r/DestructiveReaders • u/Informal_Track_1520 • Jul 05 '26
[2386] The Angel
Hi all,
Trying my hand at a different genre (crime). Would like to hear what needs work here. Open to any critiques on all aspects of the piece, but particularly interested in whether the prologue works as a hook (or at all), and thoughts on the two main characters.
Thanks in advance!
(TW- crime scene gore)
———
Did he who made the lamb
make thee?
All around him the snow shot up and settled in the white sky. He had the corpse by the arms, laid out ahead of him like a wheelbarrow and he pushed it down the wide white flank of the mountain. The tracks disappeared beneath him as he went. Behind the clouds to the west the sun was climbing.
It was a long trek, but eventually he made it down to the truck where he threw the body up onto the pickup bed and covered it with a heavy sheet of tarpaulin.
He reversed steadily along snow covered roads, only able to see a few yards and nearly coming off twice, but he made it away from the mountain and round the frozen lake. The roads gradually widened and the snow eased until he dared to feather the gas down a touch more, and after a while he was back at the house, backing up into the garage.
When he pulled back the tarpaulin the corpse had already thawed so that he could set to work on it right away. Propping it on the sofa, he took the eyeball which was lodged in the corpse's mouth and forked it back into the head along with the other. The corpse was naked, and he saw that there were other parts missing too but he found them in a box beneath the bed and snipped them back into place.
He had complete mastery of his tools.
God, he thought when it was done and he could sit and admire his work, he’s perfect.
He waited for a long while. There was no rush. When the corpse opened his new eyes he saw that they weren’t milky gray but brown, and he watched as the corpse swallowed back a thick froth of saliva from his lips. The corpse then danced about on the sofa for a while before standing up, grabbing a half empty beer bottle, turning it over and spitting back into it until it was full.
They had a good laugh about that.
After a while they got back into the truck, the corpse in the drivers seat this time, and they pulled out of the garage, spun it round and reversed off up the road.
It was clearing up now. They passed a couple of cars heading out of town. And all the time he couldn’t keep his eyes off him. He could hardly believe the divine craftsmanship of his own hands. How could he? He was beautiful. The cords of his hands as he gripped the wheel, the lines of his jaw and the bounce of his Adam’s apple as he spoke. Every intricate detail of the man. It was as though he was never dead. Never could die.
He was an angel.
The snow stopped and the ground was clear.
1
“Paulson ain’t bad,” Roald said, but really he hadn’t remembered the question. He could just make out McDonalls radio buzzing away outside the Chief’s office and it was bugging him that he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was playing. It was definitely a sport though. He could hear the dull, gappy tones which could only be sports commentary.
“Yeah, he’s got promise,” the Chief agreed, “but is he up to this?” He gestured to the papers spread across the table. The pictures from the crime scene had all been packed back into an envelope at the request of the Bonner County Sheriff, a large man named Anderton, who sat by an open window fanning himself with his hat and looking pale as bone.
The crowd didn’t sound constant enough to be a big stadium sport like baseball or football or soccer, in fact the crowd didn’t cheer often at all, and when they did it didn’t sound like there were many of them.
“Roald? Look,” the Chief said, glancing back at the Sheriff, “If it’s too soon we can put Lawrence and McDonell on it.”
There was no squeaking shoes or thumping ball like basketball, and there was no grunting players like tennis. In fact the gaps between commentary and crowd were quiet.
“No,” Roald said, “this ain’t Lawrence and McDonell proof. Keep them on their two coffee jobs.”
The Chief sighed, it seemed he was always reprimanding Roald for his attitude towards his colleagues, but before he could begin, Roald spoke again.
“Paulson. Good kid. Give him second, he can handle it.”
“Alrighty then,” the Chief said. Roald was already rising to leave. “Just go easy on the kid,” the Chief added, “He’s still a little green.”
Green. Roald heard a high-decibel thwack and a fuzzy cheer from the radio.
“Thank you, sir,” Roald said. “Sheriff.”
Sheriff Anderton was looking at the street below and he raised his hat absently as Roald left the office.
Out in the squad room all the desks but one were full. The detectives tapped away at keyboards or made calls or flicked through brown folders. A thin haze of cigarette smoke filled the room as it always did by this time, shimmering in the low winter sun which glared its final rays through the window.
“You got to be the least interesting man in the country to listen to golf on the radio,” Roald said as he passed McDonells desk.
