Second Chances Chapter 23 La Vie en Rose
- 3 years ago
- 62
- 0
A Second Chance - Chapter 1 And 2 free porn video
A Second Chance
By Dawn Natelle
In summary, the inquest into the death of Michaela Stoner finds the
death of this 14-year-old girl to be suicide, through the consumption of
an overdose amount of Tylenol 3 pills. The deceased had been in severe
depression due to the suicide death of a close friend nearly a year
earlier. Staff at Ainsborough Middle School were aware of her depression
and had taken all appropriate steps to notify the parents and other
authorities of the possibility of problems. The Tylenol pills were in
the deceased's household to treat Andrea Stoner, mother of the deceased,
for migraine headaches. The deceased apparently had been harvesting one
or two pills a week from the bottle and hoarding them. Her diary claimed
that she had collected 120 pills in this manner in the last entry. There
were 23 pills left in the hoard, leading this inquiry to assume that 97
pills were ingested, well above the lethal amount for a person of the
weight and age of the deceased. This inquiry ends with no recommendation
of charges, and no recommendation for preventing future incidents.
Sometimes when persons are committed to taking their life, there is
nothing that the state can do to prevent it.
Dr. W. B. Amjay, MD, Coroner
June 14, 2017
+ + +
Oxford Children's Aid Society
May 9, 2017
Robert Cartwright, Age 9
Robert has been returned from care from a fourth foster family. In the
past year Robert has been placed for a total of 10 months, with none of
the placements lasting more that 3 months. Robert has been non-
communicative with all foster parents (the number of placements was in
hopes of finding that he would make a connection with one of them).
Robert has been in CAS care since the suicide death of his sister in
late March, 2104. Since that time he has been non-communicative, other
than repeated mention of his late sister's first name. He suffers
nightmares nearly every night, and wakes screaming his sister's name
loudly, disrupting the foster households. His mother died several weeks
ago by suicide. This fact has not been relayed to the boy on the grounds
that it can only worsen his condition. It is recommended that he be
placed in a psychiatric hospital and provided medication as needed until
he is able to re-entry society.
+ + +
July 6, 2017
WCB report
Arnold Keirhauff
Claimant, aged 53, has been off work for nearly three weeks, since being
in an accident with a fatality. Claimant was not physically injured in
the accident, caused when a suicide jumped off an overpass, striking the
grill of his truck as he drove down the 401 expressway. The person died
immediately, but claimant has been affected by the event, and no longer
feels capable of driving. He finds that even driving his personal
vehicle on the expressway is traumatic, and he pulls over at each
overpass and slowly creeps through. Of course, this behaviour would not
allow him to drive a semi truck, his livelihood for the past 32 years.
Claimant is approved for workman's compensation, so long as he sees a
therapist regularly to seek treatment for his mental trauma.
Compensation to continue for three years or less, after which time
retraining to another profession will be recommended.
Marilyn Cornish
WCB agent
April 25, 2017
8:14 a.m.
Constable Steve Winslow, 34, jerked out of his sleep, with adrenalin
racing through his body. The accident scene he had faced earlier this
morning had happened again in a nightmare. The woman who had jumped off
the bridge ... the beautiful blonde, was just as pretty in the dream.
Except this time she wasn't dead yet. Her body was broken and bleeding,
but now she was able to lift her head sharply and open those beautiful
blue eyes and look at him.
"Help me," she begged. That was the point he jolted into consciousness.
Steve sat in his bed for two hours unable to fall back asleep. He had
never had nightmares like this before. Perhaps he should apply to the
department for a work-related leave of absence.
+ + +
Woodstock Police Department
Incident Report, Constable Steve Winslow
April 25, 2017
2:15 a.m. Culloden Road overpass, over Highway 401
Call received of person jumping from bridge over Highway 401. Deceased,
Maria Cartwright, age 31, apparently walked four miles to reach the
overpass, and jumped soon after arriving. She landed in the middle lane,
and was struck by a transport truck almost immediately. Driver of the
semi claims that the body didn't seem to hit the ground before being
struck, and physical damage to the grill of the truck corroborates this.
To whit, the grill of the truck showed signs of impact several feet
above the height of the woman. Investigation shows that the deceased was
known to police, having been arrested, but not charged, eight months
earlier at a custody hearing for her son, who was then, and remains, in
the custody of the Oxford CAS. Deceased was terminated from her job at a
local restaurant two months prior, on the basis that she was depressed
and not able to perform waitress duties. No criminal charges laid or
anticipated.
