Rainy Day

Fiona walked hurriedly past the newspaper kiosk, clutching her purse to her side. She normally would have stopped to talk, like she usually did.This was her neighborhood, after all. She had lived here for eleven years, and she had the place just about memorized. She pretty much knew everybody else who lived there. The neighborhood was small, but friendly. Everyone was on a first name basis. It was a great place to live.

Today, she wanted to get home before the downpour began. So not today. No stopping to socialize on the way home. She flapped her hand idly in the direction of the kiosk, as way of a greeting, and kept right on going.

She heard shouts of "Hello Fiona." She smiled, waved, and continued walking.

The sun was no longer warm, and the afternoon forecast was rain, rain, and more rain. And with it, much cooler air. She clutched the collar of her coat more tightly.

People at the kiosk were talking about the Rainy Day Killer. She normally would have joined in the conversation, but today she wanted to be snug and dry in her apartment before the downpour really began. The Rainy Day Killer was all everyone talked about.

Rain lately, meant something much more than just getting wet or being caught in a downpour.

Ever since the Rainy Day Killer had killed his first victim, the entire nation was on edge. A rainy day. Would he strike again?

The headlines were everywhere. It was all over the newspapers. It was constantly blaring from every television set nation wide. The Rainy Day Killer had struck again!The Rainy Day killer had killed another! The entire nation was in the grip of fear. A collective holding of the breath. Awaiting the next headline.

He was a savage killer. The crimes were gruesome. He hunted women. He preyed on women. Women who were alone. Women who were defenseless.

There were no eye witnesses. The cops were driving in circles looking for him. He leaves no clues. No one sees him enter. No one sees him leave. He's a shadow. A wraith. Always women. Always women who were by themselves. Always no witnesses to his comings and his goings. No one in sight.

His first victim was a college student. Nineteen years old. Alone in her dormitory since everyone had gone home over school vacation. She was found on her bed. Nude. Vocal chords slashed. Breasts mutilated. Face mutilated. Savagely raped. Partially disemboweled. Soaked in her own blood. He left all his victims this same way. The murders were identical. Each and every one.

Fiona was horrified. Same as the rest of the public. People were yelling for answers. Women were afraid to be alone anywhere. People traveled in groups, and arrived and left in groups. 'Why can't they catch him she thought? Can he be that hard to find?'

She unlocked the door to her small apartment and slammed it behind her, engaging the lock and double checking, before dropping her things on the side table. She exhaled loudly, just then realizing she had been holding her breath.

She began to walk around her small apartment, mentally checking items off on her safety list. She checked both the front and back doors. All the windows. She drew the curtains. She was in for the night. She had left work in a hurry, wanting to be home before the rain started. Her and everyone else. Behind locked doors. Safe.

The entire country was on edge. And who could blame them? A savage killer who, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be triggered by rainy weather. Satisfied, Fiona walked into her kitchen.

Thunder peaked and she jumped a foot.The warm weather had disappeared about an hour ago, and Fiona had hurried along after leaving work. Heading home to her apartment. Luckily, she had beaten the rain. She walked down the short hallway, passing her living room which was situated on the right, as she walked straight ahead into her kitchen. She stopped at the entry to her kitchen, and smoothed her sweater down over her breasts and waist. She could hear the spatter of rain drops against the small round window over her kitchen sink. Fiona shivered slightly-she had been cold all day-and headed for the tea kettle. A hot cup of tea is exactly what she needed. Yes. A cup of tea would do it. Fiona placed a teabag in her cup and waited for the water to boil. Tea is a restorative for Fiona, as it is for many people. When she sips a cup of tea she is able to put her whole world in perspective. Everything slips back into place. Tea is an actual ceremony. And today a warmer upper, as well.

While Fiona waited for the teabag to steep, she carried the teacup over to her kitchen table. She never took a sip until she could smell the tea. The pleasant herbal aromas. She took her first sip. It was celebratory.

As she sipped, Fiona felt the tension drain from her. When she had moved into her apartment seven years ago, the place had seemed very drab, very basic. The layout boring; simplistic.

However, the warm weather months spent combing various flea markets, yard sales and estate sales, with friends and neighbors, she had depended on her instincts--and on their opinions-- and what she had in her mind for her apartment.

She had chosen shades of cream and rust with black accents for her kitchen. Decorative bric a brac. The effect was warm and cozy. Everyone had helped, and everyone had loved the final results. And they told her so.

Her living room was decorated in shades of rose and light green, with dashes of pale blue. Her next door neighbor, Jennifer, had helped her pick out all the right shades, and all the furnishings, and the decorative touches as well. Fiona had been so grateful. Comfortable, stylish, and relaxing all at the same time. For her bedroom she told everyone she wanted shades of light slate blue and grey. They had been happy to help. The overall effect was serene and quiet with prints of seascapes, and blue and grey accents artfully placed. Perfect for a bedroom.