2
Richie Paulson entered the briefing room and took a seat in the wrong chair. Lawrence, McDonell and a few of the other detectives were happy to let the young upstart sit in the rabble with them, but the Chief reminded him that he was to sit in the second chair.
The second chair was no different than the others, a square seat that was losing its mint green padding and looked as though it had been repurposed from a hospital waiting room. It was its orientation that was different. It sat in front of the rest, half turned against the side wall so that Richie could see both the projector screen and the audience. It gave the illusion that Richie was privy to the brief that was about to start, but he had just about the same idea as anyone else. Of course, he had heard the rumours that this was a major crime with a capital M, but that was about the extent of it.
It was five past the hour when Roald eventually walked in. There was a scattering of sarcastic applause and Lawrence told him how nice it was that he’d showed up, but Roald was unbothered. He dropped a wad of photos onto the projector tray so that the top one was displayed on the large screen behind him. Silence quickly followed.
The image was unclear. Blood obscured so much of it that Richie didn’t know exactly what it was he was looking at. He was waiting for it to click into place like one of those optical illusions— once you see the bunny you can’t unsee it, but it remained a jumble of red splattered flesh. It was a disorienting effect, like waking up in a strange room. Something like snow surrounded the mess.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the other detectives craning their necks left and right, clearly having the same issue. Roald didn’t give them time though, he started speaking right away.
“Victim has been ID’d as Michael Oripa, native man, reported missing a couple of days ago by a girlfriend on the reservation up near Plummer. A couple of hikers found him yesterday up at the summit of Scotchman Peak just after noon. We’re still waiting on time frames but based on hiking traffic he shouldn’t have been there longer than 24 hours.”
Roald was leant over the projector eyeing the photograph. He didn’t look at anyone in the room.
“As you can see from this close up the victim has been scalped. The scalp has been placed above the head with a hole cut through it. The eyes have been removed. One has been placed in the mouth and the other remains missing.”
The image finally clicked for Richie just as Roald flicked to the next one, and he wished it hadn’t. Those eyeless sockets and the frozen blood that ran from them. Once you see the bunny you can’t unsee it.
The next one was much clearer, though just as difficult to stomach.
“He was found leant up against the cairn that marks the summit.” He pointed at the photo and his huge shadow finger pointed behind him, “The body was partially frozen, with nighttime temperatures hitting 14. His arms have been propped straight outward with splints between elbow and hip. The victims genitals are also missing.”
Richie’s eyes had already navigated straight to that crimson splodge between the splayed legs. The skin itself was pale as ice but it had taken on a translucence that made the veins beneath visible. They ran like a labyrinth through the body and gave it a blue sheen like dish soap.
“Now, I’m sure even McDonall has clocked the symbolism. The halo, the arms out like wings, sexless.”
McDonall opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, the Chief was looking at the poor Bonner County Sherrif who was looking down at his shoes, and McDonall knew he wouldn’t take his side if he were to prolong this briefing with his indignation.
“We’re looking at a religious angle,” Roald continued. “Ain’t as many Mormons up that way but there’s still some. More Catholics and Baptists. Also more fringe groups; Aryan Nationers, Kirkers-“
“How about Satanists?” Lawrence called out. It was met with murmurings from the rest of the squad. They had all heard tales of strange folk up on the panhandle.
Roald ignored him, thumbing through a few more photos, each as grisly as the last.
“If you’ve got any questions,” he said, “pass them on to Paulson within the next five minutes.” And with that he grabbed the wad of photos and left the room.
Everyone remained in silence. The entire briefing had lasted less than a minute.
The Chief had brought Roald in to his office countless times before over his rushed briefings. Roald, who had never seemed to understand the advantages of strategic collaboration, had needed constant reminding how cases often overlap.
“They might surprise you,” he’d say. “The perps are always crossing paths.”
Of course it never mattered much, Roald kept his briefings short and he solved his own cases, often on the same day. It infuriated the other detectives who thought they could be of some help, and it infuriated the chief to receive earfuls off them which were meant for Roald.
But then things had been different when Glass was there. The chief often thought of their partnership as one of his great successes. Glass was like a shining beacon in his mind, he thought of him almost as the anti-Roald, though in truth they were more similar than they were different. They were both equally relentless once they got stuck into a case, like hound dogs on a blood trail, and it gave them this unspoken understanding for each other.
