Alysse Aallyn

Category: Murder Confessions

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 20 – The End

    We flew to a hotel at LaGuardia,

    Called Derek, whose father suggested

    Vince Tromwell.  He got 

    Mirabel immunity as long as she told

    “the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”

    and after they tested the shirt and the knife

    Verne even confessed –

    If you call taking an Alford plea –

    (Which legally means “You got me”) –

    Confession. Verne got forty years

    On each count with deportation

    Instead of parole. 

    Mom and Dad didn’t mind

    Having a yoga teacher in the family –

    They both started yoga –

    I admit I did too –

    That’s what big sisters are for;

    They go through everything first

    So you don’t have to.

    We get to be writers, we

    The little sisters

    Poets and thinkers of all the peaceful

    Afternoons; assessing, not

    Regressing, savoring even

    The upside down moments

    Right side up and 

    Passing them to history.

    It worked on everyone but Mr.

    Mowgley, English teacher,

    Who said;

    “Shouldn’t you write this

    In the third person voice

    To gain some distance?”

    I said, “Never.

    I’m Richenda Marshott, only me and

    I’ll never pretend to be

    Anyone else.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    I had to ask

    The ultimate question.

    “Did he kill the real Franny?”

    Were we a survivor chain of

    The lot, the disconnected, the

    Threatened?

    Her eyes slid back and forth

    As she repeated her question;

    “Did anyone follow you?”

    I wasn’t aware of anyone

    But in our day and age

    Of advanced surveillance

    Was it possible to reassure?

    “No. No hiding stalkers

    On your tiny island.”

    It worked.

    For the first time she relaxed

    And smiled. But still she

    Whispered as if we could be

    Overheard.

    “I’m sorry for putting you 

    In that position but I knew

    You wouldn’t let him hurt you.

    You were always different

    Born yourself –

    I’m not myself yet but

    I’m trying to be.”

    She began to swing us

    Her thin legs in white gauze reached out

    Pumping us higher.

    “You didn’t answer my question”

    I insisted, “The real Franny

    Is dead. Who killed her?”

     “Verne killed them,” she confided.

    As our swing vaulted heavenwards.

    “My friends were

    “Hiding me from Verne but

    “I still had to work. He stalked me – he

    Broke in – stabbed Franny and Jane.”

    “But missed you?” I prompted. ”Because

    You were in the broom closet?”

    “No,” she said, “He found me

    Covered me with their blood – said

    I was the cause of

    Everything, I was the one who

     Made  it happen.

    He threatened to kill me too

    But slowly. I knew he planned

    To torture me to death.

     I could never get away.”

    “Why not tell the police?”

    Her eyes were so big, pale blue shading

    Into gray – same color as the ocean.

    “They’d lock me up –

    He knows too much about me.

    I tried everything I could think

    To get away but nothing worked

    Till this.” She held my hand

    Me – feeling like the 

    Older sister.

    “Remember the fable I used to

    Read to you – the dog that dropped the bone

    Because he saw a second one?

    That’s my gambit –

    I felt sure that you would recognize.”

    She held my wrists enlaced in

     Skinny fingers.

    “Verne was always telling me

    I was ruined, that I’d spoiled myself

    And destroyed our future.

      I convinced him you were me

    Unscarred – the way I was

    Before he met me –

    Better than I ever was – me without

    The things he hated.”

     I recoiled, disgusted, trying not

    To show it. That bastard! Hating

    Her feeble resistance.

    She smiled the old one-sided smile.

    “I was right too. You were too smart

    To fall for him. 

    “You were born so confident! 

    So good in school! Your brain

    Seemed always working right –

    Reading my schoolbooks

    Helping ME to do my homework!”

    It was funny, listening

    To this different recollection

    Of our years together, so distinct

    From my modest memories. 

    At the very moment I was

    Iconizing her, she was

    Idealizing me.

    The swing slowed. My sister

    Looked away – that far off glance

    That was the skill she’d mastered –

    Disassociation –

    Floating above the rest of us –

    In her inner world of safety.

    I heard my voice –

    “But I’m so plain.”

    “You’re wrong about that, –

    More beautiful than I ever was –

    I think I’ve learned what real beauty is –

    It’s wildness – untamed – and

    Those who want to capture it

    Are killing their desire.”

    My sister, the guru 

    Clutched at me again – fearful

    She could lose me as I’d lost

    Her. She knew the world

    Was full of melting women

    Simulacra who seem

    To be but aren’t –

    Shadow people enlisted

    Replacing those who

    Never came to be.

    I recoiled in horror at 

    The degradation

    So closely missed.

    “And then you found me,”

    She breathed, scaring me

    With confidence in my miracles. 

    “This island’s pictures

    Were the only ones I ever sent 

    To you; I thought 

    That you’d remember.”

    “I almost didn’t! 

    Answer one for me. Did you steal

    Diamonds from Kruptupian?”

    “His broker was cheating him.

    When I gave him the evidence, 

    He sold my ring

    Giving me the cash to get away

    Without informing.

    I’ve been taking yoga teacher training.

    I’m going to give Franny Vallea the 

    Flourishing life she

    Din’t have, without

     Family, without chances.

    All she ever wanted was enough money

    To be safe, to have peace, quiet

    And a lock on the door.”

