The Ripper of Blossom Valley

by S D Christopher

  "I haven't smelled any gas or anything, are you guys sure you--AAAHHH!!!" THUD! Just like that, she is paralyzed, and falls to the floor, stiff as a board. I fall too, residual shock from touching her. A feedback loop, or so I have surmised from previous incidents. It is imperative that I get things started as soon as possible once I am inside, for I do not wish to give them a chance to study my face. I would not like for them to identify me later. All they will recall is a male, Asian, slightly taller than average height, medium build.

  As I lie here frozen, only for a few moments, I think back through my previous encounters, wondering if I can determine a strategy to avoid briefly paralyzingly myself at all in the process. Although it lasts a mere fraction of the time compared to those I touch, it still concerns me that I am momentarily disabled. Someday, if I cannot find a way to avoid this unfortunate side effect, it may come back to haunt me.

  While I await the return of my muscular functions, I recall the first time I froze someone. It was in a bar, tended by met a pleasant and quite attractive southern girl, Jessica, if I remember correctly. Many times, I attempted to build the courage to visit that bar again, to continue our conversation. It never happened. I was fearful of how she would treat me. She did not seem to my mind my nervous tics, but the look on her face after what I unintentionally did to that man... There was shock, concern, caution. I may have glimpsed a flash of intrigue and curiosity as well, but it was not enough to make me risk going back there. I have walked by several times, glancing in to see her as I passed, but have never made the leap of opening the door and entering.

  For a time, I was averse to touching anyone. Although I was in denial of my effect on people, I did not want a repeat occurrence, did not want to put myself in a helpless situation, where someone could possibly take advantage of my temporary lack of control, and either incarcerate me, or experiment on me. I have seen these types of films, and was not eager to validate their authenticity.

  As I regain feeling in my limbs, I rise, and relay the bar story to my latest conquest. I often explain what I am going to do to them, and what I will not do to them. I tell them not to worry, that I will not bring them any other harm, or end their life. But this does not seem to soothe them, so I have since given up on trying to ease their pain. Although they cannot express this with any movement in their facial muscles, the look of terror in their eyes tells all. This bothered me at first, but they and their kind have taken so much from me the past few years. I deserve to take back some of what is mine.

  This time, I decide to tell her part of my story; enough to make her understand my intentions and motivation, but too little to relay to the authorities in any helpful way. "Ms. Stanton, for some time, you see, I would not risk touching another human being. It took awhile for me to devise a method for determining the rate of occurrence, and my potential control over it. I did not expect it, but the lack of human contact led me to a great depression." I tell her this as I unbutton her shirt. I have long since discovered that after these encounters, my nervous tics fade, a positive side effect, to be sure.

  "I took to finding pet stores, where I could interact with dogs and cats. This not only improved my mental state somewhat, but also helped me find that not every instance of physical contact would lead to the situation you find yourself in currently." Shirt off, I begin to unclip her bra. Unable to blink, close her eyelids, or look away, she stares at the ceiling as my fingers brush against her skin.

  "All I knew was that it could possibly be related to my seizures, so I hoped one would not come before I could figure out my level of control. Unfortunately, this occurred during another interview before too long." I cup her breasts in my hands. They are a C cup, natural. Spectacular. "I recall the look on her face as I fell to the ground. When I came to, minutes later, I could see that the interviewer, like the man in the bar, had attempted to help me, but upon contact, became paralyzed herself. There was no denying it now. I could...do things."

  I move down to her pants and begin to unzip them. "My first instinct, of course, was to flee. But it was just the two of us, you see." Removing her pants is difficult, but I take my time, so as to not injure her. "Oh, do not mistake me. I did not take advantage of her in any way. How could I? She would easily identify me later, unlike yourself. Instead, I looked for help, explained to her coworker that she had collapsed, leaving out the details of how it occurred." Much as I am withholding key details from you.

  I take a moment to longingly study her figure, now covered only by tiny red panties. "You are very beautiful, I must say. You clearly take good care of yourself. I admire that. Do you work out? Ah, my apologies. Of course you cannot respond, but I can see that you do." I used to feel shame looking upon them this way. But the more women I see, the more accustomed to it I become, and the less repressed I feel.

  I kneel down on the floor again, and slowly remove her final article of clothing. "At first, truth be told, I found it difficult to undress the women I froze. It would take me five, sometimes ten minutes to fully disrobe them, if you can believe this. Perhaps you can, just by noticing my delicate frame. It took a few attempts before I learned the proper leverage to get around each curve." As I say that last word, I caress her hips, truly appreciating every contour. "Not too large, not too thin. Just right. You are quite the specimen. I shall enjoy this, I am sure. I hope you will, as well."

  I do not delude myself that she will, but it accommodates my fantasy. "That woman from the interview, she made me see the purpose of my affliction, Ms. Stanton. If society would shun me because of my uncontrollable tics, I would cause them to lose control, so that they may see how it feels." As she is unable to do so, I take her legs, and spread them, opening her world to me. "Nicely groomed as well. You truly are to be commended."