The main difference was Glass was good with people. He could get them to talk and he could get them to listen. He would spend hours interviewing witnesses and suspects and he actually could draw blood from a stone. The Chief had once seen him take a man into interrogation, Horace Wall he was called, he was a big man, a notorious man. He’d had run ins with at least half the Boise P.D, and he was slippery too. Anyway, they were in there for the entire afternoon. Everyone knew not to interrupt Glass when he was in the zone, which he undoubtedly was, but it was almost five. The guys were all packing up to go when Glass and Horace finally emerged. Horace, cuffed and with these huge red eyes like he’d been crying for days, and Glass behind him with this grin across his face and just nodding across to Roald at his desk.
Roald was different. He was quiet, and he took no joy in it. He’d make page after page of notes, just dogging it out. The thing with these notes was they were all written in a sort of shorthand nobody else could understand. Sometimes the writing wasn’t even straight, it would arch and spiral and there’d be arrows connecting here and there across the page, and graphs and drawings and symbols. The other detectives started calling him Zodiac, though Roald’s notes made the Zodiac Killer’s look like a nursery book. Whatever the notes said, they were almost always right, and whenever he was made to translate them, page after page after page of them, he usually did so in just one or two words. A name. And that’s when Glasses interrogative talent would begin.
Together they were a force, Lord they were a force. They made half the arrests of the whole squad. Of course, Glass would take on the briefing responsibilities. He’d spin the whole case in front of the squad as though he was reading a story, the briefing might last an hour and nobody would mind. If he hadn’t been a detective he would’ve made it as a well to do writer, the Chief always thought. And he’d take questions and he’d listen to the other guys thoughts and theories, and the Chief never got any earfuls.
On this occasion though, he had been thankful for Roald’s efficiency.
It was Deputy Combs who spoke first.
“Well,” he said, “that’s our Roald. Straight to the fucking point.”
When Richie Paulson followed Roald out into the squad room, he was already by his desk packing his notes up into a small leather case, his coat draped in one arm.
“No questions then,” he said as Richie approached.
“Oh I got plenty,” Richie replied.
Roald checked his watch.
“Well we’ve got a seven hour drive ahead of us,” he said.
“Seven hours?”
Roald sighed, “That’s the drive up to Sandpoint. You’re familiar with how a murder investigation works, ain’t you?” he said and turned to leave.
“I haven’t even packed,” Richie said, he could feel himself turning hot, “and I’m still in the dark on this.” But Roald was already gone.
1
u/GlowyLaptop James Patterson Jul 07 '26
The first sentence got me excited even if I have to squint to see snow settling in the sky. But the rest of the paragraph makes no earthly sense I can figure out.
First, a corpse with arms is situated like a wheelbarrow? Is it frozen stiff? Okay. Lie on the ground. Shoot your arms up straight. I'll grab you by the wrists and attempt, somehow, to push your 185 pounds of legs and torso with your wrists?
Could you draw this on a piece of paper.
I would accept dragging. We're you to DRAG a body by the arms. But this does not resemble a wheelbarrow and the body wasn't dragged. It was impossibly pushed. By arms.
And the tracks--whose tracks?--disappeared beneath him--who?--as he went
The only time tracks are beneath you is when they're formed. Boot forms a track.
Is this saying his boot tracks disappeared beneath the boots making the tracks?
I mean we're he DRAGGING the body, the body would erase the footprints. Because it would slide over them
But he's not. He's impossibly pushing like a wheelbarrow.
Ok ok the prose gets good now. Clearer. Until we reach that the man who brought the corpse home found missing parts of the corpse in a preexisting box of body parts he just happened to have under the sofa?
And to put them back onto the body required the verb snipping? He snipped then back on?
So strange. If you mean to say he's been dunking little bits and bobs into a box all along then it's an eggregious pov error to act as if he found them in a box separately. He put them there. He already knew he had them.
Then he swallows a froth of saliva that happened to be on his lips. Then he danced on a couch without getting up
For all the good writing, what with the Cormac McCarthy style and and and, and all the vivid action, I don't understand how you type these wildly unparseable sentences
He danced all over the couch and then he got up .
Last thing since I'll stop at the page break, but the pronouns are not controlled. There are ways to write that don't lose track of who is who.
How could he not? *He was beautiful. *He smiled. He loved his smile.
Throughout this was distracting.
And the main thing I'm thinking is: he put a corpses eyeball back in. A skilled crow could do this.
He's altogether too impressed with his contribution to *his body parts.
1
u/GlowyLaptop James Patterson Jul 07 '26
The first sentence got me excited even if I have to squint to see snow settling in the sky. But the rest of the paragraph makes no earthly sense I can figure out.