     “Mirabel, you must let me 

    Tell Mom and Dad. They don’t

    Deserve this silence.”

    She turned mulish. Resistant.

    More stubborn than I’d ever be.

    “Mirabel is dead. It’s better for everyone.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 17 – Grievous Bodily Harm

    Verne’s voice: cruel, whispering,

    Insistent, filling up

    An answering machine with abortive calls

    Never answered. “Mirabel?

    Don’t think you’ll escape me.

    You’ve begun a game

    You can’t win”

    My teeth began to chatter.

    Derek’s eyes bugged.

    It went on and on – filled the cassette –

    Verne threatening that he’d find her and

    The longer she made him wait

    The sorrier he’d make her.

    Did she want her family

    MUDERED?

    Did she want her friends

    MURDERED?

    Because he had nothing left to lose.

    Sometimes he attempted different ploys;

    He loved her –

    They were made for each other –

    She knew that

    It had never been good with

    Anyone but her.

    Didn’t she want to be Lady Verne?

    Wasn’t every bad thing

    That had ever happened to either of them

    All her fault?

    She owed him.

    He’d would find her

    Wherever she was hiding,

    He could smell her out.

    He knew her friends were lying and

    One of them would succumb – eventually.

    “Call me, Mirabel.

    You better call me.”

    Derek and I looked at each other

    Pale as ghosts. 

    “He did it,” said Derek, finally.

    “He must have.  He

    Has everything – motive, means

    Most of all, he has the 

    Personality – the – what do they call it?

    The killer signature.

    Even a past record for

    ‘Grievous bodily harm’.”

    “Don’t jump to conclusions,”

    I defended weakly, not wanting to have

    Roomed with a killer. Not wanting my sister to have

    Thrown me at a murderer.

    Derek scoffed.

    “We’ve got to take this to the police.”

    Derek was supposedly the expert –

    But even I could see the holes.

    “It isn’t proof of anything,”

    I argued. 

    “So he threatened an ex-girlfriend!

    Do you know how many guys do that?”

    “No,” said Derek. “Do YOU?”

    “Yes,” I spluttered. “I read Teen Vogue.

    It happens all the freakin’ time.”

    “Well,” said Derek, red-faced,

    “You caught me. I’m embarrassed

    For my gender.”

    God, he was adorable.

    I made my case,

    “If the police came calling

    Would be to search for Mirabel HARDER.”

    “OH, GOD,” sighed Derek,

    “I gave him the name of my dad’s P.I.! I’ve got to

    Call him!” I sprang back so fast

    Derek’s phone clattered to the ground

    Between us. “Don’t call Verne!”

    “I’m not calling Verne!

    I’m callin the P.I.! Hello, Angie? This

    Is Derek Lowther. Can I speak to Ed?

    It’s an emergency.

    O.K., I guess I can tell you,”

    He grumbled. “I gave Ed’s name

    To somebody I just met

    Who’s looking for his missing girl. But then I found out

    He’s a dangerous kind of guy.

    Oh, he doesn’t?  Well, what if he asks

    For a referral? OK. 

    He hasn’t called? Well, thanks.

    I’m better.”

    Disconnected.

    “She says he never takes cases like that

    And would only recommend

    Police. She says –“

    He gulped – “Most people –

    Searching for a past lover –

    Have nothing good in mind.”

    And I had been helping him!

    But what else could I do when

    Mirabel dumped me, too.

    I leafed slowly through Mirabel’s

    Portfolio.

    There was a picture that I recognized –

    Mirabel sent it to the family –

    Bikini’d Mirabel on a sun-beaten

    Grey-weathered viewing deck

    Posing beneath an osprey nest.

    “She talked about this place,”

    I recalled. “She called it Dream Island.

    She said she wished

    She could just live there forever.”

    I grabbed Derek by the arm.

    “I know where that is,”

    Eureka. Hard to explain

    Those moments of insight

    Where everything just comes together.

    “She’d be stupid to return

    To any place she’d ever been.”

    There’s Derek, arguing for the sake of

    Arguing. “The smart thing

    Is to light out for somewhere you’ve never

    Been before.” I batted that one

    Off easily.  “Then what’s the point? If you’ve

    Been miserable, what you want is 

    Guaranteed happiness.”

    “Unless you’re shallow,” said Derek.

    “Then you need guaranteed variety.

    Guaranteed newness.”

    What an awful thing to say.

    The question was, is Mirabel that bad?

    I refused to believe it.

    “She’s my sister,” I one-upped,

    “I hope I know her better than you.”

    He could have told me

    I didn’t know her at all

    And been right, but he backed down

    Immediately. Maybe he saw

    In my face the high stakes I felt in

    Rescuing the sister who made me

    Happy face pancakes all those years ago.

    “It’s like a password hack.”

    Now he argued for my side,

    Bless him. “Depends how well 

    You know the person.”

    My phone rang. I jumped a mile.

    “Oh, Jeez, it’s Verne!

    What should I tell him?”

    “Don’t pick up! We better get

    Our stories straight.”

    But I picked up. Bravest thing

    I ever did. “Oh, hi, Verne

    Did you find something?

    Well, Derek’s talking to a neighbor

    Who used to be a cop. 