+ + +
August 12, 2016
Justice Elizabeth Morgan sat in her judicial robes as she listened to
the case. In her 20 years as a justice of the peace she hadn't felt so
moved by a case. The case in point was a request by a 31-year-old woman
for custody of her 9 year old son. The boy had been taken from her by
the CAS immediately following the suicide death of her other child, a
13-year-old girl. The boy apparently found the body of his sister
hanging from a rafter in the garage of their rented home in a successful
suicide. He became hysterical, and had to be taken to hospital for
treatment. The CAS caseworker testified she not feel that the boy could
be cared for by his mother, who worked long hours in a local caf?. He
maintains that the woman's emotional state is still not conducive to the
level of care the boy needs. There is no doubt that the woman loves and
cares for her son, but it was clear to Justice Morgan that the woman was
still in grief for her daughter, and not capable of caring for a boy so
troubled.
"I have considered this case thoroughly and completely," she said. "The
lawyers for the CAS have made a clear case why the custody of Robert
Cartwright cannot be returned to his mother, Maria Cartwright, at this
time."
"Nooooo," screamed the woman, who had pled her case without a lawyer.
She jumped up and tried to get to the Justice. "You have to help me,"
she cried, before being tackled to the floor by a police officer. She
continued screaming, almost incoherently as she was handcuffed and led
out of the chambers.
Convinced that she had made the correct decision, Justice Morgan
continued reading her summary and decision into the court records once
the woman had left the room and order was restored. She decided as she
got up to leave that she would recommend that police not charge the
woman for any further crimes. The poor thing did not need any additional
pressures in her life.
+ + +
April 25, 2016
It was nearly 7:30 when Maria Cartwright trudged home after a long shift
at the caf?. It was not a lucrative living, but a woman who had gotten
pregnant at 16 couldn't expect much. Especially when her husband left
her five years later, while she was pregnant with a second child. Her
meagre, minimum-wage salary barely covered rent and food money for the
three of them, and they depended on her tips for everything else. And
tips at a caf?, often dimes and quarters, didn't add up to much.
As soon as she opened the door to the house, she knew something was
wrong. She could hear Bobby in his room, crying about something. Usually
he was at the babysitters until she picked him up, but when she had
walked past the babysitter's house she had found it dark and no one
answered the door. She felt relieved that Bobby was home, but wondered
why he was crying. If that girl had hurt him ...
She opened the door to his tiny room, and found it was empty. The
sobbing was coming from the closet. She could make out the words now. He
was sobbing and crying the name of his sister, Rachael. Maria pulled the
boy, trying to get him to come out into the room, but he refused to
move, and had wedged himself into the tiny closet so she couldn't lift
him out. She checked to make sure he wasn't physically hurt, and then
decided to leave him there. She stormed off to find her daughter, and
learn what she had done to the boy.
The house was not big: only three bedrooms, all fairly small, and a
bath, with a combined living/dining room and a kitchen. The attached
garage was used by the landlord for storage, since Maria didn't own a
car. She saw Rachael's backpack lying next to the little-used doorway to
the garage. Why would she leave it there? Normally she dumped it on the
floor inside the front door.
Maria opened the door, and noticed that the light was on. She screamed
an ungodly screech as she looked in and saw the lifeless body of her
daughter, dangling at the end of a rope tied to the rafter. Rachael's
face was deathly white, and her tongue stuck out of her mouth,
blackened. She had defecated and urinated after death, leaving a strong
stench. Maria ran up to her, hoping she was still alive, but when her
hand touched her daughter's cold, dry arm, she knew. She backed off in
panic, called 911 and went to her son.
+ + +
April 25, 2016
EMS call report
239 Pine Ave, Ingersoll
8:13 p.m.
Ambulance call received from distraught woman who failed to remain on
the phone with 911. Door to residence was open, town police within.
Police directed EMTs to two locations. A young woman and boy were found
huddled in a closet while the other EMT found the body of a deceased
hanging from a rafter in the garage. With assistance of the police the
body was lowered and placed in the first ambulance for conveyance to the
morgue in Woodstock. A second ambulance was called when it became clear
that the other two patients were incoherent and unable to communicate.
Both were taken to London University Hospital for psychiatric
evaluation.
+ + +
April 25, 2016
12:14
Rachael dropped her book bag at the door leading into the garage.
Everything she needed had been in the garage last night. She had left
school at noon, without permission of course, now it was nearly 1. Mom
and Bobby wouldn't be home for hours. She shook a bit, and then steeled
herself. She had to do this. Life just sucked too much. When that bitch
Glenda Moore had teased her about her hair at lunch today it was the
last straw. The perky cheerleader with her big boobs thought she owned
the place. Well, Rachael was checking out today.