In the bathroom, she had chosen the contrast of pale apple green and stark white. Everything would look clean, crisp and user friendly, with chrome pieces scattered about.

Every time she pictured her apartment it always cheered her up. Her apartment was her haven.

As she continued to drink her tea, she could actually feel the tension draining away. Warmth and healing sliding all the way down to her stomach. She drew a long steady breath. The fragrant steam surrounded her head, unknotting her nerves, as the heat from the cup warmed her hands. She finished her tea, and placed her cup in the sink. As she was turning around, she heard the front door open. She froze. No one had a key to this apartment but her and the landlord.

She took a step back, away from the sink and stood very still. Cold air rushed at her, engulfing her. The door to the outside had to be wide open. If so, rain was pouring in. There would be puddles all over the hallway floor.

There were no doors that opened onto the hallway. Solid walls on both sides, with just one small open archway that led to her living room.

That was one of the things that Fiona liked about her apartment. The layout was simple. She moved hurriedly down the hall to slam the door closed for the second time. Her feet were soaked, but she still turned the handle a few times making sure the door was securely locked. Satisfied, she left a damp trail behind her, as she headed back to the kitchen to grab a few towels. As she passed the hallway table, she grabbed her phone and quickly slid her fingers over the numbers to speed dial her landlord. The front door definitely needed to be looked at. Her landlord was a great guy, someone that Fiona really liked.

She left a message on his answering machine, and dropped her phone into her pocket. Grabbing a handful of towels she hurriedly headed for the front door, throwing the towels down on the floor as she did. She crossed the small space in the hallway leading to the stairs. Four small steps and she was on the second floor. Her bedroom on the left and the bathroom diagonally across the way. She slid off her wet nylons as she headed for her bed, leaning down to grab her slippers, which she always placed by the head of the bed.

Fiona was completely blind, but she was not afraid to live her life. She had been left blinded in a terrible car accident when she was 13 yrs old. She had been coming home from a holiday with her mother and father. Both her parents were killed in the crash, and Fiona was left blind. Permanently blinded in a sighted world. Her father's older sister had finished raising her.

Her aunt Elizabeth had been elderly to begin with, and Fiona had just turned 18 when she suffered a stroke, and left Fiona with no living relatives.

Between her parent's life insurance policy, and being her aunt's sole beneficiary, Fiona was able to be somewhat independent--even without being sighted. She missed her aunt terribly and she thought about her mother and father every day. But even so, the money gave her options. Something a lot of people in the world do not have. In some ways, Fiona felt lucky. In some ways. Fiona valued her independence, and was determined to remain fiercely so.

She found a job with a publishing company that reproduced both classics and current bestsellers in Braille. Magazines and periodicals as well. She was one of their best editors, and she was not the only employee there who was blind.

Just down the street from her publishing house, she had found her apartment. Her apartment was simply laid out, and easy to navigate. She knew her way around the neighborhood, and her neighbors were both kind and friendly. They had helped her with her apartment, and those moments, those memories, Fiona treasured.

Except for the grief of loss, and her lack of vision, there were times when Fiona felt real contentment in her life. She had accepted the inevitable long ago.

At 29, despite her handicap, Fiona knew her life, in some ways, had come together. And she was grateful. Sad, serious, but grateful.

Her slippers were warm and comfortable. Fiona got up from her bed and walked over to her dresser. She kept her night clothes in the top drawer. Her friends Austin and Sandra, both retirees, had helped her shop for warm, comfy clothes and everything was chosen to match everything else. She had a pile of soft black slacks and T-shirts of different colors. They coordinated well. Her closet was set up in similar fashion. Everything in its place, and a place for everything had worked well for Fiona. Her world was well organized out of necessity.

As Fiona headed for the bathroom, she passed a man pressed back against the wall to the right. She missed contact with him by about one foot. His eyes glittered, as he looked Fiona over from her head to her feet.

Fiona continued into the bathroom, undressing and stuffing her work pantsuit, all but her underwear, into the hamper and putting on her comfy clothes. She loved the little niche she had carved out for herself. Long day. Home at last.

Suddenly the floor creaked directly in front of her. Out of nowhere a hand began to squeeze her throat, cutting off her breathing.

And although she could not see it, a large serrated knife was held up in front of her face. And she could hear ragged, harsh breathing. "Fiona," said the breather. "Good to be home isn't it?" Replying was not an option. Neither was remaining conscious. The breather, aka the Rainy Day Killer, forced Fiona's jaws apart and shoved a gag into her mouth. Then he began dragging Fiona over to her bed.

He groped for a lamp but found none. That was fine. He was a huge fan of his own work. Being unable to see, was not a negative. Not a negative at all.

The Rainy Day Killer smiled at the irony. He loved irony. Almost as much as he loved his work.

The first thing he took from Fiona was her eyes. He hated brown. It was his least favorite color. He went right to work, smiling. Humming "Rainy Day People" to himself as he did.