    Sure – when we find something –

    Ok. Catch you later.”

    Derek stared at me awestruck.

    “That was incredible! Have you studied acting?”

    “Hell no,” I told him

    “I’ve studied LYING. Can’t get through

    Teenage life without it.”

    Most lies are cover-ups where your quarry

    Is already suspicious. That never works.

    Smart lies strikes first –

    Bold, believable

    (Because part of it is truth)

    And straight out of nowhere.

    “What were you thinking? Maybe you

    Spooked him?’

    “I was hoping to spook him. I wanted a way

    To hint what we learned from your PI’s

    Receptionist.  I mean,

    WE NEED TO STOP HELPING HIM.”

    “But what good is that?” Derek argued,

    “If he finds Mirabel first?”

    “He won’t,” I said.  “I know where to go

    And I don’t want him following me.”

    Do you have a spare phone?”

    “Sure,” said Derek,

    “Brand new trac phone in my dad’s office

    Still in the packaging. And

    Plenty of air miles burning holes in my pocket.

    Do you need a passport?”

    “It’s only Florida. Isla Ensueno.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 16 – The Escort Murders

    “I remember those murders now” says Derek

    As the taxi struggled against downtown traffic.

    “The Escort Murders!  It was talk of the news for months

    Year before last. “

    I’d never heard of it.

    Escorts! Was Mirabel an “escort” or

    Only a “friend?” “Escort” did have a

    “Porn scout” feel. Did I really want to know

    About Mirabel’s life if

    This is what I found?

    Disquiet shading to

    Repugnance. “I remember

    Nothing about any survivor,”

    Derek went on, completely

    Oblivious to my mood.

    He wasn’t perfect. Or maybe he was –

    Too “perfect” ever to worry about

    Mirabel selling herself. I pushed:

    “”But they arrested someone?

    Someone confessed?”

    “Yes. Some sixteen year old kid 

    From that same building

    Said he crawled in the window like

    Spiderman. They gave him a plea deal and

     They never went to trial because

    Experts say that it’s impossible. He must

     Be bragging.”

    “Who’d confess to a crime

    They didn’t commit?” I asked

    But hollowly, because I already knew

    The answer. Haven’t you ever

    Heard word come out of your mouth

    That amaze you – words

    You deliberately feed the thirsty person

    Standing at your side?

    We toted the boxes

    Up to his chicly forlorn eyrie,

    But he couldn’t let it go.

    On his laptop he summoned 

    Sheaves of bloody newsprint.

    I reeled – nonconversant, I admit, with

    CAPITALIZED TABLOID MURDER.

    I avoid true crime, finding that

    Getting through high school is grisly enough.

    “Crime’s an acquired taste,” admitted Derek.

    “I advise you not to acquire it.

    You can’t unsee some things.”

    Truly helpful and caring or

    Stuffy and condescending?

    I regarded him with freshened

    Disapproval. 

    “Didn’t I invite you on this case?” I chastised.

    “This is my sister’s case.”

    He was suitably repentant.

    “Mysteries without murder are a parlor game,”

    He defended, “But when they bring out the knives

    Everyone’s at risk.”

    Too true. I shivered. Couldn’t feel safe

    Until both me and the boxes 

    Were quadruple-locked behind Derek’s guarded,

    Security-cammed, barricaded front door.

    I made him show me that the only other entry

    Into the apartment (in the kitchen) was

    Barred & sealed.

    I studied the news reports. They didn’t mention

    Mirabel or her broom closet.

    Could it be an urban myth?

    “Do you think Mirabel was really there?”

    I whispered as if we weren’t

    Alone. “But what could she hear

    Locked in the broom closet?”

    “Screams?” suggested Derek.

    “Maybe a name? If they 

    Knew who attacked them?”

    I posed the ultimate puzzle.

    “But why take a year and a half to run away?”

    “If the killer didn’t know she knew –“

    That sent a stab right through me.

    I didn’t want to play this game

    It struck too close to home. It was

    The first good reason I’d heard since my arrival

    For Mirabel dropping out without a word.

    “The alternative theory –“

    Then he stopped. Too late.

    From his expression

    I knew what he was thinking.

    “They got her,” I said as cold as

    I could muster. “Ugh. I hope not.”

    “So now we have another mystery to solve,” 

    Said Derek. “This one 

    With knives. Find the killer – and maybe

    Find Mirabel. Or give her reason

    To come home.”

    Both of us turned to stare 

    At the dusty boxes just brought in.

    I tried not to elevate my hopes.

    Derek was thinking the same thought.

     “What can be valuable if she abandoned them?”

    But I had the answer.

    “She couldn’t return – if

    The place was crawling with police.”

    Derek was comfortable

    Playing devil’s advocate.

    “What if the real Mirabel WAS killed that night?

    And the person you met was an impostor?”

    “Verne would have to be in on it,” I spoke

    Before I thought;

    Antithesis was obvious. 

    “He could have done it. That gives him motive

    For proving Mirabel’s alive.”

    We both needed cups and cups

    Of good hot sugared tea –

    Orange, cardamom

     And cinnamon.

    “If we’re listing suspects,” Derek braved.

    “Maybe we need a murder board.”

    A murder board?

    Didn’t he move too fast for me?