She got the landlord's stepladder out and set it up near the middle of
the garage, the only uncluttered place left. There was about a fifteen-
foot long piece of half-inch rope. Rachael had looked up how to create a
noose online, but it seemed way too complicated. Another article showed
a simpler slip knot, and she tied that instead. Then she climbed halfway
up the ladder, and tried to toss the loop over the beam. She missed, and
the rope dropped to the cement floor. She tossed again, and missed
again. If I miss a third time, I'll cancel the whole thing, she muttered
to herself.
The third toss nearly went through the space she was aiming at, but at
the last minute it seemed to stop and fall back, as though it was
pushed. She stared at the rope lying on the floor. Dammit, two more
tries, she said to herself. On the fourth try the rope slid through the
hole and dropped several feet. She went up the ladder and gingerly
grabbed the loop and pulled it down. The ladder teetered a bit, and
Rachael worried that she might fall. She chuckled to herself at the idea
of falling instead of killing herself. But it would be a disaster if she
hurt herself enough that she couldn't finish the job.
She pulled the loop down so it hung about seven feet from the floor. At
5'1" that was lots of clearance beneath, she thought. She then took the
other end of the rope, and tied it off to a big hook on the back wall.
Fittingly, it was the hook the rope had been hanging on. She yanked as
hard as she could on the rope, and it seemed secure. She walked over to
the ladder and stared at the loop on the other end for a long time.
Finally she climbed up the ladder. Reaching over for the loop was
tricky, with the ladder swaying a bit. But once she got the loop, and
had it around her neck she didn't have to worry about the ladder
tipping. It would just speed things up.
Rachael stood on the ladder for a long time. Probably about 15 minutes.
Two or three times she thought about getting down, and many times she
thought about jumping. But she didn't. Yet. Finally she leapt off the
ladder, with her feet pushing it to the ground.
And then everything went black.
+ + +
April 24, 2016
3:26 a.m.
Ron sat stunned as he watched the image of the young girl swaying at the
end of the rope faded from view. He had just watched the series of
vignettes unfold before him in what he was pretty sure was a dream.
Except it was the most vivid and horridly real dream he had ever had.
"That is horrible, John," he said to the angel sitting beside him on the
side of his bed, who had shown him one scene after another. "So many
lives ruined."
"That is what we want to prevent," St. John said. "She can do what she
wants to herself. We even gave her one last chance by stopping the rope
on her third toss. But she still went ahead. She is young, and didn't
think about it, but we can't let her mess up the lives of three others
too." St. John didn't look like an angel, being a bit overweight, and
fairly short at 5'4", wearing a white robe that looked religious. Ron
towered over him at nearly 6'2" and was very overweight, although that
isn't unusual for 64-year-old men. He didn't know how old St. John was.
He looked about 40, but had mentioned that he had been doing things like
this since the Middle Ages. Ron had been sceptical about the man's claim
that he was an angel until he had walked through an unopened door, and
then had hovered several feet above the floor. Ron was not a religious
person, but something filled his soul with a confirmation that this was
an agent of God.
"What do I do?" Ron asked.
"You agree, or not. If you agree, you will become the girl. Seconds
before she jumps. Then you just have to live her life in the best way
you can. The better a person you are, the better your life will be.
Improve the lives of people around you, and you will gain much more. Not
wealth or beauty, or talent, but in health and happiness. And you may
even get the talents, beauty and wealth, so long as it is health and
happiness that matters most."
"If you decide not to accept, you will wake from this feeling it had
been a dream, and in an hour you will no longer remember it. You will
live, but only for another 10 days. A heart attack will end things for
you. There is no second chance. We do reincarnations rarely, and seldom
into a grown body. If you choose to do it, you will know who you are,
who you were, and everything you now know. But you will never be able to
tell any of it to anyone else. Not that anyone would believe you."
"What do you decide?" the angel finally asked.
Ron thought it through. The girl, Rachael, was pretty average-looking.
She was chubby with black hair that looked as if it had been recently
hacked off with a pair of unsharpened scissors. She had almost no
breasts at all, although at 13 that is not completely rare. Her mother
in the vignettes was pretty, with a fairly large bust, cute face and
long blonde hair. Perhaps the girl took after her father rather than her
pretty mother.
Ron's options were to die, and soon, or to get a second chance, albeit
as a girl this time. That may not be a bad thing. He certainly hadn't
done all that great a guy, never marrying, and seldom dating.
