Angels of the Silences…Music Flash Fiction

Welcome to another addition of Musical Flash Fiction. A monthly piece in which a song is chosen and we use either the title, the theme or a line as a basis for…. something, lol. This week’s selection is Angels of Silences but Counting Crows. And can I just say—damn, this was a hard one. Seriously, I’m sitting here trying to decide what to do. I’d had a idea, then abandoned it, then decided to continue with my previous story the last time we did the music flash fiction.

I know…it seems to be a theme with me, but…I have this problem with getting attached to characters and damn, I’m not ready to let them go. So be forewarned…next month might be one more installation. Or there could be none or it could go on all year! That’s right, keep on guessing…

Either way, here’s my story. If you’d like to read the first instalment, you can go here. Or just jump right in. Oh and if you’d like to listen to the song first, check it out…


“Witness for cross-examination.”

Grace Brogan took a deep breath, the stern voice echoing through the courtroom. The judge nodded to the Defence Attorney, signalling his turn to question her. To try and pull her testimony apart—destroy the last bits of pride and humanity she had left. She glanced at the man sitting in the chair opposite her seat. Black suit, hair combed back. Only his tie showed any colour, the red pattern nearly identical to the one he’d worn when he’d killed her brother. He narrowed his gaze, his mouth lifting into an evil grin as he mouthed words regarding her fate.

She clenched her jaw. She’d come too far to back down—to recant. The ghosts that haunted her dreams still too real to have found redemption. She given up everything—whatever family she had left—to bring her father down. The untouchable Francis Brogan. Only she’d found a way to blindside him. And he’d need more than empty words to scare her.

His lawyer rose, papers rustling between his fingers, chair scraping across the floor. The sound prickled her skin, making her heart rate jump. A soft cough sounded off to her left, and she turned, Ronan’s gaze finding hers. He nodded, giving her a genuine smile as his hand rested on the hilt of his weapon. Her focus dropped to the handgun, the black holster blending in with his pants.

She forced herself to swallow, twisting to face the attorney who’d made his way into the centre of the small space in front of her. The man glanced from Ronan back to her, his expression fading into a leer. Just another person her father had bought. Blood money. The kind that never washed off. She hadn’t realized how easily friends and family could be owned. Paid for and delivered. That’d they’d fade like footprints in the rain. She looked around at the people gathered behind the railing—not many would stand beside her now. Hell. None.

Except Ronan.

He’d been there. First, as the man who’d vowed to keep her safe—then as a lover who’d helped her heal—was helping her. God knows she wasn’t anywhere close to being whole. Clean. But Ronan had given her the strength to try. To face the man she’d once loved and look him in the eyes as she replayed every gruesome detail. Every sin she’d committed in the name of family.

His attorney cleared his throat, nodding at the judge before turning his sallow eyes on her. Beady with more black than colour, he reminded her of a bug—disproportioned. He drew himself up, slowly making his way to where she sat next to the judge, nothing but a hunk of wood separating them.

He tilted his head. “Ms. Brogan. You’ve testified that your father, the defendant, Francis Brogan, is guilty of murdering both your mother and your brother. And that you witnessed such atrocities on the twelve of May, two thousand and fourteen. Is this correct?”

She steeled her determination, reminding herself he’d try to twist her words. Implicate her. Make it seem as if she’d turned against her family. Or maybe he’d claim she’d helped the son of a bitch slit her brother’s throat. Had bathed in his blood pooled on the floor. Either way, she needed to remain calm. Focused. Removed.

She squared her shoulders, imagining Ronan’s hand cupping one as she stared at the lawyer. “Yes.”

The man nodded, flipping through his notes. “Is it also true that you didn’t report these murders until three months later—on August twenty-third?”

Her nerves cut her breathing slightly, the air suddenly thick. “Yes.”

“I see. So you’re telling the court that you waited three months to report the brutal slaying of your family. That you did nothing for over ninety days.”

A shiver worked along her spine. Guilt. She leaned forward. “That’s correct.”

“And you claim that this…disparage of justice was due to threats by your father?”

“If you call having him choke me until I passed out a threat, then yes.”

The man’s eye twitched. “Yes. You’ve provided numerous photos of bruises and lacerations…none of which you can unequivocally prove were done by your father’s hand.”

He raised a brow, but she kept her mouth shut. She’d been warned that sometimes not answering was less damning than trying to voice her beliefs.

He stepped closer, resting his forearms on the wood partition between them. “I’m afraid we didn’t hear your answer, Ms. Brogan. Can you prove these injuries came from your father?”

“The photos are date stamped. There are servants from within the home that saw him. Though I’m sure my father’s bought them off by now—that’s if he didn’t outright kill them.”

“Objection, Your Honour. Conjecture.”

“Sustained. The witness will stick to the facts.”

She drew her chin high. “No. I don’t have a photo of him trying to strangle me or punching me across the room. But they were able to collect his DNA from beneath my fingernails after the last incident.”

“Yet no injuries were discovered on your father when police went to check.”

“That’s only because it was over a week later—”

“So your injuries could have been sustained in any number of fashion…such as struggling with your brother before you cut his throat?”

Bile burned the back of her tongue, the acrid taste threatening to empty her stomach on the polished oak surface. “My brother outweighed me by eighty pounds.”