    I struggled with my memory of Mirabel’s eyes –

    Pleading underneath her teasing.

    “I think that was really Mirabel.”

    “Oh well, there’s always confirmation bias.”

    Derek sipped. “People hating to admit they’re wrong.”

    Obnoxious know-it-all!

    I felt the pressure to one-up him.

    “We’re forgetting something,” I suggested.

    “Mirabel could have done the murders herself.”

    I’d shocked him. I was appalled

    By my hypothesis but proud of its result.

    He was silenced.

    “Still, kill her own roommates?” I queried.

    “What could be her motive?” 

    “These are roommates we’re talking about!”

    Derek knew about roommates; he’d been

    To boarding school.

    “They made her stay in the broom closet!

    Who needs a reason?”

    Derek plays to win.

    “They were helping her by hiding her, so

    Occam’s razor says

    Whatever she was hiding from

    Came and got her.” 

    I tried envisioning Kruptupian and

    His minions. Derek sighed.

     “What if it was your sister,” I started

    To demand, then recalled how

    Annoying Sierra could be.

    He followed my thought and burst out laughing.

    Proved his devotion to the game. “It’s hard

    Physical labor knifing someone.”

    “TWO PEOPLE,” I corrected.

    Perhaps that meant two killers.

    We spread the boxes out on newspaper.

    My hopes WERE high.

    Whoever it was I’d seen last Friday

    Already a life-time ago – now

    The real Mirabel was ready to 

    Jump out at me.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    What could excite the most

    Boring of Mothers?

    Lacking hypothesis –

    Unshouldered my headphones–

    Grateful because

    Geometry’s a notorious paralytic –

    Playing the

    More interesting

    Guessing game.

    “We won Powerball?”

    “Your sister! Your

    sister’s coming home!

    To get MARRIED!”

    Invisible Mirabel –

    ten years my elder 

    Unseen lo these

    Eight years at least.

    I barely remember her.

    Lifetimes ago. 

    “Why?”

    Mom – never invited in –

    Unable to break my force-field 

    Leaned against my door.

    Thin edge of the wedge

    Is an article of her religion. 

    “It’s all forgiven.

    Making up for the past.”

    Who can make up for the past?

    Especially when they’re so busy making UP

    The past.

    Mirabel just wants a free wedding.

    Mirabel was ALWAYS

    Always always always

    About the money.

    That much I DO remember.

    “Who’s she marrying?”

    “I think his name  –

    Something like Rupert Golden.” Said mother –

    “I couldn’t ask her to wait while I got a pen.

    Said she’d send details. She’s so fussy about

    Snoopers.”

    Everyone loathes snoopers, I thought because

    Everyone loves to snoop.

    It’s addictive.

    People usually won’t

    Reveal themselves without help. What

    Mirabel really hates is

    Accountability.

    I know it – 

    We’re all that way at first till 

    Forced to grow out of it –

    Taking our medicine; 

    Surviving

    Tongue-lashings

    Dressings-down,

    Bad grades –

    Teachers who hate you

    Disappointing boyfriends 

    Etc. etc. etc. 

    Most of us move on.

     “Rupert Golden sounds so unreal,” was my

    Only contribution.

    Mom gave me her

    “Like you’re the expert” face.

    But fourteen year olds DO

    Know everything.

    Then we start to forget because

    We’re distractible.

    Mother sighed gustily –

    Almost obscene – I 

    Looked away, politely

    Embarrassed for her. She said; 

    “We’ll be a whole family again

    First time in – ages.”

    Just so Mirabel can leave us 

    One final time, I thought –

    Cynical me.

    It’s all coming back to me.

    Attuning to Mirabel – she’s the one 

    Who made me so cynical –

    Looking for groupies –

    “Murble”

    I called her

    When learning to speak, 

    She was my dazzlement,

    Goddess of my

    Dappled infancy.

    Parents may be incomprehensible and

    Downright nonsensical.

    Caring only for appearances –

    Pretense

    Our manse is

    Copacetic.

    That’s why we – the

    Ungratefully sane –

    Greet their

    Lectures on truth-telling with

    Stink-eye and sour-mouth.

    “When’s this happening

    Happening?”  I asked a fair question.

    “Unsettled,” says Mom.

    “She wants your help buying The Dress.”

    “Me?” Here’s something unexpected.

    Amazing adventure, in fact.

    Up to that second I’d  been a

    Peeper, a commentator, a satirist 

    Unthankable critic of

    Our Family Drama.

    Now I’m  color coordinator?

    Was there a choice buried in this?

    “You’re her only bridesmaid so your

    Dresses must match,” 

    Mother pronounced –

    Completely unrealizing

    What idiocy she spoke.

    Mirabel had certainly

    Not sacrificed

    Edge.

    “You travel tomorrow 

    and both come back Sunday.”

    These plans were

    Gobsmacking.

    How had she been inveigled

    Into agreeing to this

    By a kid on the outs

    Unseen in eight years.

    I could see she wasn’t quite  happy.

    Something was niggling.

    Probably the fear that

    White slavers will get me

    It’s usually that.

    “Unless… maybe I should drive you?”

    I alerted like a drug dog.

    Time to finish Mirabel’s work.

    This was nothing less than

    A prison break.

