NaNoWriMo Excerpt #3

“Sit still, Sam,” Johannson said into the microphone as he watched the teenager fidget on the machine’s bed.

“Sorry; machines make me antsy,” Sam muttered as she took deep breaths.

“This is ridiculous, Johannson,” Jamison sighed from her corner in the operations box.

“Shush,” Johannson said as the bed slid into the machine’s tunnel. He watched intently as Sam’s head was taken pictures of by the MRI.

“Done?” Jamison asked sarcastically. She pulled at a stray strand of hair in a defiant way as Johannson glared at her angrily.

“You can move now, Sam,” Johannson said absently as he studied the pictures of her brain. “This is...odd. She’s got the physical appearance of a sixteen-year-old, but her brain operates like a five-year-old one,” Johannson continued almost giddily.

“What?” Jamison asked curiously, coming towards the picture.

“Well, it’s operating and controlling hormone distribution like a five-year-old/. Which is what makes her trusting and open like she was,” Johannson replied.

“Find anything interesting in my brain, Christy?” Sam asked laughingly as she came out of the changing area.

“Apparently, but I don’t really see it,” Jamison answered, shrugging and returning to her corner.

“Really? What do you see, because other than some whacked up meditation, I’ve never been in my head,” Sam replied, slipping casually into the seat next to Johannson.

“Right; basically, your brain sends out hormones like a five-year0old. It makes you more trusting, open, and—.”

“—a better actress,” Jamison interjected. The other two turned in their seats to look at her and she shrugged. “Kids really get into dress0up routines and she’s acting like a modern American teen, even if she’s supposed to be W-W-two era,” she explained and Johannson nodded.

“Makes sense,” he muttered as Sam played with her necklace.

“So, it’s all a mental thing?” Sam asked with a confused look on her face.

“No, it might be the necklace. Maybe it’s releasing...something that stops your aging,” Johannson said contemplating.

“Either way, I’m okay without knowing. Maybe it’s really some sort of folk magic,” Sam muttered before getting up and heading out the door.

“You’re not going anywhere. I refuse to lose sight of you. Someone needs to keep an eye on you,” Jamison said in a strict motherly voice.

Sam stopped in her tracks, slowly turning towards the woman. “Fine,” she said complacently. “I needed a place to sleep anyway,” she added mischievously.

“Good; come on,” Jamison said as she and Johannson headed for the door, his arms full of pictures of Sam’s brain.

“Where’s you guys’ place?” Sam asked as she followed them. “I mean, you two are living together, right?” the brunette asked as the two shared looks.

“Yeah, but how did you know?” Johannson asked curiously.

“You had that “take care of each other ‘til the end of time” vibe going on. When’s the wedding?” Sam asked intently as she slipped into the backseat of Johannson’s Buick.

“Um, we, uh, haven’t gotten that far yet,” Johannson said awkwardly.

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting that it’s normal for couples nowadays,” Sam muttered as Johannson started the car. “So, how’d you two meet?”

“A long story,” Jamison said curtly.

“I’m immortal, remember? I’ve got all the time in the world,” Sam replied, releasing a malicious laugh.

“You know, it’s really none of your business,” Jamison sighed as she reached over and honked the horn at the driver ahead of them.

“We’ll tell you the story at home,” Johannson added as Jamison cried angrily at the line.

“Move it, you jack***!” Jamison cried as Johannson held back a choke of laughter.

“Oh god,” the CSI muttered as Jamison took the wheel.

“Step on it, Christian,” Jamison barked and Johannson did as he was told. “We’re here,” she called as she let go of the wheel and Johannson slammed on the brakes.

“No, I refuse to go in there,” Sam said firmly, staring in fear at the building. “Too much unhappiness—anger—no,” she continued rambling as Jamison and Johannson shared worried looks—or more, Jamison was more “I-can’t-believe-this” while Johannson looked worried.

“We can’t force her in there,” Johannson said and Jamison rolled her eyes.

“We can force my badge on her for obstructing justice if I don’t get to sleep in my bed tonight,” the agent replied angrily.

“Fine; Sam, you’re going to have to go inside,” Johannson said firmly and the teen whimpered. Climbing up to the seventh floor was a tiring experience for the adults. At almost every door they passed, Sam would whimper like an injured puppy. Finally, they reached their home, a three bedroom apartment with all the fixings. Once they got in, though, Sam started howling and screaming.

“No! No!” Sam shouted as the two escorted her into one of the spare rooms.

“Shut up, girl; nothing bad has happened in this room since we’ve been here,” Jamison said angrily, obviously reaching the end of her patience.

“Death....murder...1920s,” Sam whispered as she stared at a corner of the room. “Cheating...no more unfaithfulness,” at the last part, Sam started giggling maliciously. Suddenly, she dropped to the ground.

“What the—?” Johannson asked in a confused tone as he saw the FBI agent in front of him. “You—did you just inject her with sleeping medicine?” he asked incredulously.

“If I did?” Jamison inquired as she lifted the girl onto the bed.

“You can’t just randomly stick a needle in someone. What if she has an allergic reaction and dies?” Johannson asked disbelievingly.