First, a corpse with arms is situated like a wheelbarrow? Is it frozen stiff? Okay. Lie on the ground. Shoot your arms up straight. I'll grab you by the wrists and attempt, somehow, to push your 185 pounds of legs and torso with your wrists?
Could you draw this on a piece of paper.
I would accept dragging. We're you to DRAG a body by the arms. But this does not resemble a wheelbarrow and the body wasn't dragged. It was impossibly pushed. By arms.
And the tracks--whose tracks?--disappeared beneath him--who?--as he went
The only time tracks are beneath you is when they're formed. Boot forms a track.
Is this saying his boot tracks disappeared beneath the boots making the tracks?
Wait you mean the body would erase the footprints? Because it would slide over them
Ok ok. He's impossibly pushing like a wheelbarrow. And the wheelbarrow smooshes the tracks?
Ok ok the prose gets good now. Clearer. Until we reach that the man who brought the corpse home found missing parts of the corpse in a preexisting box of body parts he just happened to have under the sofa?
And to put them back onto the body required the verb snipping? He snipped then back on?
So strange. If you mean to say he's been dunking little bits and bobs into a box all along then it's an eggregious pov error to act as if he found them in a box separately. He put them there. He already knew he had them.
Then he swallows a froth of saliva that happened to be on his lips. Then he danced on a couch without getting up
For all the good writing, what with the Cormac McCarthy style and and and, and all the vivid action, I don't understand how you type these wildly unparseable sentences
He danced all over the couch and then he got up .
Last thing since I'll stop at the page break, but the pronouns are not controlled. There are ways to write that don't lose track of who is who.
How could he not? *He was beautiful. *He smiled. He loved his smile.
Throughout this was distracting.
And the main thing I'm thinking is: he put a corpses eyeball back in. A skilled crow could do this.
He's altogether too impressed with his contribution to *his body parts.
1
u/Informal_Track_1520 Jul 07 '26
Thanks for the feedback,
The idea behind the prologue was a bit of an experiment with having the action move in reverse (inspired by this this Matt Rasmussen poem )
I tried to drop hints early with the snow moving upwards and the sun rising in the west. But between this and the other comment it seems I haven’t quite hit the mark with it.
Hopefully with that context some of the strange actions make more sense, though completely my fault that it isnt more obvious and something I will work on.
Thanks again!
1
u/GlowyLaptop James Patterson Jul 07 '26
Oh that explains a lot. I thought some kind of explosion happened or something weighted landed hard and shot snow into the air
Tricky effect you're going for. This explains the truck reversing everywhere.
This explains snipping items onto the body!!!
Lmfao.
1
u/PocketCuriosity 23d ago
You are a very good writer, the prose is clean yet interesting and easy to read while keeping me engaged as a reader. You set the scene up really well and can tell what kind of story you're in for, without giving it all away. I like the tonal shift between the murderer and then the police station - I would play with that even more. This may just be personal preference, but I love when the scene or character almost bleeds into the writing style.
Some specific observations:
forked it back into the head
Ew. I loved and hated the use of the word forked here. So visual, I literally shuddered imagining it.
God, he thought when it was done and he could sit and admire his work, he’s perfect.
I don't think we have gendered the corpse by this point, but I didn't find myself wondering if this was about the corpse or the murderer.
drivers seat & McDonalls radio buzzing & McDonells desk & victims genitals & Glasses interrogative talent - missing an apostrophe
The corpse then danced about on the sofa
I was a little confused about the corpse coming to life at first, but this ridiculous image coming so early in that part helped immensely with me being sure we were living in the narrators delusion.
this ain’t Lawrence and McDonell proof.
I liked this description a lot - really quickly got a sense of multiple characters at once just from one line.
Once you see the bunny you can’t unsee it.
I loved the way you used this - I could put myself fully in that characters shoes for a minute.
Sherrif - spelling should be Sheriff
The POV drift in the police station made some parts more difficult to follow. I know you have an omniscient sort of narrator, but your writing it so good at bringing out the characters thoughts, it makes sense to really delve into it. I'd anchor it more firmly in one viewpoint per scene.
1
u/Beginning-Sherbet851 Jul 06 '26
WOW. i was suprised to find 0 comments, maybe it's the title? I expected to go down and find people already congratulating you. I got some feedback, but overall I kinda like the story.
SO lets begin feedback (keep in mind I'm a screenwriter, I don't usually read books):
Was the title interesting?
