The Ripper of Blossom Valley

by S D Christopher

  I rack my brain for my next move. I can't let them get away this time without more details. I circle back to the well-lit dining room and hold my phone up just above the window frame, wishing for a better shot. That better shot never comes.

  I hear the door open and see a sliver of light shine through on the sidewalk, along with shadows as they exit the home. They don't speak, and close the door quietly behind them. I curse them not giving me a good photo op, wondering if this is the life of the paparazzi. As they casually walk down the street, I relax a little, knowing at least that they can't sense my presence. I decide to follow, hoping for another, better chance to snap some shots and possibly find out who the female might be.

  But before I do, I peek into the windows again, hoping for a better look at what these two came here for. And I quickly find it. A body, lying prone, eyes closed. Is she dead? I can't tell from here. I'm now faced with the choice of following my targets, or checking on this poor woman. Some quick decision making is in order, and I figure, hope, really, that there's enough time to check on her quickly without losing track of them. I try the front door, but they've locked it behind them. I go around the side and back and find a deck door unlocked. I rush to the body and check her pulse. Still alive, but her breathing is slowed. I need to help her, but she's in no immediate danger, it seems. I wonder why they didn't kill her like the last one.

  No time for hypotheses. I let them get a substantial head start, so they can't catch a glimpse of me from behind them. Once I'm comfortable with their healthy lead, but still homed in on them, I begin trailing them. But before long, something strange happens. Another presence...larger, more massive, overpowers my attention on the cop and his accomplice. Earlier, I was able to dismiss another signature I felt nearby, but this one...it's not like any I've felt before. Not only am I suddenly oblivious to the murderers I've been following all night, I'm now oddly compelled to follow this new source. It's irrational, but I can't help myself. Caution be damned, I'm not even concerned with its proximity to me. In fact, he or she is heading this way. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it's heading straight for...no, this can't be right.

  I double back towards the same house and hide amongst some shrubbery down the street. There's no need to try to make visual contact. This one's signal is so powerful I couldn't lose track of him if I tried. My hunch is right; I sense him stopping and entering the same house that the other two just left. Clearly, there's more to these murders than I've uncovered to this point. I take back what I said to Sam about the detectives who haven't caught this serial killer yet. This isn't easy or clear cut.

  Once I'm confident he's inside, I creep back across the street. Without any time to formulate a real plan, I adopt the same strategy I employed earlier against the Lieutenant, pathetic as it was. I peek through the living room window, and don't see much at first. Then, he stands, his back to me, and only now do I fully appreciate how huge he is. His broad shoulders block out most of my view into the room. Massive is putting it lightly. He must be a bodybuilder, or live at the gym. Definitely inadvisable to approach this one. Even without his heightened senses, whatever they are, I'd be at a distinct disadvantage.

  He starts to turn towards the window, so I duck down, hoping he's unable to detect me. If he can, I need to run, screaming, and hope that someone hears me and cares enough to call the police. I should probably flee regardless, but I'm frozen, compelled to learn more.

  Against my better judgment, I stay, determined to capture some images of this man, now wondering if he is the true killer. I'll save my apologies for the detective and his lady friend, since they're clearly involved somehow. But I'll worry about that later. For now, I lift my phone slightly over the edge of the window, and watch what I can.

  For what seems like an eternity, there's nothing. He's stepped out of view. Maybe he's gone to another room, but the victim is here, or at least she was when I left her earlier. As I consider switching windows, I see...something fly across the room, long and thin, with some red splatter behind it...wait...no, was that...?

  This phone just doesn't have the resolution I need to see any detail. I bring it down to my hip, muster the courage to stand up just enough to see inside, and immediately regret my decision.

  I see the legs of the victim, this poor woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I see the stream of blood drizzled across them, from the projectile that flew by moments before. It's all I can do to hold down my dinner. Before I can adjust my view to see the rest of her body, her other arm flies by, shedding more blood along the way. My god, this monster! He's cutting her to pieces! I only hope she was already dead before he started. My god...my stomach...