    There’s a first time for everything

    Grab it when you see it.

    “I’ve taken trains before,”

    I said maturely, suppressing my

     Own edge; announcing –

    In case she’d forgotten –

     “I’m fourteen years old!”

    “But it’s the city,” wailed my Mother

    Both of us panicking 

    For different reasons.

    “I’ve been to the city,” I said,

    Blessing disgusting school field trips

    I’s tried to get out of.

    “I know where things are.”

     “She’ll meet the five o’clock.”

    Mom’s face was a study –

    Obviously wondering

    In what hell had she agreed to this?

    Some strange woman

    Calls up my Mom 

    Securing more freedom 

    Than I’d ever managed?

    It’s a gift.

    Keep the horse’s teeth out of it.

    “It won’t even be dark,”

    I said blithely,

    Knowing that, after white slavers,

    Parents dread darkness. 

    “So that’s where she lives?  In the city?”

    Rumors of international travel reached us

    when Mirabel’s modeling died.

    (I recall her yelling that fashion 

    Is shit.) And

    All this time she’s been

    Twenty miles away?

    Mom still seemed unhappy,

    Realizing how few facts she’d extracted.

     “Maybe it’s where Rupert lives.

    I’ll trust your good sense.”

    First time for everything!

    Who trusts Mirabel,

    Under what misbegotten star?  

    Someone needs to commit 

    To some serious snooping –

    And I’m the right person with my

    Fierce curiosity to

    Ferret out truth.

    That very night a person

    Calling himself

    Philip Valerian

    Accosted me on Instagram.

    But I was well-trained

    Media savvy –

    I shut him right down.

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Why would a bride vanish after pushing her fourteen year old sister into the spotlight?

    Chapter 1 – Surprise Wedding

    I’m Richenda

    Fourteen; I

    Thought myself bored.

    Winter break’s glacial dullness

    Broke just recently –

    Right before dinner, when

    Mom

    Harried as usual 

    Put her head around my door :

    “You won’t believe what has happened!”

  • Film Review – “Stoker” by Alysse Aallyn

    Stoker – Arche-tripe

    Stoker’s screenplay started out as fan-fiction to Alfred Hitchcock’s much more enjoyable Shadow of a Doubt, which has a moral center, plus victims we care about and characters we can root for.

    Stoker has a good, even beautiful movie buried in it but park Chan-Wook kept messing it up, very deliberately, probably under the pressure (and pleasure) of his personal fetishes. It starts WONDERFULLY – psychologically interesting, visually compelling, achieving an apotheosis of eidetic perfection hen a shot of hair dissolves into quivering grasses but jumps the shark on story sanity. Anyone who want to write about crime (and criminal psychology) need to STUDY it carefully or they risk sounding like nine year old girls guessing about sex – majorly clueless and missing all the real points – ultimately creating an uninteresting world too obviously made up.

    Subjects like mental illness, spies, the foreign service, rituals of different countries, etc., can’t be persuasively invented, and threadbare simulacrums relentlessly reveal unpleasant truths about immature people who just don’t want their fantasies interrupted.

    I used to write fantasies, too, until I began an in-depth study of crime. It changed what I wrote, how I think about the world, even how I live my life. Devlyn is a fantasy – but Find Courtney can actually happen. (Versions of it already have.) This is the reason I usually don’t like sci fi. It is possible to completely make up a world – for example Alice in Wonderland – but if it doesn’t satirize the rules of the real one it collapses like a bad soufflé. Michelangelo felt he couldn’t create a credible physicality of angels without studying dead bodies in morgues.

    I understand that in Stoker our “Oldboy” doesn’t want to be “bothered” by all that stuff – he’s an “artist” who wants to create visual poetry so hypnotic it gets away with breaking the rules and it almost works! But by the end of the film real life insistently intrudes with its message that the “impossible” is ultimately boring.

    The acting in Stoker is very good – especially Matthew Goode who seemed creepily young and was almost perfect – he would have BEEN perfect if the director had allowed him to be a little less vampiric and a little less “ka-razy” and a little more human. That would have made him more appealingly believable. But of course everyone has to submit to becoming an “archetype” to satisfy this director. India Stoker’s amoral, murderous sexuality has been a fetish for middle-aged men seeking to relieve their guilt (and excuse their behavior) for literally HUNDREDS of years. “Some girls” don’t have “proper feelings” so can be ruthlessly used and heartlessly exterminated.

    Poor Mia Wasikowska! I have admired her ever since In Treatment with Gabriel Byrne – she deserves better. That said, I have to admit a personal failing – Nicole Kidman’s frozen weirdness always gets my back up. I have been rolling my eyes over her rigidity since Cold Mountain.

    Mostly I feel sorry for actors who are talked into limiting the range of their gifts by these visual directors who set out to make a cohesive, visually stunning objet d’art, not a complex story about humans. As proud professionals they know how to give the director what he wants, thereby betraying their actual abilities which could create something much more intriguing, provocative and mentally long-lasting.

    I watch a fair amount of crime and it’s always entertaining for me to speculate about how people could have gotten away with it. In this case, easily with a modicum of adulthood & sanity which seemingly bores our first-time scriptwriter (Wentworth Miller) who needs to be more “in your face”. Too bad. But I did enjoy seeing it because I relish being given a puzzle mistakenly assembled – in my view. Then I have the mental fun of putting it together more effectively myself – an amusing occupation for a winter afternoon Ah.