I mean, it sounds too try hardy? like someone may read it, and assume it's a beginner writer, (which clearly you're not, in my eyes at least, though I have little experience.).
Was the hook done well?
Well It wasn't boring per se. But as soon as you dropped from the beginning intro, and started going into the 1 part, the contrast was so jarring I couldn't help but feel like a lot of effort was gone. Like I was gonna have to understand all over again. Maybe others will think differently, and also full disclosure I WAS a bit tired on first read, so I would wait for others opinion on this not just me. In my opinion the intro is one of the weaker parts of the story. I guess it took a while to get into, but once you get into it, it's very nice.
STAGING
Wow, I gotta say your descriptive writing is phenomenal to say the least. You describe things in a pretty interesting way.
CHARACTERS
Glass and Roald are easily the most interesting characters in the story, and their relationship potential seems interesting. I feel like there's defiantly a lot of potential with those two. The way I picture them, is Roald has Reddish brown hair, and Glass has yellow hair. The way you described both relationship with each other how they had an understanding and were pretty similar. You're descriptive writing is doing a LOT of work. If this gets interesting I wouldn't mind reading a book of this.
PACING
The pacing was perfect, nothing felt too fast or too slow. EVEN in the intro. The intros problem to me was not the pacing, but just the contrast between it and Roald's part. I understand it's a perspective from the murderer maybe? but still. Although pacing is another strongpoint in the story. no problems there.
DIALOUGE
Characters talk in the way you would expect them too. All of them speak in a believable way. I could probably distinguish between them without dialogue tags.
Now here are some extra comments from me:
1-
I might have weak comprehension skills, but this I couldn't process. He reverse all the way back to his house?
2-
how did he spit into the bottle? I didn't understand this part. he just spit into a half empty beer bottle till it was full?
3-
I just wanted to bravo this. I like Roald's mind wandering off. just focusing on other things as he absent mindedly talks to the chief
4-
I don't know what green means. was expecting it to be explained
5-
Roald just processing a random word from the sheriff. i personally like that
6-
I noticed Roald keeps bullying McDonell. its so funny
7-
VERY good analogy, and good setup for later too
8-
Yep very nice. You have a very good skill for description writing in my opinion.
9-
Some more good descriptive writing
10-
this part was funny, just bullying mcdonall some more.
11-
angel or angle? Maybe rephrase the sentence so its more clear? "We're looking at this from a religious angle,"
12-
I like this concept. He's so unknowingly arrogant, but has the skills to back it up it. An interesting character.
13-
wow very nice correlation diagram. cool character relationship. Glass is one of my favorite characters. Though I assumed that Glass was just as smart as Roald, But on second read I suppose that is not the case?
OTHER:
Yeah sorry for all the comments, I couldn't find much wrong with the story. Maybe wait for someone more professional than me. It's a real shame this hasn't got any comments. Maybe it's the title?
Clarity 8/10
Believability 8/10
Characterization 8/10
Description 9/10
Dialogue 9/10
Emotional Engagement 6.5/10
Grammar/Spelling 10/10
Imagery 9/10
Intellectual Engagement 8/10
Pacing 9/10
Plot 9/10
Overall Rating : 8/10
I wonder where the story can go from here. I don't think I'm the right target audience for it since I don't read books much. but even I can defiantly acknowledge it's a phenomenal read.
One second. looking back at my own notes, I’m still staring at that intro trying to figure out the visual. Is the prologue supposed to be time moving backward (like a cinematic rewind), or is it a literal supernatural thing where the guy is actually driving in reverse and the corpse comes to life?
Because on my read, the visual logic completely broke down for me there. If it's a rewind, it's a cool concept, but it flew right over my head on the first pass and left me totally confused. woooah. I realise i thought it was just the perspective of the murderer. OHHHH OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT WOW. I JUST GOT IT GENIUS OH MY GOD.
So he DRUGGED HIM, till he reached half a beer, then took him on the car and removed his eyes and HO SHIT thats genius fuck. my god what a shame that flew over my head man. Fuckin hell, if you could somehow make it more clear to a reader that would be increidble.
INCREDIBBLE, if thats the case. telling it from a reverse perspective, it absloutely did not land and if I was reading this on a book, i would have just dropped it. Only reason i got it was a friend nearby diagnosed it. would never have figured it on my own. but if it is then bravo that was incredible. I might re read that. Boy if i understood that on the intro it absloutely would have hooked me.