“If she’s really immortal, she’d come back to life. If not, she dies and I turn myself in for manslaughter,” Jamison muttered indifferently, leaving the room.

“What’s wrong with you, Gigi? You’re being so...unlike you—colder and harsher,” Johannson asked, lovingly putting a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s a long story,” Jamison whispered and Johannson noticed she was tearing up.

“It’s getting late. We should head to bed,” Johannson mumbled, ushering Jamison to their room.

NaNoWriMo Excerpt #2

“Okay, you have ten minutes to explain all this,” Jamison said firmly as the three sat in the car, Johannson at the wheel.

“First, I want your names,” Sam replied. “And occupations,” she added and Jamison hesitated.

“Christian Johannson, CSI,” Johannson replied unwaveringly.

“Georgina Jamison, FBI,” Jamison added reluctantly.

“Alright, well, Georgie and Christy, nice to meet you,” Sam said cheerily.

“Enough with the dramatic crap; just tell us the story,” Jamison said angrily.

“Well, my name really is Samantha Parker; I’m technically sixteen, but really 60 or something—I stopped counting after thirty,” Same said fluidly.

“Sounds like you’ve told this story before,” Jamison said angrily as Johannson listened intently.

“It makes great campfire stories,” Sam said sarcastically as she shrugged indifferently.

“Shut up, Jamison,” Johannson muttered as he waited for Sam to continue.

“I was born in 1928, died in 1944, right before World War II ended,” Sam continued. “My “dad” shot me. It turned out that my mom had been messing around with another man, my “uncle.””

“So, technically, your dad was your uncle, and your uncle was your dad?”Johannson asked, raising an eyebrow at the teenager.

“Yeah; anyway, he shot me in one of those fields near the house,” Sam continued indifferently. “He grazed my side and left me to die. Some man operated on me—I have no idea who, but I need to thank him—anyway, he fixed me up nice and sweet. Then, one day, I woke up and he had left me a note with this necklace,” Sam said, pulling a thin silver chain with a tiny crystal pendant from under her shirt.

“What did the note say?” Johannson asked curiously as Jamison watched on sceptically.

“It said, “don’t take this off until you’re ready.” So, I haven’t taken it off, or aged, since,” Sam finished as Johannson looked intently at the pendant, which he was resting on his palm.

“That’s—,” Johannson started quietly.

“A great story...for the campfire,” Jamison interrupted angrily. She smoothed out her dress pants. “I’m sorry, but we’ll need your real name,” she said firmly.

“That is my real name,” Sam replied just as angrily, leaning forward.

“Calm down, girls,” Johannson said simply, putting an arm between them and facing Jamison. “Look, either way we have to take her somewhere. A lab, a cell, somewhere we can see if she’s telling the truth or not,” he added, turning his head slightly.

“You’re on your own in this experiment,” Jamison said, turning in her seat to face forward.

“Awesome,” Johannson answered indifferently, turning around and starting the car. “Do you think chief will mind us missing the party?” he asked as he made a u-turn towards the nearest hospital.

“Yes,” Jamison mumbled angrily as Sam leaned back in her seat.

NaNoWriMo Excerpt #1

“You have to help me!” a teen-aged girl with dark brown hair cried as she ran up to a mid-thirty-year-old man.

“What’s wrong?” the man asked, gripping the girls’ shoulders firmly. The man, dressed in a three-piece, semi-casual suit, looked the girl over. She was dishevelled looking in today’s high fashion, as well as dirt-crusted, making him believe that she was probably one of many underage New York call girls with a temperamental Joe.

“I was—and he—,” the girl screamed and jumped as a gunshot exploded behind the man.

“Johannson! Watch your back!” a woman with dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes said angrily as she kept her gun trained on a teen-aged boy. “Drop the loot!” she commanded and the boy did so before running as fast as he could.

“Coward!” the girl cried after him, not even trying to run with the man’s iron grip on her shoulders.

“You fell for that, Johannson; what was that about?” the woman asked the man, Johannson.

“Awe, c’mon, Jamison; it was one time,” Johannson replied as Jamison picked up the dropped goods.

“That would’ve cost you your wallet, badge, phone, and keys,” Jamison replied, running a hand through her hair.

“What’s your name, girl?” Johannson asked firmly, shaking her a little.

“Samantha Elizabeth Parker, but everyone calls me Sam,” the girl replied, her bright blue eyes mischievous.

“Alright, Miss Parker, you’re under arrest for being an accessory to an attempted robbery,” Jamison said firmly.

“I have the right to remain silent; anything I say can and will be used against me, blah-blah-blah,” Sam mocked, rolling her eyes.

“You’ve been watching way too many cop shows,” Jamison stated, pulling a pair of handcuffs from her pocket.

“Or arrested, you know, whatever works,” Sam quipped, smirking.

“Check her in the database,” Jamison instructed suspiciously, gripping Sam’s handcuffs really tight.

“Jamison,” Johannson said a few minutes later. “The last arrest ofa Samantha Parker was twenty years ago.”

“Attempted grand theft auto—partner was a coward too,” Sam laughed maliciously as the adults looked on, confusion evident in her faces.

Word Count: 348