A Gentle Man Born

J. T. Raymond eyed the young blonde woman carrying two bags of groceries from behind a large bloom of pink azalea, his large frame tingling with excitement. The hi-rise that was his new home loomed against the vernal sky, its grayness undiminished by the colorful shrubbery that scalloped the grounds. Spring was in the air, a time to enjoy the flavors and textures of life and cast away the garments of winter, all caution and inhibition.

But that was all for the world outside his skin. Inside, the urge to kill had returned and, as always, it would cling relentlessly with cruel sharp teeth. He would hear, see and smell nothing else until the blood washed all over him, bringing satiation and the only kind of peace he could ever know.

He fingered the outline of the leather sheath through the folds of his thin raincoat. The long and shiny knife spoke a language beyond words. The surgical gloves were in the outside pocket. The young blonde woman approached the entrance. At last, he whispered to the part of him that knew what he wanted, what he needed. At last.

She leaned against the door and knocked impatiently on the glass with one slender hand. On her ring finger a ruby and diamond cluster of extraordinary beauty glittered like a thousand stars. The doorman looked up sharply from inside, alert to her need but momentarily preoccupied assisting an elderly gentleman. Heaving a sigh, she placed her packages on the stone walkway and reached inside a leather pouch for her keys. Raymond came up behind her.