  • St Julian The Hospitaller – a poem by Alysse Aallyn

    God said, “Bring for the creeping things”
    It is you who are a creeping thing thinks Lord Julian
    Of his pasty priest, with the
    Underdone face.

    Were he a fish I’d throw him back.
    Good thing his knees are flexible as his
    Scripture. The priest speaks
    Of dominion, something

    His lordship understands. It means
    Possession without surrendering the
    Self. Power begs abuse.
    He’s the master, he alone

    Understands that here. Necessity’s
    The chain that stops the dumb animal
    Straying. Lifting eyes to the
    Steepled trees he feels the boredom of fall

    Fade into the dullness of winter.
    The animals would be fat
    Were any left – ripe for scissoring but
    He ripped too many out.

    Life’s start and stop – a blood bath brings
    Renewal. These men could stand a wallowing.
    They await his pleasure with
    Lowered eyes.

    His pleasure is not them. He needs
    Men glamorous as girls, hopes
    As high as fever but none
    Are to be found.

    Like the animals, they are gone.
    Julian’s scarred hands twitch the reins –
    Each scar is named, he counts them proudly:
    Attempted usurpation

    The burning brand, the bear that fought
    The dog that turned on him
    The boar defending young.
    Past pain surmounted

    Makes him long for wounds –
    A cut so deep he looks into
    The creature’s eyes for
    Some sweet glimpse of freedom.

    Lord Julian, the scorpion-hearted
    Scents a smell the dogs can’t follow –
    The jingling behind him should be men
    The silky shadow should be deer.

    His horse afraid – the creature moves
    Too smooth – when he dismounts
    Avenger plummets off – now
    He’s alone in moss and slime.

    This thing is stalking him!
    He sees it through the trees
    Smells hot stink – a tiger!
    What ghost is this?

    The prickled hairs stood high – he threw
    His knife – a sailor’s trick but
    Useless. He saw boars
    Twelve deep, spirals snorting

    Through their tusks. The trees
    Morphed into deer and every beast
    He’d ever killed surrounded him.
    Face forward in the muck

    At least the mud was real.
    Fox feet pattered, the tiger whisked him
    With its ruff – he dreamed a lifetime
    Lying there – every friend a slight

    And every promise broken.
    This dark that stops his ears is surely death.
    But when he stands it’s not hell he sees but
    Dripping swamp. The mare he kicked and drove

    Now leads him home. His blood is dried
    But he must cleanse the blood of others.
    To be struck he understands, now he must
    Know what spared him.

    Washerwomen lift their heads
    At his approach – they don’t recognize this man.
    Hiding faces not from fear but
    Some new glory.

  • Woman Into Wolf: the play

    (Scene 10 – The Deep Woods. DIGGER dragging, carrying, lifting PERSEY’s unconscious body into the trees. He stands guard, howling dramatically. The WOLF SPIRITS appear, nose her, cherish her, lift her, clean her with leaves. They dress her in a wolf skin, prop her up, and dance with her. She slowly comes to life, dancing like a Maenad with leaves in her hair. The WOLF SPIRITS pull back and PERSEY’s house opens up stage left where BABE stands waiting to greet DIGGER & PERSEY)


    BABE
    Persey! What happened to you?
    (Looking disapprovingly at the litter of champagne bottles)
    This place is a mess!


    PERSEY
    Jarod happened to me. I’m changed forever.


    (Throws herself into a chair. DIGGER, thorns & thistles in his fur, settles down protectively beside her to clean his fur.)


    BABE
    (Kicking an empty champagne bottle)
    You’re too old for wild parties.
    Time to act like the mother
    Of my future grandkids!


    PERSEY
    I am nobody’s mother and
    I never will be, Babe. It’s over.
    Everything’s broken.
    Broken and lost.

    BABE
    (Shrieking)
    Here’s the thanks I get for
    Giving you everything!
    I’m a sick woman!
    And you’re the one killing me!


    (DIGGER leaps to his feet and bares his teeth. BABE halts her attack
    before physical violence)


    PERSEY
    Roy murdered Bruce, Babe,
    He told me himself!
    Roy loves Jarod more than he’ll ever love me.
    I think he wishes he WAS Jarod
    Who’s probably a wife-killer.
    THAT’S your real family!


    BABE
    (Forcing calm, sits down beside her)
    Oh, I see what went wrong.
    Persey, you must understand;
    Roy talks crazy sometimes
    But he never means it.
    It’s fun scaring girls.
    This is really YOUR fault.
    Admit, you love provoking him
    With dubious friendships.


    PERSEY
    Why does the world need a scapegoat?
    None of this is my friend’s doing!


    BABE
    Persey, set your heart
    At rest. I’ll prove to you
    Roy didn’t kill Bruce!


    PERSEY
    How can you POSSIBLY do that?


    BABE
    Because Roy IS Bruce.


    (The WOLF SPIRITS howl. Portrait lights up. DIGGER sits up at attention.)


    Everyone knows it but you!
    Don’t tell me YOU never figured it out!