“The facts, Ms. Brogan.”

She released a frustrated breath. “Yes. My injuries could have been sustained by other means…but they weren’t.”

The guy’s smile widened. “Isn’t it true, that this is all a coverup?”


“That it was you who bludgeoned your mother then stabbed your brother?”


“That you killed your family in order to rise in rank and get a larger share of your father’s inheritance?”


“That the reason you waited so long was because you were plotting to kill your father, as well, but had to flee when he discovered your treachery? That he’s the innocent in all of this and you struck a deal with the Marshal Service in order to protect your own guilt?”

Images flashed in her head, her brother’s lifeless eyes lingering in her mind. She should have stood up to the man that night. Had the courage to die with the rest of her family. Instead, she’d kept her mouth shut. Gathered evidence then escaped. Ronan shuffled closer, the soft sound grounding her.

Grace steadied herself, knowing she’d have to say the words out loud before she could vanquish them. “Oh, I’m guilty. Of not having the guts to strike out that night. Of allowing my fear to rule me. Of waiting until I had enough proof to put his ass away for life before I left because I knew nothing short of complete annihilation would be enough to stop him. Nothing short of offering my soul as tribute would see justice served.” She glared at her father. “I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.”

“Enough. The witness is reminded, again, to stick to the facts.”

She nodded. “Yes, Your Honour.” She turned back to the man. “No. I didn’t kill my family and I didn’t plot to kill my father. Though you’re right about why I left. He’d discovered I’d been taping meetings, phone calls—and I knew he’d kill me once he caught me.”

The lawyer raised a brow, but paced across the room, spinning when he reached the juror’s box. “Tell me, Ms. Brogan. Do you know a U.S. Marshal Ronan Foster?”

Her stomach clenched. God, they were going to do it. Drag Ronan through the same bloody hell she was in. “Yes.”

“And what is your relationship to Marshal Foster?”

“He’s the Marshal assigned to me for protection.” She glanced at him out of her peripheral vision, hoping he wouldn’t be upset when she surprised them all with simply telling the truth. “He’s also my lover.”

A gasp rose among the crowd, more than a few gazes straying toward Ronan.

Her father’s lawyer tapped his chin. “I see. And as the marshal’s lover, is it safe to say you’d do anything to protect him?”

“That’s a fair assumption.”

“Including kill?”

She stilled the sudden trembling in her hands. “He hasn’t asked, and I haven’t acted.”

“I asked if you’d be willing to kill for him.”

“And I can’t answer that as the situation hasn’t arisen. Though I know he’d never ask.”

Beth Granger stood, the militant DA palming the table. “Objection, Your Honour. Relevance?”

The judge sighed. “Do you have a point, Counsellor?”

Her competition nodded. “It’s well known that Marshal Foster’s partner was killed in the line of duty shortly before he took this case. It’s also well known that said partner had ties to the Brogan family business. Marshal Foster was implicated in his partner’s death, and only cleared a few days before being assigned to Ms. Brogan when some mysterious photos were discovered clearing him. Photos taken using the same camera as that of the witness during the time she was allegedly being abused and threatened by her father.” He glared at Grace. “Seeing as she’s admitted to have a sexual relationship with him…”

“Objection.” Beth sighed. “Unless the defence has evidence proving that either Marshal Foster killed his partner or Grace Brogan did, I don’t see how any of this pertains to the case.”

“The evidence suggests that Ms. Brogan was the one who provided the DA with the photos that cleared him. That they’re working together to frame my client and claim his fortune.”

The judge glanced at her. “The witness will answer the question.”

Grace sighed. “Yes. I took the photos that eventually cleared Marshal Foster, though I didn’t know it was him until after he’d been assigned to my case. And for the record, I haven’t taken a dime of my father’s blood money.”

Her father’s attorney laughed. “So we’re just supposed to believe you? After all this? Makes one wonder what else you’re hiding.”

She looked at Ronan, smiling at the pride staring back at her. She turned, focusing on her father as she chuckled. “Is this the best you have, daddy? You think by dragging Ronan’s name through the mud you can discredit him? Discredit me? Well, I hope your money bought you more than that because it’s not enough. Do you remember what you used to call me? An angel of silence. That’s what you wanted me to be. I don’t think I really understood what that was…until now. And I’m here to say—my silence is over.  I’m not going to back down and no amount of questioning will change the facts—I win. Even if I only live long enough to see you standing behind bars. I win.”


Okay… that didn’t go anywhere along the lines that I had envisioned. But for better or worse, that’s my flash of fiction. Please check out the other ladies… you won’t be disappointed.

Bronwyn Green  |  Jessica Jarman  |  Jessica De La Rosa

7 Replies to “Angels of the Silences…Music Flash Fiction”

  1. Oh my! I missed the first installment. If this is any indication, I need to go back and read it. This is sounding good. I am okay with you continuing the story each month. 😉 Even though I am not a fan of the serial, this appears to be a fun exercise. Keep going.

  2. This was fabulous! Love, love, love it, and was so happy to read more about Ronan and Grace. Grace’s journey is heartbreaking but just riveting. And yeah, Daddy needs to get his ass kicked tens times to next Sunday.

  3. I loved the way you worked the song in. I actually forgot that was part of the topic because I was so into your story. Once I got to that part I thought, “OH! I see what she did there!”

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