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Reid Laurence

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A Killing Rain and Other Stories
by Reid Laurence   

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Category: 

Literary Fiction

Publisher:  E-Booktime, LLC ISBN-10:  1598240218 Type: 
Pages: 

243

Copyright:  5/1/2005
Fiction

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Raymond Mort is a killer ó make no mistake ó but the lives he takes donít fulfill a murderers bloodlust quite as much as they work to keep him happy and occupied in the strange, make-believe world heís self-manufactured out of sheer madness. In doing so, Raymond tries to snuff out the pain of loneliness and desperation of a tormented early childhood, which remains a sad part of him for the duration of his life. A killer, yes, but in reading this shocking tale, you may feel more pity welling within you than vengeance.
Other stories in the book prove to be rooted in the deep,
dark well of human psyche and pathos, but at times ó as in the last tale of a super-intelligent cat named ĎCarlí ó the author switches moods and takes us to a place in which most adults have long since left behind them, but with one agonizing question left unanswered... Are we really who we think we are, or could there exist some other force ó much greater then we ó compelling us to do the things we do? Read on, and find out.

Amazon
Author: Reid Laurence
E-Booktime, LLC
Reid Laurence; Author

†It was cold outside, and rain was still falling. It rained for days and it seemed that it would never end. The
cityís storm sewers were filled to capacity and flood waters threatened to back up and overflow out into the
streets, but still, relentless, the rain continued to fall. Like the sound of large pebbles falling on rooftops, it fell and meandered its way along its natural gravitational path, unhindered and flowing from rooftops to
gutter systems to down spouts, and out into the streets, not with a fury or rage but with a constant unending urgency; an urgency that only the natural forces of nature could explain, but would not. Meteorologists
could find no exact explanation, but only suspected that modern industrial pollutants were to blame and man, not nature, was the cause.