    PERSEY
    Now YOU’RE talking crazy, Babe!
    Bruce went to jail! A felon and rapist
    A cowardly bully.


    BABE
    It’s YOUR fault I’m telling you.
    You chose college over Roy,
    You broke my poor boy’s heart.
    He was so angry at women
    At men who pretend
    He became dangerous.
    I lived in fear daily
    All because of you!


    PERSEY
    I just don’t get it, Babe.
    What are you telling me?
    I know Bruce was born.
    You had twins – did you or didn’t you?


    BABE
    I gave birth to twin boys
    While a child myself
    In a foreign country, don’t forget,
    With a shaky young marriage.
    I had no help at all.
    I tried so hard but
    I had no milk for twins.
    Roy was the weakest who
    Needed me most.
    Bruce seemed strong but died anyway –
    Roy’s father was furious! Our marriage
    Dead at that moment.
    There were two separate trust funds, Persey!
    The old ones didn’t need it.
    Wasting money is wrong!


    PERSEY
    Let me get this straight.
    You PRETENDED Bruce was alive?


    BABE
    It was a game at first, understand;
    A rainy-day joke!
    A beleaguered mother’s brave effort
    To turn frowns upside down.
    Without Roy’s father we needed the money!
    When Roy was bad, he was Bruce.
    When he behaved, he was Roy.
    But when he grew up he became
    Bruce all the time –
    Doing terrible things.
    It wasn’t my fault! I
    Couldn’t manage him and his Dad was ghosting us!


    (She spits into a lace-trimmed handkerchief.)


    Weak men run away!
    Don’t you see that, poor Persey?
    At least Roy is still here! We’re
    Lucky to have him!

    (PERSEY covers her face. So BABE argues with the audience.)


    BABE
    After my husband died, I saw so much
    Possibility. Second chances! We could
    Get rid of Bruce for once and for all.
    A beautiful ceremony – burying
    The things Bruce had broken.
    The costliest grave site
    With doves and balloons.
    Roy swore it was over.
    He promised GOD. When he forgets
    We go there to remind him.


    PERSEY
    (Struggling to keep up)
    You’re saying Roy is the one…


    BABE
    (Ignoring interruptions)
    I admit I made errors. These were
    Battlefield choices.
    When you’re a mother, Persey,
    You’ll understand.
    There’s SO MUCH regret. But
    How is Roy’s acting out my fault?
    YOU had abandoned him
    Saying you wanted OTHERS!
    Take responsibility, Persey!
    I’ve owned up to my part.
    Roy gave himself to you.
    He’s a one-woman man.
    You toyed with his heart,
    Chose COLLEGE over love!
    Of course he was angry.
    Of course he went crazy
    Bruce came back with a vengeance!
    You didn’t help MY life,
    I’ll tell you that.
    He offered you everything!


    PERSEY
    Roy attacked and raped people?
    It was Roy who went to jail?


    BABE
    When Roy went to prison it was a miracle
    I was so grateful we had
    A spare name to give him!
    Clever planning and foresight is what
    Breeds second chances.
    Young men founder with blotted
    Escutcheons! Jarod was SUCH
    A good friend; claiming Roy had been
    In his unit. When Roy was released
    Bruce could just vanish. But when Roy’s
    Unpredictable I MUST be
    Trustee. Increasing our holdings
    Made my son hate me more!
    We need to start over, Persey!
    This time you must help.


    PERSEY
    (Slow, incredulous)
    Your son is a killer!
    I’ll have nothing to do with it!


    BABE
    He only kills teases!
    Vermin and tramps!
    I thought I’d explained.
    You weren’t getting pregnant! You
    Forced Roy into testing,
    Questioned his virility! What man
    Accepts THAT? Now, this misery’s
    Behind us, if Brucie stays DEAD.
    Don’t rile Roy up!
    There’s the future to think about.


    PERSEY
    (Launching to her feet)
    Why can’t you face truth?
    Your son is a murderer
    And Jarod is helping him!
    Roy murdered Jarod’s wife
    In some sort of pay off!’


    BABE
    (Slaps PERSEY’s face hard.)
    Keep your voice down in my house!
    Don’t say this around Roy!
    Jarod’s keeping him safe!
    He’s the only man Roy can
    Look up to, or even respect.
    Boys need role models, don’t you see?
    To learn how to play! Jarod’s my hero.


    PERSEY
    Your family is poisoned, Babe.
    Your “truth” is a lie.


    (ROY’s voice offstage)


    ROY
    We got him, Darlin’!
    We captured the guy!


    BABE
    (Grabbing PERSEY’s arm)
    Don’t tell him you know!
    Roy will kill me, Persey
    I’m a sick woman!


    PERSEY
    Babe, please understand.
    Only truth lets us breathe.


    BABE
    (Pointing to the door)
    Get out! Get out of my house!


    (PERSEY and DIGGER exit)

  • Woman Into Wolf: the play

    (Scene 9. Lights up on PERSEY House set where ROY & JAROD wrestle by firelight while the hot tub smokes suggestively and the eyes in the portrait track their movements. NED & PERSEY at the door. WOLF SPIRITS gather around and on top of the house, eyes blinking on & off. NED beckons JAROD aside, puts an arm around him – they exit together)


    (PERSEY throws herself into ROY’s arms – he seems unresponsive)


    ROY
    (Holding PERSEY at arm’s length)
    What did you do?


