She’d come round in her own time.

  The marriage was what everyone could have hoped for. In an ivory coloured dress, Melanie turned more heads that day than diamonds did. Her blonde hair tied neatly into a stunning braid that shined with complexity, she walked up the aisle with all eyes following. The guests watched her like dealers would watch a priceless antique, in all its splendour. During the service, one thing troubled Greg. All through the ceremony, Melanie’s mother sat with a look of sheer thunder across her face. The beautiful light through the stained glass windows offered no solace to her horrendous expression that was fixed on the marriage. Shrugging it off enough to be comfortable, he spoke to the guests with gusto, remembering his success in netting such a beautiful wife. The wedding night was as magical as the day, and bride and groom slept soundly that evening, as a warming harvest moon graced the sky.

  Closing the cottage door quietly, Greg motioned to his car. It had been six months since the couple were wed, and Greg’s fine earnings had bought Melanie a charming cottage in a quiet country area. Five minutes from a local village, but otherwise shrouded in natural beauty, just like his new wife, he smiled to himself. However, having to retreat to his mother’s for the last two days of every week had not worn thin. It had been an insistence. He couldn’t help but feel a little disheartened, and there were always his mother’s annoying questions about the strange system to conquer each time. Nevertheless, he proceeded with her demands, living in hope that they would lose their ferocity, like a knife blunting over time. He was halfway there, and the evening sun kissed the brow of the horizon, and he reached one hand into his bag, looking for his mobile phone to tell Melanie that he had arrived, (another thing she’d demanded he did, probably worried for his safety). His fingers scuffling around, he let out a curse and the car veered uncomfortably. Clasping his hand back onto the wheel, he pulled the car into a lay-by, and continued a more detailed search for the phone. Nothing. His chest heaved with frustration. He knew he needed his mobile for the two days to contact work and his boss if needed. Many overseas contacts were on there, and he begrudgingly turned the car and headed back up the motorway. He chuckled to himself. Melanie would be waiting for his call. Perhaps it would work in his favour. If he turned back up at the door for his phone, perhaps she would suggest he stayed after all. Brimming with a new found hope, he floored the pedal, smiling as the orange lights of city and industry turned to trees and greenery, the only light being the moon reflecting off rivers and streams. Pulling the car onto the gravel of the cottage driveway, he scanned his bag again for the mobile. Adamant that it was not there, he knew it must be on the kitchen table, where he’d placed it while packing his laptop for work, prior to leaving. Approaching the door, he knocked heavily, the little spotlight almost blinding him from the porch. Fiddling with the ivy that hung by the doorway, adding to the houses rustic features. No answer. ‘Probably in the bath or something,’ he laughed to himself. He did have his own key, but liked Mel to have authority over her own ‘bolt-hole,’ as she liked to call it. Knocking again, he waited, brushing up his collar in the coldness of the closing night. He watched his breath plume like smoke in the beam of the spotlight, killing his boredom as the wait became longer. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that her car was still here, and grew increasingly worried after recollecting that he had himself heard the doorbell whilst in the bathroom at one point. Fishing his own key from his pocket, he pierced the lock, shouldering his way inside. It was pitch. The only light sprouted from a lone candle on the table. His mind whirred with confusion. “Mel!?” he yelled with anxiety. Fearing that she’d fallen or had a mishap, he flicked on the living room light, dismayed to see an empty couch and no sign of Melanie. Picking up a crumpled newspaper, he slapped it on the coffee table, the one they’d received a few months ago as a wedding present from his brother. He remembered her mother’s disgruntled face protruding though the happiness as they’d received it, and ho
w she had kept giving Mel looks of steel as they had wed. What was with that anyway?

  Suddenly, a clatter from upstairs sent him into a state of alertness. Looking instinctively up to the ceiling, he catapulted for the stairs, almost fearing what he was going to find. Had she collapsed? Been attacked? All these awful scenarios pierced his mind as he grappled up the stairs in the dark. The whole upper floor was shrouded in darkness, and only the walls were his guidelines. He hadn’t switched on the landing light during his journey up the stairs, as his mind was lost in the awful predictions. Taking in the sound of his own feet on Mel’s plush carpet, he scuffled like a rat in search for food. The night teased his eyes, and he headed for the main bedroom that he shared with Mel, in the knowledge that the bay window would let enough light in to see. He was halfway there when he lost his balance and stumbled to the ground in the dark corridor, his hand splattering into something moist on the carpet. Smelling his hand, he was confused at the lack of scent. Just water maybe, although it felt thicker. Heaving himself up, he entered the dim bedroom. The ivy flickered on the outside edge of the window, almost silver in the moonlight. Wiping his damp hand on his coat, he flicked on the bedside lamp.