Still, the reason or reasons for the copious downfall was the furthest thought from Raymond Mortís mind,
as he stood as still as a hard granite statue in the night, concealed by a cloak of darkness in a niche of an
alley wall, patiently waiting. From his position, as he leaned against the cold wet wall, he could see the
reflection of the liquor storeís sign from across the street in the puddle of water in front of him. The sign
read Samís Liquor Store, and it flashed on and off,nearly synchronized to the beat of the falling rain.
As Raymond listened, he could hear the quiet footsteps of a passing stranger getting closer. The sound of the personís hard leather shoe soles striking the concrete pavement made a distinct noise and he could tell even without looking that the stranger was
male. Suddenly, to Raymondís surprise, the sound of the rhythmic pattern of steps vanished, and wondering why or how, he peered out from the safety of his concealment to look down the street. Spotting the stranger, he saw the warm glow of a tiny fire ignite from a match the man struck, as he stood motionless, guarding a cigarette with his hand from the cool falling
rain. Taking a deep drag on the cigarette, the unknown pedestrian adjusted his coat, pulled the collar up
around the exposed skin of his neck and tossed the now dead match to the ground, once more, taking up
the pace of his stride.
Now, only yards away from where Raymond stood, the man slowly approached. Unbuttoning the midriff of
his black trench coat, Raymond put his right hand over the handle of an authentic World War II Nazi dagger on
his belt, and unsnapped the small strap of leather which held the handle in place in its sheath. Pulling the
knife out into the dim light, he rubbed the smooth enamel surface of the swastika on the handle of the
weapon with his thumb, as he always did, and glanced down at it, smiling appreciatively at the nearly perfect
diamond shaped red, black, and white design.
Waiting for the right moment to strike, with knife in hand, Raymond watched as the unsuspecting stranger
was by now, very nearly within striking distance.
Expertly, and as heíd done so many times before, Raymond allowed his victim to very nearly pass the
alley opening, but just as the man stepped up and over the six inch concrete curb, he came rushing out from
the shadows of his hiding place, quickly putting his left hand around the manís mouth and dragging him from
the dim light of the flashing sign, back into the cold, dank recesses of his flagging soul.
As Raymond dragged the man back into the darkness, he could feel him struggling from beneath his grip. Frightened and surprised by his ill fate, the stranger squirmed and writhed but tried in vain to break free of Raymondís strong, practiced hold. As the manís heartbeat rose, so did the pace of his breathing, but like a large snake, securing its victim by wrapping around it and increasing its pressure, so did
Raymondís grasp, as the left biceps of his arm flexed and tightened.
Suddenly, and with surgical precision, Raymond stabbed his victim, piercing the right kidney, and as the cold steel blade entered his body, his eyes widened and his chest heaved with one great labored breath. The piercing blade, like a terrible hot iron severed arteries and cut muscle from bone along the course of its deadly path. Upon removing the now blood stained blade, Raymond could feel the life force slowly fading from his victim, and in releasing his grasp from around the manís mouth, the unfortunate stranger fell first to
his knees, wavering for a moment and then finally, as lifeís struggle came to its shocking conclusion, falling in
a heap to the wet pavement beneath Raymondís feet.
In the dark, standing over his fresh kill, Raymond tore open the coat of his victim with his hands and cut
the shirt-sleeves of the corpse, revealing both of the dead manís upper arms. Then quickly and with precision, Raymond severed the top and bottom
attachments of the biceps, removed them and stored them in a plastic storage bag he brought along with
him, especially for the occasion.
Next, Raymond sliced open the pant legs of the dead man, cutting a nearly perfect line up and along the crease of the trouser until the large quadriceps muscles of the forelegs were exposed and by the same
method heíd used to remove the manís biceps, he also removed the powerful front muscles of the leg, and
gently laid them inside another storage bag heíd brought with. Opening the small suitcase heíd brought
along, he deposited all four body parts within, but did not close it. Not yet, he thought to himself. Iím not
finished with you yet. And as he methodically wiped the bloodstained blade of the knife clean on the dead manís white dress shirt, he put the sharp steel blade to the corpses neck and proceeded to cut a perfect line from one side to the other, cutting through a vertebrate connection of the spinal column until heíd reached the
hard surface of the concrete beneath.
Now last, but not least, as a warped form of sexual desire stirred arousal in Raymondís mind, he anxiously
cut open the dead manís trousers to expose his genitals. With one swift motion of the tapered blade, he
severed the penis and testicles of the corpse, took them up in his hand and carefully placed the bleeding trophy
in another waiting storage bag.
Finally, his task complete, Raymond double checked his suitcase, making sure that all the components heíd removed from the body were all neatly
packed and meticulously arranged. Sure of himself and of the body parts heíd selected, he closed the case,
opened the lid of a large dumpster behind him and deposited the decapitated corpse inside it, with no more feeling of regret or remorse then if heíd just finished swatting a fly.
Still standing in the shadows of the dark alley, Raymond lit a cigarette and watched as the dim light of
the liquor store sign from across the street illuminated the large puddle of blood before him. The constant
downfall of rain gradually caused the pool of blood to dissipate, and as it slowly vanished from sight, so did
the urgency and thirst of Raymondís bloodlust, but the sin of the crime could never be washed away, or
cleansed by the freshly fallen rain. The sin of the crime was forever a stain on Raymondís immortal soul and
only God had the power to cleanse him of it, as unlikely an act as that may seem.††


Excerpt

Still standing in the shadows of the dark alley,
Raymond lit a cigarette and watched as the dim light of the liquor store sign from across the street illuminated the large puddle of blood before him. The constant downfall of rain gradually caused the pool of blood to dissipate, and as it slowly vanished from sight, so did the urgency and thirst of Raymondís bloodlust, but the sin of the crime could never be washed away, or cleansed by the freshly fallen rain. The sin of the crime was forever a stain on Raymondís immortal soul and only God had the power to cleanse him of it, as unlikely
an act as that may seem.




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