Between the Lines

Chapter 1

Sashaying into the Black Redwood Bar, Brandy turned the heads of every customer. Who couldn't stare at a wide-eyed, crazed haired, tall, lean girl? It is not every day you see that type of girl walk into a high-class bar in the streets of Coos Bay.

Black Redwood had expensive red leather booths with black, mirror like tables. In each corner of the bar, there was part of a different kind of tree native to the surrounding area; in one corner was a Redwood, the next was a Myrtle, the third was half of a real Cedar tree, and in the last was a Hemlock tree. The actual bar had three sides exposed for seating, with a open space in the middle for mingling and the fourth side was the fully equipped bar. The floor was of black marble, and the ceiling and walls were made out of specially preserved Redwood bark. It's no wonder why each time she walked in, every Tuesday night, everyone tried to pretend she wasn't there; she meant trouble. If someone made the wrong eye contact with her, she would give her signature fierce look. Most of the bartenders, expect for Dakota, tried their best to avoid any skin-to-skin contact with her when she ordered a drink, and never made eye contact in fear of being beaten to a pulp. She was a manly lady, but she did have a sense of femininity to her. She walked - no strutted - everywhere she went with a sassy step, and she was also absolutely stunning; if she actually tamed her lions mane. Vicious is one word Derrick would describe her as. But as vicious as she was, she was still the funniest person he had ever met. No matter how bad of a day he was having, she would always make a smart-ass remark to what he was wearing, or what he was drinking and it always got him to smirk a little bit. Not many things could make Derrick crack a smile now-a-days.

"Brandy, your scaring the crap out of these people tone it down a bit," he light-heartedly whispered to her when she approached her usually bar stool next to him. Dakota was bartending tonight and his old man self of thirty five had the news on up at the bar.

"Don't tell me what to do, Cupcake," she growled at him. "Give me two Whiskey Sours, Doc."

"My name is Dakota, Brandy. How many times have I told you this?"

"I know, Doc," she smiled tauntingly, emphasizing the last syllable in 'Doc'. Sighing, Dakota went to make her Whiskey Sours she ordered. Once Dakota arrived with the drinks, Brandy passed one over to Derrick.

"No, you know I don't drink," Derrick mumbled out with his eyes glued to the television.

"Come one, one sip."

"No! I don't want your damn Whiskey Sour," he stated with finality.

"Calm it down, Prissy Pants. Here, Dakota, can you get Mr. Prissy Pants over here a nice, cold glass of fresh water, with only three cubes of ice?"

"Sure thing," Dakota snickered. "Here you go, Mr. Prissy Pants." Brandy and Dakota starting snickering obnoxiously.

"You guys. Guys, it wasn't that funny," Derrick tried to simmer them down. "Alright, alright, chill out, will ya?" It took them a couple of minutes but they eventually stopped their obnoxiousness. Sighing, Derrick ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He needed something to do, he was getting agitated, and when he was agitated it was a bad thing. He knew he had ADHD, but he didn't want to take his medicine, because it made him feel too sedated for his comfort; he needed to stay on high alert.

Speaking of staying on alert, something caught Derrick's full attention on the television. The news reported rambled on about a man who had been murdered. He stated that nobody knew why or how he was murdered; the victim hasn't even been identified yet. There is absolutely no evidence surrounding the crime scene. The reported also stated that deputies estimated the time of death to have been around two o'clock in the morning this morning.

The topic was starting to bore Derrick so he began to focus on the other conversations around him when a sketch of a suspect popped up on the screen. With a neutral face and a quick glance to Dakota who was looking intently at him, Derrick got up with his glass of water, walked out of the Black Redwood bar to his 1965 black hardtop original Mustang, and peeled out of the gravel onto the main street. Going fifty five in a twenty five, he sped downtown to his favorite candy shop, picked up a five pound bag of Swedish Fish, a case of bottled water, and a two pound package of Reese's, then went speeding down miles of back roads to his home he shared with his dad.

Arriving home around nine at night to his small two bedroom, two bathroom house in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon, Derrick unhitched the lock on his front door, and called out for his Dad like he usually does when he gets home.

No answer.

"Dad? I'm home!" Derrick hollered out. "Dad? Hello! Dad!" Derrick's dad always answered him - always.

"Gerald! Gerald Jackson! I, your son Derrick Jackson, am home!" Setting his candy on the kitchen table. His adrenaline started pumping hard through his veins when he heard movment just outside of the kitchen. Steadily going to the sink, he opened the cabinet underneath and pulled out his original Derringer single barreled .41 caliber handgun. Oddly, none of the lights in the living room where on as he moved closer to the living room enterance. Cautiously flipping on the switch, Derrick crept into the living room. "Da-?" He tried to holler again, but a man the size of an average lineman tackled Derrick to the ground. "What the hell?!" Derrick exclaimed. He felt a blade nick the right side of his body. Playing no more games, Derrick pulled out a switch blade from a hidden pocket in his combat boot, and got on top of the intruder's chest with the blade up to his neck, ready to plunge into his jugular.

"Who the hell are you!" The stranger rasped out, breathing heavily. Derrick, just now realizing that the intruder had a ski mask on, ripped of the ski mask to reveal his father.

"Dad?! What the hell are you doing?"

"What the hell are you doing?! You came into my house, not the other way around buddy," His Dad had the audacity to poke him in the chest while he had a blade up to his neck. Unbelievable!

"I am your son! Father's do not tackle their son's when they come home, to their house, that they live in! What is wrong with you?"

"You are not my son! You are not my son! Get off of me so I can call the cops," Gerald, now practically in tears, was flopping around underneath Derrick like a fish out of water.

"Are you seriosuly thinking about calling the cops? On your Son?" He asked  incredulously.

"Why wouldn't I? I don't know if you are a robber or my son! Hell, I don't even think I have a son! Now would you get the hell off of me you are crushing me!"

"Alright fine, I'll get off of you but you will not call the cops. Agreed?"

"Will you try to kill me?"

"No, father, I will not try to kill you," Derrick huffed out.

"Okay then," Gerald said.

"Okay, here get up," Derrick got off of his father and helped him up into the recliner in the corner of their small living room in front of the television. "Are you okay now? I'm not going to hurt you."

"Well you better not because if you do, I will call the cops on you."

"Okay dad," Derrick said with exasperation. "Here, watch some Wheel of Fortune, I'm going to go smoke." Flipping on the television for his dad, Derrick then went to go grab a pack off of the kitchen counter and went to stand on the back deck for a quick smoke. Looking off of his back deck, all he could see was gigantic Redwoods, Pine trees, and other trees of all the sorts. Inhaling deeply, he breathed in the fresh smell of pine. Man, oh man does he love the smell of pine, especially when it's mixed with the scent of his Marlboros. Flicking the last of his cigarette into the beaver shaped ash tray, he waltzed back into the living room to walk in to his dad sleeping sound fully in the recliner with the flicker of the television reflecting off of his face. Shaking his head, he shut off the television and sulked to his room; it's been a long, stressful day. Walking into his attached bathroom, he took a quick shower, re-bandaged his wound on his shoulder, and bandaged his new wound on his side from his own father. While doing so he couldn't help but be flabbergasted that his own father didn't even recognize him.

Once he finished dressing his wounds, he stripped down to his boxers and crawled underneath his king size covers and fell into a deep, restless sleep.