  Laying down, I use my fingers to explore. She is nice and clean. "Do not misunderstand. I still did not know if I could affect others without first having a seizure. This would, of course, limit its usefulness, as well as leave me quite open to attack from others who might fear my talent." I pause my soliloquy to taste her. So sweet, silky, and smooth. "Thus, I began to experiment, again with animals, as any good researcher would. It took some time, but I do believe that it often takes some time to do things right." As I now demonstrate with my mouth and tongue.

  After several minutes, I look up at her face. Her expression has not changed, of course, as it cannot. But I do see that she is sweating and flushed, as I expected when I felt her muscles involuntarily react to my probing. It is fascinating to me that their passive, natural reflexes remain intact. I am pleased that involuntary muscle movement can still occur. I would not wish for their hearts to stop beating, or their diaphragms to prevent them from breathing. I am a lover, after all, not a killer.

  I also notice the tears, as I have before. It reminds me that their pleasure is also their pain. It is often said that they are intertwined, that one cannot be had without the other, or that pain even enhances the pleasure. "I mentioned them earlier, but you may not comprehend the full negative reaction people often have towards me, as you have not seen or heard my nervous tics. They come and go, and today, my bane has not reared its ugly head. People are very nice and helpful, I have found, when they learn you have epilepsy. They are not, however, as understanding when you have quick, short spasms or verbal outbursts. This is somehow alien to them, a sign of insanity, perhaps, or illness. So simple minded, most people."

  As I unzip my trousers, I continue to relay to her my path to enlightenment. "I had to experiment fairly quickly, as pets were not allowed in my apartment complex. The dog I acquired was a friendly and willing subject. I was, of course, careful to get one who did not bark often. The first time I succeeded at immobilizing him, I startled myself, as I did not expect to also be affected. It should have been obvious, in hindsight. Once I recovered, I was fearful I had ended the poor mutt's life, but he soon recovered, and seemed quite happy. He did not even mind repeated tests over the next few weeks."

  I
apply the condom, which I have committed to using each time. This is partially out of caution for spreading disease. I myself am quite clean, but I do not know the history of these women and their prior partners. However, the primary reason for the prophylactic is to spare myself from leaving DNA evidence behind. I do not wish to be discovered by the authorities anytime soon.

  "Once I felt comfortable with my ability to not only use but also suppress my talent as needed, I rid myself of the hound. My landlord never suspected a thing, thankfully." I enter her, and it feels wonderful. "As I suffered through interview after interview, rejection after rejection, I decided it was time for a change. I needed a profession where I had access to certain...information." I thrust, slowly at first, then more vigorously. I let out a guttural grunt. This feels so good. "Oh, my dear. You are truly a magnificent creature."

  I pause my story once more, to concentrate on my climax. I can feel my heartbeat quickening, the pleasure building up inside of me. I can feel her responding as well; not in the same way I used to be accustomed to, as with two lovers embracing, in sync with other, but solely in the reflexive tightening and loosening of her muscles down below. It is sadly not the same, but I have found that I am able to finish, even though they do not. I am certain this is due to their minds not giving into the moment, not allowing themselves to let go. If they would just relax, perhaps they could gain some pleasure from this experience as well.

  Her body is responsive, as they all are, but she is holding back. They do it just to spite me, to keep me from feeling complete. It is no matter, I have gotten what I came for. "How is it said...Was it good for you? Sadly, I do not smoke, or I would offer a cigarette." I carefully remove the condom, place it inside a small plastic bag, and tuck it away into my pocket.

  "Where was I? Ah, yes. Employment at the gas and electric company allowed me to learn so many wonderful details about all the residents of our fair city. How long they have lived at their current addresses, how much power was consumed by each household, which I used to ascertain the number of residents living at each site. And of course, the names of so many women who are the primary account holders. It was not difficult for me to create a list of desirables from there." I am careful to omit that in truth, I work for the water company.

  Pants zipped and buckled once more, I use a cloth to wipe away any fingerprints I may have left on the floor during our dance, and keep it in my hand to assist in my clean exit. "And now, my dear, as promised, I shall bring you no further harm. You see, I am a man of my word. I expect you shall regain the use of your body soon. I warn you, it is rather erratic, so it may be as short as a half hour, or as long as several hours. I do apologize for the inconvenience."

  Turning to the door, I remember one more thought to pass on. "Of course, I trust you will be so kind as to not report this little rendezvous of ours to the authorities. If I were to come under any undue scrutiny, you may find at some time in the near future that your identity has been stolen, your credit ruined, and your entire financial future in great peril. My associates and I will ensure this. Good evening, my love. You shall not see me again. I give you my word."

  I blow her a kiss, which surely she cannot see, still staring at the ceiling, tears falling from her cheeks. I will rest easy knowing that if any ill fortune should befall her, it will not be at my hands, or at the hands of my imaginary associates. Thus far, the threat alone of further ruination has dissuaded the others from reporting me. If any have indeed called my bluff, the lack of a helpful physical description and the story of being quite literally unable to resist my advances have surely been met with skepticism.