  My dinner winds up all over the bushes, and I know I can't stick around. I'm too horrified to think, let alone watch any more of this. This is too much for me. I need help. I have to get help. Need to run, get as far away from here as possible. And now.

  Act Two

  Chapter 11

  One Year Ago

  Priya

  "That's a nice sunset, Pri."

  "Thanks, James. I think I'm getting a little better at them." I love sunsets. So much color, depth, and they all seem unique, like each one has a personality all its own. I'm definitely getting the hang of mixing in all the different hues, letting them flow slowly into each other. Early on, I had painted them with distinct lines between each shade. I've seen some other art like this, but I always preferred a more realistic style. It just took some time to get good enough at it to kick my old habits. I stand back a bit and take it all in. Yup, leagues better than I used to make them. But I'm modest in front of James. I don't want him to see how full of myself I actually am.

  I turn to his work and admire it. He's always been more skilled than I. "That's one of the best streetlights you've ever painted."

  "Fanks," he muffles, holding a small brush in his teeth. "Ith the wo ove bah the cothose."

  "...what?"

  He laughs, puts down his palette, and removes the brush from his mouth. "It's the one over by the courthouse."

  I look closer, and nod, but I don't really see the distinction. "How can you tell them apart? They all look alike to me."

  He smiles. I know he enjoys showing me how his mind works. I'm sure I sound like a child sometimes, not seeing the detail he does, needing to have it explained. "It's one of the older ones, from the '50s, for starters. They were really ornate, just beautiful contours and flourishes. Then there's this." He points to a mark, barely legible. "Someone carved two sets of initials inside a heart." He looks to me and smiles, handsome as ever, and all I can manage is a stupid, goofy grin. He turns back to the light and points to a small band of colors encircling the post near the top. "And this rainbow...they’re all over the place in San Francisco, but they're less common down here."

  Ugh, the gay thing again. He puts things like this in his paintings a lot. I'm sure it helps him sell them up near the Ferry Building, but I don't like things like that. It's not that I wouldn't sell out and throw something in my paintings to increase their appeal. I just don't think it's... natural. I know it's not the common thinking in this area, but a man lying with another man, or two women...blech, just the thought of it is making me ill. I couldn't compromise my art for something I don't believe in.

  But clearly James believes in it. He revels in it, even, always going on about his gay friend this, his lesbian friend that. I try to hide my distaste, but I don't know how well I mask it. I just smile, nod, and change the subject, and that usually works. He is either too kind to press me on it, or he likes me too much to admit to himself I have a problem with it. I hope it's the latter.

  As is par for the course, I change subjects, and continue working on my landscape. "So, what are your plans for tonight?" Secretly, I'm hoping that he has none, so we can paint into the evening, then snuggle up on the couch with some TV.

  It's not like me to lust after someone like this. I'm used to my friends setting me up with someone, and it eithe
r leads to something or it doesn't. Occasionally, a platonic friendship eventually leads to more. It's rare for me to be instantly attracted to someone the way I was with James, and it's led me out of my comfort zone. Someday soon, I'll find the courage to do or say something to make it clear. But for now, he's on the friend ladder, more due to my experience with building friendships first. But also, because I'm unsure if my feelings are reciprocated. I wonder if having him as a friend alone is better than not having him in my life at all.

  "Oh, I'm heading over to the stadium with Luke and Dennis. We're gonna catch the Giants game tonight."

  Ugh, Luke and Dennis. The displays they put on, such an act...wait, what? Baseball?

  I turn to him with a confused look on my face, and he's ready for me. He can hardly contain himself, and bursts out laughing.

  "James!" I swat my brush at him, throwing a trail of orange in his general direction.

  "Honey, you are too easy! No, I am getting together with them, though. We're going up to the Castro for an art exhibit. Wanna come with?"

  Oh, my dear James. Why must you only invite me as part of a group, and with a group that makes me uncomfortable, no less? If it would be only you and me, I would jump at the chance. But not when Luke and Dennis tag along. "Sorry, can't. Going to the movies with Julie. We already bought the tickets online." It's sad how I can lie so easily.

