A Night in the Rain

It was a dreary midnight. The rain was pouring out onto the roughly paved roads of Notre Dame. Everything was silent and calm. All of the town's drunken buffoon's had either passed out in the local pub, or had gone home to their wives and children. There wasn't a soul awake in the wearisome town. The birds were still tucked away in their cozy nests, the stray cats had all found boxes to tuck themselves away, in, for the night, shielding them from the cold. Not a sound could be heard from the townhomes, or local shops. Everyone was settled in for the night; apart from a small man named Poe. Poe was an interesting fellow; at forty three years old, Poe stood at five foot, three inches tall. He had dull brown unkempt hair, and eyes the color of faded tree bark. The kind of man you would definitely cross to the other side of the road, if you saw him walking in the same direction as you on the street. He had a shiny, pink scar on his cheek, from when he was a young boy, running outside, away from his aggravated father. Poe had walked in on his old man with another woman. The man was furious and chased the boy outside when Poe tripped, and fell upon a rock. He had to get five stitches, and a long awaited, mean beating from his father. Poe never thought of his parents much. He wasn't married, and had no children to pass his family name on to. He was all alone in the world, with his parents dying when he was a young teen, Poe was left to fend for himself until he was a legal adult. Poe lived in an orphanage, but with no one adopting him, or even giving him a second glance, he knew he had to step up, and got used to the rejection. Not that Poe really minded, he liked being alone. He was afraid of people. Which was one of the many reasons he became the local nightshift mortician. He worked only at night, which gave him the chance to hide from the people. Poe generally referred to himself as a lone wolf, claiming he didn't need anyone just as they didn't need him. He usually had dark thoughts, of which he kept to himself. After a long nights work, Poe like to walk the town, comforted by the moon. It allowed him time to think, and let the weight of the unwelcome world fall swiftly off his shoulders while gazing at the stars. The soft glow always illuminating the night, making everything so much prettier.
Poe was attracted to pretty things, like most people are. Poe wasn't pretty - people used to remind him of that a lot when he was younger, in the orphanage. Other kids would refer to him as a freak, pointing and always staring. He was bullied to the point of tears on a weekly basis; so naturally he was drawn to pretty things. Poe was no longer fazed by dead bodies, so when a pretty girls body was brought into the morgue, he wouldn't have that gut wrenching feeling anymore, instead, Poe would be extra careful. Examining every inch of her, and always taking extra special care. He would take one Polaroid picture, and a lock of hair, for every pretty girl. It was against the rules, but Poe never got caught. He had a collection. A lot of pretty girls died in the large town of Notre Dame. So Poe had a lot of pictures and locks of hair. He kept them in a small drawer in his apartment. He never showed them to anyone, not that he really had anyone to show them to. Poe didn't have any friends. He considered the pretty dead girls his friends. They understood him better than anyone ever could.
On that specific dreary rainy night, as Poe was walking home from the morgue at roughly four thirty in the morning, feeling a little morose due to no pretty girls coming through that night, he saw someone in the town square. It was a girl. An alive girl, breathing and everything. She was a pretty girl, sitting on a dark purple bench with her legs crossed and her nose stuck in a book. Poe had never seen this pretty girl before. She had wavy red hair that fell to her shoulders. The moonlight bounced off of it, making it shine. Poe loved her hair, and he didn't have any red hair in his collection, and he thought it would almost complete it, in a way. Her skin was the next thing he noticed, it glowed in the moonlight - it was still nighttime, around four in the morning - he could see the faint dust of freckles scattered across her skin. She looked so innocent, not a day over 19. She was wearing a tan peacoat, and brown boots. They weren't rain boots, so her feet must have been getting wet. Poe's breath hitched for a second, when her eyes scanned the courtyard, skimming right over him. She looked back at Poe, and offered a small kind smile. He noticed right away that she had green eyes, with thick eyelashes framing the almond shaped orbs. She was smiling but her eyes looked so sad. Poe could tell that something was on her mind, although he had never met her.