  As I walk back to the van that doubles as my "work" vehicle, I remind myself to remain vigilant. It will only take one misstep, one miscalculation to end this thrilling journey I have embarked on. As a I drive away, I reflect on all those I have had. It has been far less than a year, but I have already lost count of the many women I have enjoyed. It was not long before I forgot their names, but I suspected I would recall the tally, at the least. It is more than a dozen, I believe, probably less than two. It is perhaps for the best, for I might have been compelled to write them down, and I am not careless enough to start a paper trail.

  I drive along the highways of the peninsula, to ensure I am not followed, and think back to the first few. They will always be the most special. Their names I do still recall: Natalia, Julia, Melissa. The first two were Russian blonde beauties, or perhaps one was Ukrainian or Belarusian, I cannot be certain. Natalia had shorter hair and a dancer's body, perhaps she knew ballet. Julia had long, flowing locks with a more athletic build, and large, perky breasts. Melissa was an American brunette, the girl next door type. Her smile reminded me of Julie's. The similarity was so striking, I nearly paused too long before incapacitating her. These three remain close to my heart. I hope that they are doing well.

  And Julie. In between each encounter with these new females, my mind often wanders to her. I wonder if she is married, whether she has children, or is dating someone. I suspect she is not living alone, as I have been unable to track her down in the water company's computer system. I wonder how she would have reacted to knowing what I can do. Would she have recoiled in fear or horror, or would she have stood beside me, helping me through those first days of uncertainty and depression? Knowing her, as I once did, she would have been supportive, would have encouraged me to seek help, would have helped me control it. She surely would have found a more benevolent purpose for it than I have.

  My tics and seizures began long after my courtship with Julie ended, but I am certain she would have helped me in any way she could have. She was sweet in that way, loyal. I did not know what I had until it was too late. Ah, but I have spent far too many moons pining over what once was.

  As I wipe away a single tear, I feel a sharp pain in my side. I wince, but it quickly subsides, as before. As though I do not already have enough physical problems, these pains have started to plague me; not often at first, but they are becoming more frequent. I now fear visiting any more doctors, on the chance that one will discover the abnormality that I have managed to keep secret thus far.

  And worse, the seizures are turning more violent, knocking me out for longer periods of time. The only saving grace is that they have not become more frequent. If they do, I worry they may strike while at work, and some unsuspecting help desk specialist or networking engineer will find me and be inadvertently struck when he touches me. Then my secret will be out, and I will be forced to move on yet again.

  If that does happen, I shall also lose my ability to discover new potential targets, for a time. I had better enjoy this opportunity while I can.

  Chapter 13

  Troy

  Well, everything is shit. Frank once told me that you know your case has gone bad when more and more people start paying attention to it, and to you. The more questions you'll have to answer, the more scrutiny you'll be under. We're definitely feeling the heat now, and it's taking a toll on both of us in different ways.

  I've gone into my shell, so to speak. It's not like me, but now I generally don't speak unless spoken to, even with Frank, since he only seems to get pissed off when I do. I've been spending every waking hour poring over every detail of our notes, evidence, interviews, everything, even the Nevada cases that Fitch and Carter gave us access to.

  At least Frank was able to convince them that the cases weren't related. We're not so sure, but it got them to back off a little. They're still here, of course, ready to swoop in if we connect any dots. Agent Carter mostly just stands around sipping coffee and remarking how amazing the food and weather are out here compared to Reno, like a damn tourist. But Fitch is over one of our shoulders almost constantly. We almost can't even take a piss without her following.

  We face near constant questioning from the press, too, but the one and only thing that Captain Doyle is good at is keeping them off our backs most of the time. One of the many things he's awful at is answering them. He either gives them w
ildly inaccurate information, or lets slip something we were trying to keep under wraps. Then he immediately turns to us once the cameras are off, and asks us the same fucking questions, because he clearly doesn't know what's going on.

  "Christ, it's like he's intentionally trying to fucking sabotage our investigation. What a shit for brains." That's all Frank does lately: criticize Doyle, Carter, Fitch, the press, the uniforms helping us, the doctors who can't seem to figure out what's up with his girl, even me sometimes. He's usually quick to apologize, but it's not helping. When he's not off with his girlfriend visiting specialist after referral, he's here being even more boisterous than his usual self, disrupting our work more than facilitating it. So yeah, this case is taking its toll on him, too.

  And so I sit here past midnight, looking for something I may have missed. There are still too many differences between our cases and the Feds’, but also a few tantalizing similarities that we just can't ignore. Their victims were all single women living alone. And the killer left no fingerprints, no hair or skin or fibers that they could find, or any other clues, except for one shoe print at one of the scenes. But none of them were raped, none were robbed, all had their houses broken into, and none were successful or affluent; in fact, they all seemed to be drug addicts, living in trailer parks, or downtrodden in some other way. Still...there was the one with her arm nearly torn off. And another who had her clothes neatly folded and tucked under her head. I nearly shit myself when I came across that detail. Fitch picked up on my change in posture, but I played it off as gas. She didn't care to continue that line of questioning.

  "Hey Sergeant. Burning the midnight oil?"

  Jesus, speak of the devil. She nearly gave me a heart attack. "Just reviewing some interview transcripts. What are you still doing here?"