    PERSEY
    (Still trying to connect with him)
    Oh, Roy, it was awful!
    Poor Stormee is dead!


    ROY
    She was disloyal.
    Didn’t she deserve it?


    PERSEY
    What do you mean?
    Jarod controlled her every move.


    ROY
    Naw. I’m hearing she strayed.
    Seems there’s lots of that
    Going around.


    (ROY pushes her away – DIGGER growls and poises for attack. ROY kicks at him. PERSEY orders him out of the house – DIGGER slinks away – to gather with the WOLF SPIRITS protecting the house. PERSEY thinks ROY just doesn’t understand.)


    PERSEY
    I found her dead, Roy.
    Stormee’s been murdered.


    ROY
    That’s not all you found, is it?
    Better stop lying!


    PERSEY
    (Very offended)
    I’m not lying!


    ROY
    Oh yeah? Weren’t you making kissy face
    With that snooping cop who’s harassing my mother?


    PERSEY
    What are you talking about?
    I’m making “kissy face”
    With nobody but you!


    ROY
    And then there’s that she-male
    You pal around with!
    What’s that about?
    Don’t my wishes mean anything?
    Those creatures spread sickness.


    PERSEY
    Bish is my friend!
    YOU’RE covered with
    “Wrestling burns”, thanks to Jarod!
    What’s THAT about?
    I found Stormee the way you two wanted –
    And now I’ll have nightmares
    Forever and ever.


    (Dispiritedly she undresses and climbs into hot tub)


    ROY
    Welcome to reality, princess.
    I know you’re still hiding something!
    That cop’s got your number!


    (WOLF SPIRITS & DIGGER howl without restraint – ROY snatches a shotgun out of the umbrella stand)


    PERSEY
    Roy, for God’s sake!
    Who’s hiding from whom?
    That cop asked ME to find out
    If Bruce is really dead!


    (Eyes move as portrait lights dramatically)


    ROY
    Bruce? Of course Bruce is dead!
    I killed him myself!
    In a battle to the death
    There’s only one winner.


    PERSEY
    You did not! You couldn’t have!


    ROY
    That’s all the credit you give me!
    No wonder my buddies are thinking
    I’m de-balled, like your mutt!
    Nobody tames ME, Sweetmeat.
    And you know what else I’m gonna do?
    I’m going to shoot me a canine!


    PERSEY
    DON’T YOU DARE!


    (Marches to the door where he almost runs into JAROD who is wheeling a case of champagne on a dolly)


    JAROD
    Whoa, buddy!
    Where are you headed?


    (Wrestles shotgun away, dumps it)
    This party just started!


    ROY
    Aren’t I your alibi?

    JAROD
    Hell no! DNA!
    They got a condom
    Overflowing with man juice!


    ROY
    Where’d they get that, I wonder?


    JAROD
    You ought to know!
    Don’t you trust me, ol’ buddy? Everything’s
    Fixed. They got a culprit!
    We’re partyin’ here.


    ROY
    Hear that, Persey?
    They caught the guy that did Stormee!


    JAROD
    First, capture the love juice, then
    String the guy up.


    (WOLF SPIRITS & DIGGER howl)


    Man, you’ve got a wolf problem.


    ROY
    I know! Let’s go hunting!


    JAROD
    You kidding me?

    ROY
    Party first, fireworks after!


    (He shakes up a bottle of champagne and shoots it at ROY. ROY, dripping, grabs a bottle to shoot at JAROD. Merriment – not shared by PERSEY)


    PERSEY
    I take it we’re celebrating
    Your instant divorce?


    JAROD
    (Kneeling by the hot tub)
    Birthday champagne for you,
    Persey. Primo stuff. Some people die
    Some people get born.
    The party goes on.
    Word on the street is
    You like champagne.


    PERSEY
    You know nothing about
    What I love and hate.


    ROY
    This Champagne’s Persey’s favorite.
    She uses a glass, though.


    (He exits. JAROD leans over, looking suggestively into the water)


    JAROD
    Looking for company?


    PERSEY
    (Flicking water on him)
    No. Go away.


    (JAROD strips down, slides in, clutching his champagne bottle.)


    JAROD
    Can’t dampen the drowned, darlin’.
    I’m ALWAYS all in.


    (He starts climbing in – PERSEY turns her back on him, tries to climb out – he stops her)


    Have a heart, Persey. You’re being mean
    To a heartbroken widower.


    PERSEY
    You better get your hands off me
    Before Roy sees you.


    JAROD
    Sweet cheeks
    This was ALL his idea.


    (ROY appears with champagne glass and kneels on PERSEY’s other side)


    ROY
    Here you go, cupcake’.
    Fertility meds served up in Baccarat
    Just how you like ‘em.

    (He holds her jaw, pours champagne in her mouth. PERSEY tries to get out, they both hold her down.)


    Not so fast, hon.
    It’s past time to make babies.


    (PERSEY begins to thrash wildly)


    JAROD
    Don’t waste energy, Persey.
    Two against one.


    ROY
    Yeah. Hunters in tandem
    Bring down any game.


    (They swarm over her. Lights out.)