"You know I am not all that great of a Christian," he told the angel.
"Maybe you could choose someone better?"
"You did not attend church," St. John said. "But you were a good person.
You donated money to charities and individuals alike. You helped your
neighbors without expecting anything in return, and even were good to
people you didn't know. That is the sign of a Christian ... not regular
church attendance."
"I didn't even believe in God," Ron muttered, "but I guess all this
proves that one wrong."
"I'll do it," he said, suddenly wondering if he might wake up too soon
and lose the chance.
And she woke up.
A Second Chance -- Chapter 2
TUESDAY, April 26, 2016
1:44 p.m.
Ron quickly realized he was not in bed any longer, but was standing on a
rickety ladder, looking at a rope on the floor. Rachael had just tossed
the rope for the third time, he realized. Instead of pulling the rope up
for a fourth, successful toss, he climbed down the ladder and gathered
the rope up. He untied the loop, and then coiled the rope and hung it on
its hook. He, no she, moved the ladder over to the corner where she had
found it, realizing that this body was not only much smaller, but also
much weaker. It was young though, and without the aches and pains of a
64-year-old man.
She went to the door to the house, turned off the garage light, and went
into the house. She nearly stumbled on a backpack, and picked it up and
carried it off to Rachael's, her, bedroom. She recognized the location
from the vignette she had watched earlier. In the bedroom, adorned by
only a few pictures torn from magazines as posters ... boy bands and
young movie stars mostly, she realized that this new body was covered in
sweat. She stripped to her underwear and looked around. There was no
mirror in the room. She went to the bathroom, and found one there. She
wasn't really pretty, but what 13-year-old girl thinks she is, she
thought. Her face had some acne, and she still had a lot of baby fat.
The hair was a problem. She had chopped it off in a depression episode a
couple weeks earlier, she realized, accessing her memories. She went
further back in time, and realized that last year she had bought a cheap
dye kit and did a horrible job in dying what had been a light blonde
hair color, like her mothers. Twice since then she had touched up the
roots, which seemed to need it again. But there was no more of the dye
solution left, and she didn't have money to buy more. These are my
memories, she realized. This is me. There is no more Ron. No more he or
his. "I am Rachael," she said aloud, hearing her new voice for the first
time. It was a strong soprano, she thought.
She had been wearing a long-sleeved top, and soon noticed why. Her arms,
from the elbows down, showed a tracing of both old and fairly recent
scars. Cutting. He had heard that this was something troubled children
were doing these days, but Ron really didn't understand it. Memories
flooded back of the many times she had cut herself, reveling in the pain
as she watched blood flow from the non-lethal cuts she had made. She
even realized that she had considered this as a suicide method ... a
lot. She finally had come up with the hanging method when she realized
that bleeding to death would be messy, slow, and potentially difficult
to accomplish.
Unfastening her bra was not easy, but Rachael managed to figure it out,
and pulled it off to show small, budding breasts. The bra showed a size
of 34A. Her waist was more than a bit chubby, and she had really
oversized hips. She pulled off her briefs and got a good long look at
her new sex organs. Ron had never really been able to look intently at
these parts. He had been married for 22 years to his first love, but
when Kate had died he never dated again. And Kate was very shy about
that area. Rachael saw that she was blonde there. Of course. Acting out
as a Goth didn't require changes down there. She turned on the shower
and got in.
Fifteen minutes later she got out. She felt clean and quite refreshed,
having just experienced the best orgasm of her life. Being a girl might
have some perks, she thought with a smile as she dried her body. It was
also the first time in years that she had gone an hour without the
constant pain and aches of age. She stood naked in her bedroom for a few
minutes, then dressed again. The jeans and t-shirt she had on before
were too sweaty to put back on.
Slipping on a new pair of briefs was easy, although it felt odd to feel
her small breasts jiggling about as she bent over. The bra was a
challenge ... it seems she only had three, so she would have to wash the
one she had just taken off. Once she finally got the new one clasped,
she checked out her closet. To say she was disappointed was an
understatement. There were only a dozen or so outfits in there. I
thought girls had more clothes, she mused to herself. Not poor girls,
she realized. Most of these outfits were from thrift shops. That was
part of the reason she was teased at school. She didn't wear cool new
clothes from the hot boutiques like better-off girls did.
She found a floral print midi skirt that went a few inches below her
knees, and then found a pink top in the dresser, with long sleeves
again. She took a pair of Mary-Jane shoes with a one-inch heel, since
she felt the running shoes she had on in the garage felt like they were
a bit tainted by everything, and she wanted a completely different
outfit.