  "Ah, too bad. Maybe next time. Seeing anything good?"

  "Just the latest Paul Rudd rom com."

  "Aw, now I wish I didn't have plans, so I could hook up with you gals."

  Now I'm the one who's bursting out laughing. "Funny, that's not the kind of thing I thought you'd be into."

  "Oh, you'd be surprised, honey, I love quite the range of genres...I didn't even know he had a new one out."

  Shit, does he? I should research my lies more thoroughly ahead of time. Oh, no. The familiar flash of light in my eyes, spots appearing in my field of view. Fantastic, another migraine is headed my way. Panic sets in quickly. I need to get my dear friend out of here, and fast.

  "Everything ok, doll?"

  "It's starting again. So much for my plans with Julie." Good thing they were made up. My heart starts racing, as the dread of what's coming washes over me.

  "Oh no! Do you have a migraine coming on? Well isn't that just the worst luck! Maybe it's the universe telling you to wait to see Paul Rudd with me." I smile and hope that he means just the two of us. "You want me to hang out, in case you need anything? I can go up to the city with those bitches anytime."

  As much as I would normally love this, I don't enjoy the company of anyone when my migraines hit, not even my own. "You're sweet, but no, thank you. All I need is the dark and to lie down, ride it out." Note to self: fake a migraine next time so he stays with me all night. How have I not thought of this before?

  "Ok, well, if you change your mind, just text me, and I'll turn right around. I promise." He starts to clean up his brushes and pack his bag.

  "Thanks again. I'll be fine in the morning. I'll call you, figure out when we can get together and pick up where we left off here." I gesture to the paintings, but that's not all I mean.

  "Sounds good, girl. You take care."

  As I hold the door open, he leans in and kisses my cheek before heading out. Normally, I'd blush, sigh, and admire his perfect backside as he walks down the hall of my apartment complex. But I quickly put these, and all thoughts, out of my mind. I don't have any energy to spare on them. My only focus is dreading the searing pain to come. I rush to lower all of the shades in the apartment, draw all the curtains, grab a glass of water and take my pill, wet a washcloth, and head to my bedroom.

  The shades in my room block out nearly all the light, so even if it's not dark outside yet when these hit, I can at least make my bedroom dark. Whoever invented these things deserves a million dollars. I lie down, and wait out the storm.

  ----------

  When I wake up, I groggily look around. Damn, that was a rough night. I didn't get much sleep, and what I did manage wasn't very restful. I know exactly where my alarm clock is, but, disoriented, I have trouble spotting it. Even once I do, it's difficult to read. I can barely make out the numbers against the brightness of the display itself. Nearly 9:00, it looks like. Good thing it's Saturday, or I'd be royally screwed.

  I stumble out of bed, head still pounding, but not nearly as bad as during the night. This will pass in an hour or so, with the help of my good friend, Mr. Ibuprofen. Fumbling for the shades, I notice that the light creeping in from along the edges seems...weird. It's hard to describe, especially given my current state. As I slowly raise them up, I notice it's even more pronounced than I thought.

  It's as though I'm seeing the world through some sort of filter. I don't know the first thing about photography, but it resembles something you'd find in a hippie's psychedelic portfolio. The brights are brighter, the darks are darker, the shades are... shadier? Between that and this ringing in my ears, it's sensory overload, not helping the leftover headache at all, so I close my eyes and feel my way to the kitchen to refill my glass of water.

  It's not until I open my eyes again in the kitchen that I register the full extent of what I'm seeing. All the colors seem... off. Nothing is as I remember it. Is this a side effect of the migraine? I've had them all my life, and don't recall ever having this problem before. Sure, prior to migraines hitting, some people, myself included, experience some kind of visual problems, either constant flashes of bright

  light, or an extreme sensitivity to light. But afterwards, even if a headache lingers, my sight has always been fine. Not this time.

