Raymond would never forget the look on her face. He remembered them all, of course, but hers was especially unforgettable. The look of fear...no... absolute terror on her twenty-something, yuppie face as he burst into the room was priceless. She looked at the door as if it had betrayed her... which in a way it had... Raymond ripped that silly little security chain right off of the door-jam. She was sitting up on the sofa as if she'd just awakened from a bad dream, only find out that the whole thing was real. The boogeyman really WAS coming to get her. And his name was Raymond Welch.

She got up and tried to run, but Ray grabbed her by the hair and threw her back down onto the sofa.

"HEY! What IS this!"

A rather strange reaction, Raymond thought.

Whatever.

Her blouse came off in one loud rip. Small, bra-less breasts jiggled on her chest like two bowls of jello, each with a small cherry on top. She kicked at him, but was a bit too slow. Ray jerked to the side and then slapped her. Hard. Her eyes swam around in their sockets for a moment, and when she came around her baggy jeans were already halfway down her thighs. She suddenly remembered she could scream, and she did so in abundance... at least until Ray's gloved fist loosened a few teeth.

"Stop it you IDIOT!" she spat at him.

An Insult. That was new. Usually they did like good little girls and just went along, trying to save their own skin. They must have taught them that in school somewhere... that 'just cooperate and don't make them mad' crap. Obviously this one had missed class that day.

Raymond rocked her with another punch; he felt the cartilage around her nose pop like big juicy cockroach under his fist. She slapped and punched at him, fighting with all she had. It was like she knew she was going to die. Raymond just shrugged off most of the blows while he ripped off panties. He was admiring her well-trimmed crotch when she came dangerously close to putting out one of his eyes. Raymond staggered backwards, knocking over the coffee table and sending a tattered note-pad and an empty medicine bottle skittering across the floor.

The woman, naked except for her dirty socks, ran for the kitchen. That's where the knives were.

Raymond was literally on top of he before she took four steps. He grabbed her by the hair again (...long hair was SUCH a blessing...) and shoved her to the floor. Raymond landed with one knee in her back, just behind the shoulders. He was angry now. He ripped out a huge fistful of hair and silenced her screams by grabbing her bleeding scalp and cracking her head against the floor. The thin carpet did nothing to soften the blow. The woman grunted and spat out a tooth.

Raymond like that. He did it again. When her fighting spirit was doused to Raymond's satisfaction, he undid his belt with one hand and yanked the woman's legs apart with the other.

She remained lucid through the entire ordeal, occasionally trying to scream or fight but quickly being put down with a heavy fist to the head. It was about an half-hour later when Raymond, satiated for the moment, got up and went into the kitchen. He returned with a shiny, freshly dish-washed butcher knife. He smiled down at her. Her face was one big bruise, and her nose had swollen to more than twice its original size. He smiled because the battered woman was trying to squirm away with two broken arms, which made her look like giant purple and pink worm. He smiled because this was when the fun part started...

...


Raymond Welch stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind him. He calmly down the hall, oblivious to the blood covering his pants and jacket. He entered the stairwell and paused to check his zipper. That's when he saw the cop.

"FREEZE ASSHOLE"

Uh-oh.

The gun was already drawn. Raymond ducked to the side just as the 'pop' reached his ears. Something exploded in his shoulder. Was this what it was like to be shot? Raymond had never been shot before. It wasn't very much fun, and he didn't want to repeat the experience.

He ran up the stairs, suddenly realizing that his latest plaything lived... had lived... on the top floor. There was nowhere to go but to the roof. Startled pigeons scattered as he burst onto the flat rooftop. There was nowhere to go. He ran for the edge and stopped. He looked down at the cop-cars that had surrounded the building, and the men who were swarming around among the cars like frenzied ants. One by one, the officers all looked up at Raymond. Raymond imagined that if he weren't so high up, he could see the tiny reflections of himself in their mirrored shades.

"Hold it!" said the cop that had followed him from the stairwell. "Fun's OVER punk!"

"Really?" said Raymond. He jumped.

As he hurtled toward the pavement, Raymond found himself wondering for the first time since childhood... just what was hell like, anyway?

...

He jolted suddenly, as if shocked by a bolt of electricity. He was groggy and lightheaded, but the clarity returned after just a few seconds. He opened his eyes... wide. He sat bolt upright on the sofa, causing his bra-less breasts to jiggle under his T-shirt. There were no mirrors around, but when someone who couldn't possibly be Raymond Welch burst into the room, he knew exactly what the expression on his own face was.

He remembered it clearly.

He got up and tried to run, but he already knew that it was hopeless. His long, blond hair would be his undoing...

...

"Geez, what a sicko!" Andy shook the morning paper tapped the offending article with his finger.

"What is it, dear?" his wife called from the other room.

"They caught that rapist guy... finally. Cops chased him off a building."

"That's good."

"Yeah, but get this... the last woman he raped... the coroner said she'd been dead for two hours before the guy even got there. Suicide. Left a note and everything."

"And he raped her anyway?"

"...And then sliced her up like she was still alive."

"God, that IS sick!"

"Geez, what's this world coming to..."

"At least they got him."

"Yeah," said Andy. "I wonder what kinda hell God has made up for people like that."

"Yeah..." his wife mused. "I wonder..."

[END]

copyright 2001 by Dark Icon (Marc Washington)