She then went down and explored the rest of the house. Bobby's room was
actually a bit bigger than hers (although still tiny) but hers had the
bigger closet. Her mom's room was biggest, but her closet had few
clothes in it: just a few waitress uniforms and one or two other
outfits. Rachael peeked into her mom's second-hand bureau and found the
underwear drawer. There was only one spare bra in it and the tag, nearly
faded out, said it was a 34-DD. Maybe there was hope for her in the bust
department, she giggled.
She wandered through the rest of the house, until she came to the
kitchen. It was a mess. Both breakfast and last night's dinner dishes
were still in the sink. She remembered her mother and her fighting last
night: it had been Rachael's turn to do the dishes but the fight had
ended with her mom saying that the dishes would stay in the sink until
she did them as Rachael stormed off to her room.
Looking around, it was soon clear that there was no dishwasher, so
Rachael filled the sink with hot water and washed the dishes by hand,
then dried them and put them into the cupboards. She cleaned all the
counters, and looked through the fridge to see what might be happening
for dinner. There was a package of chicken breasts with three small
pieces of meat, as well as a few veggies. She had seen a bag of potatoes
under the sink when she had looked for dish soap.
It was a bit after 2 p.m., and still too early to worry about dinner.
Instead Rachael worked her way through the house, dusting and tidying as
she went. She even found time to do two loads of laundry, one of Bobby's
things, which she found largely strewn around his room, and her own
room, which had a laundry basket, which was not often used. Her Mom's
things were in her hamper. As well as the two laundry loads, she also
did a sink full of delicates: her and Mom's bras and panties. She had
memories of doing that regularly in the past. When all were done, she
hung them to dry on the clothesline behind the house. There was no
electric dryer in the house.
She had just come back in from hanging the last of the laundry, nearly
filling the line, when she heard the front door open. "Who is it?" she
asked in some alarm.
"It's me, Rachael," Bobby said.
"Why are you here now?"
"Mrs. Hubble didn't answer her door. I stayed there for a long time, but
no one came to the door. So I came here. Don't get mad, it's not my
fault."
It was 10 to four, and Bobby usually spent from 3:30 to 7 with a
neighbour three doors down the street who did babysitting at a bargain
rate for the Cartwrights. "Don't worry, kiddo," she said, reaching out
to tousle his hair.
He flinched as her hand moved towards him. "Don't hit me," he said
fearfully.
"I'm not going to hit you ... anymore," she said, adding the last word
when she realized that she did hit the smaller boy pretty often when her
Mom was not around. "What are you going to do till Mom gets home?"
"Bug you," he said with a mischievous grin. "You said you wouldn't hit
me, right?"
"Well, maybe if you tempt me," she said then added a smile to show him
that she was joking. "Why don't you watch some TV till Mom gets home?
I'm going to make dinner for tonight."
"You? Cooking? We're all going to die," he said, falling to the floor as
if he had food poisoning. "But I'm hungry now. Mrs. Hubble always had a
couple cookies for me."
Rachael looked at her brother. He was even chubbier than she was,
bordering on obese. This family needs to get into shape. Except for Mom.
Memories appeared of her Mom as a thin shapely woman in her early 30s,
still maintaining her look of youth in spite of having two kids. Mom had
been 16 when she first got pregnant with Rachael.
"I have an idea. I don't think you need cookies, and I don't even know
if we have any. But we do have some other things, and I'll make a snack
for you."
Rachael went to the fridge and took out a carrot. It looked like there
were still enough for dinner tonight, so she sliced one up into carrot
sticks. She put a dozen and a half on a plate and took them in to her
brother.
"What's that?" he said with a look of distain on his face.
"These are soldiers," she said. "This big guy is the boss ... the
captain, I guess. He will wonder where his soldiers disappear to, until
in the end the giant Bobby monster gets him too."
"Cool," Bobby said, interested in playing with the snack as he ate it.
"Thanks."
Rachael went back into the kitchen and started preparing for dinner. She
knew she had enough time, about three hours. She started off by texting
her Mom.
She sent the text, knowing her mother wouldn't answer immediately, since
she was busy most of the time she was working. It was nearly a half hour
later when the text came back.
Rachael texted back immediately.
Leela
- 24.05.2021
- 17
- 0
Lemons and Coffee Chapter Two Kandy
- 2 years ago
- 57
- 0
Journeys West Chapter 20 Yolanda
- 2 years ago
- 29
- 0