Right then, as soon as she looked away from him and back to her novel, Poe could swear his heart stopped. He had to meet this girl. He had such a hard time interacting with people, and making conversation, but he had to meet her. She was different. Maybe because she was the only one to actually smile at him, whereas everyone else would avoid his gaze and cross to the other side of the street. Maybe it was because the sadness in her eyes reminded him of his own. Or maybe he was just purely attracted to the beauty of her. She was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. He wanted her in his collection. But he couldn't just approach her. No, that'd be too weird. He needed to find some other way. She was awake in the night, reading a book in town square. Maybe she was like him, afraid of others. Only finding comfort in the loneliness of the night.

The girl, looked back at Poe, and he realized he had been staring. Would she sneer at him now? Only to leave so Poe could never see her again? But alas, she did not. Poe watched her avert her gaze back to her book, and continue reading. What was she thinking? Was his face running through her mind? Was she trying to memorize every aspect of him, as he was her, in fear that she'd never see him again? Was she wondering who he was? Maybe she was scared, a strange man, in the middle of the night, watching her from across the yard. That thought sent a chill through Poe. Fear. He liked thinking of her being afraid. Then, he could protect her. He could protect the pretty girl from the scary thought of creepy men watching her.

Poe decided to try and increase her fear. He watched as she flicked her eyes up at him every few seconds, probably trying to see if he was still watching her. Poe assessed her once more. She was a tiny thing. Not big enough to hurt anything. She didn't have anything she could use as a weapon, not even an umbrella, despite the rain. The only thing shielding her from getting wet was the large willow tree looming over her, with leaves so thick that the rain couldn't penetrate it. She could use her book if she was really desperate. And Poe wanted her to be. He didn't know what was coming over him. He just couldn't stop picturing her lifeless body, dangling in his arms. He wanted her dead. He craved to examine her body like he had examined the other pretty girls. He wanted to slice her open and study her insides. Her hair would add a lovely touch to his collection. He needed it. Poe shivered once again.

Before he knew it, he was walking towards her. Something he would never dare do before. But he couldn't help himself anymore. He wanted to know how she smelled, and how she sounded when she talked. He wanted to know if her laugh was as beautiful as her smile, or her cry as sad as her eyes. He wanted to hear her cry for help, as she struggled to become free from his grasp. He never took his eyes off her. He felt that if he even looked away for a second, she could be gone. Poe was going to take more than just a lock of hair this time. Maybe he would keep her scarf, or her beanie. No that wasn't enough. Maybe he could keep one of her neatly pressed fake nails, or some eyelashes. Maybe he could even go as far enough to keep a finger. Yes, her finger would suffice. Poe didn't like his fingers. They were stumpy and short. And from what he could tell, the girl had nice long slender fingers.

Poe was almost to her. He was so close. She was staring at him now. She looked panicked. Another twenty feet and Poe would be next to her. Her eyes were darting back and forth, she was fully aware that there was no one to stop this. Poe felt himself grinning. This was the happiest he felt in a very long time. He hadn't had an actual conversation with a person, an alive person, in a long time. He could hear her now, he was so close. Her quickened breaths, the rapid rise and fall of her chest intensified his emotions. She was definitely scared. For a second, Poe stopped. He wanted to savor this feeling. He wanted to remember every detail about this moment. He wanted to remember the smell of the acid rain, and the faint glow of the moon. He wanted to memorize the way her breath quickened for every foot he stepped closer. Then he heard a bang.

Three to be exact. Bang, bang, bang. Poe was startled. What was that noise. Then, he remembered. Poe wasn't in the town square, Poe wasn't happy, walking home from work, he wasn't looking at the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. And he definitely wasn't approaching her. He wasn't a mortician, and he didn't have an apartment with his own special collection. Yes Poe was alone, but his name wasn't Poe.

Charles Berkeley, sat in confinement, of the Rhode Island State Penitentiary. He was wearing a straight jacket and hadn't eaten in three days. Yes the guards offered him food, but he refused it every time. Charles was sentenced to sixty four years in jail, for brutally raping and murdering four girls, in the span of seven years. He would have never gotten caught, if it wasn't for a certain red head, wearing a tan peacoat, sitting on a purple bench, reading a copy of The Phantom Prince: My Life With Ted Bundy. His last victim. He stalked her for three months, before he pounced. She managed to get away and report it to the police. His only mistake, leaving a victim alive.