  As I refill my glass, I look around, paying closer attention to the details of what I'm suddenly seeing. I see colors that I can't even describe. Some objects seem more solid, but others...the cabinets. What is this...? I think I see a pattern on the cabinet doors, which have always been just a flat white. Possibly the details of the pattern of the brush strokes? No, as I look closer, it's the outlines of objects. I open the cabinet door and confirm my suspicion. I'm seeing through the solid wood, to the cups, plates, and bowls inside! How is that possible?!?!

  "What the...? Damnit!"

  Stupid girl, not paying attention. And now, water's all over the counter, and some on the floor. Grabbing at some paper towels, I quickly realize that I'm not able to see the outlines of the puddles of water. I try looking at different angles, but it's hard to pick up the water's reflective surface, so there's nothing to distinguish it against the counter or the floor. So bizarre.

  In fact, I find it difficult to focus on surfaces at all. They’ve become less solid, more membrane-like. As with the cabinet, I come to realize that I'm seeing through all of them. Underneath the counter, I see the inside of the dishwasher, complete with plates, bowls, and utensils. I can see the cleaning supplies under the sink, and the Tupperware containers inside the bottom cabinet.

  And the floor. I can make out the sub-floor, pipes, objects in the apartment beneath my own. There, Mr. Hudson's enormous old coffee machine, and his boombox radio that he leaves on the kitchen counter, blaring that awful music all night. What did he call it? Doo-Bop?

  Looking through my kitchen floor makes my head throb even more, so I close my eyes for a moment. This is incredible! Children sometimes dream of having, what is it, X-Ray vision? I can only assume that's what this is, or something like it? I don't know anything about science, and always assumed stuff like this was just made up for children's stories. Perhaps I’m just dreaming.

  I dare to open my eyes again, and it's painful, but bearable. Looking all around me, I test my eyes to their full extent. Looking up, down, at all angles, to the point of getting dizzy, I stumble to the floor. Feels solid enough. Damn, hurt my wrist, way to stick the landing, Priya. So…not a dream, then.

  Getting back to my feet, I start to comprehend a side effect of all this: disorientation. With my eyes playing tricks on me, my brain thinks I'm floating, since I'm not looking at solid ground. Is
this what vertigo feels like?

  "Gah!" I did NOT need to see Mr. Hudson walking around naked in his apartment downstairs, and seeing him scratch himself is the icing on the cake. Wait, is he naked, or am I just seeing through his clothes, too? Doesn't matter. I still just vomited in my mouth a little.

  This is going to take some getting used to. But imagine the possibilities! I could... Well, I don't know, exactly, but I'm sure I'll think of something. A great many things, I hope. This could change my life in ways I never dreamed. At the very least, it will give me an entire new set of subjects to paint. Just think! I can show people how I see things now, expand their minds, make them feel what I'm feeling right now! I have to get to my easel!

  I wonder if I can even create all of these new colors that I'm seeing. I can't even describe them yet, let alone--"Gah… Ouch!" I forgot about the water on the floor, stepping right into it, and I'm quickly realizing that corners and edges like on my countertop are something that won't exactly stick out anymore, pardon the pun. I wonder if I can focus between all these new layers of objects that I'm seeing. If I don't, I could wind up perpetually covered in bandages.

  Not able to trust my eyes at the moment, I feel my way out of the kitchen, down the hall, towards my living room. It takes longer than it ever has before, as I'm constantly distracted, facing a barrage of new, interesting information about the world around, above, and below me. Every time I allow myself to take it all in, I grow dizzy, nauseous, or both. Another thing I'll have to learn to adapt to and avoid.

  When I finally reach the living room, I try to get my bearings, and find my supplies. Where did I leave them last night when James left? It's getting more and more difficult to recognize things that I know are there. I barely recognize my own space, and struggle to identify outlines of objects right in front of me. Being able to see through things isn't all it's cracked up to be. I find myself increasingly relying on my hands, feeling around the cluttered mess that is my living room. And I thought I couldn't find anything before!