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| Webbed Feet and a Railroad Spike | |
| By Emmuttmax | ||||||||||||||||
| 26 May 2008 | ||||||||||||||||
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the possible start of a longer piece...or not.
Webbed Feet and a Railroad Spike
Dr. Lucinda Rainwater was 31 years old, slender, athletic, intelligent, and flawed. Her 5’6” frame supported an almost perfectly shaped head that grew naturally blond hair that framed a face that American cheerleaders would die for: button nose, high cheek bones, dimpled cheeks, big eyes, and petite ears. Lucinda received her doctorate from U.C.L.A. in veterinary medicine and ran a medium-sized animal hospital in Carmel, California. She had three dogs that lived in her house: Libby, a Golden Retriever; Durwood, a medium-sized terrier mix; and Bjorn, a tri-colored basset hound. Although there was not a man who lived at Lucinda’s house, she didn’t lack for male companionship. She occasionally took lovers, but she was happy being single. Her lifestyle was active; swimming, surfing, horticulture, volunteering at animal shelters, and collecting antiques were hobbies that took up a lot of her time. Lucinda Rainwater was content. She was living the American Dream. Outwardly she appeared normal in every way. There were only two oddities that set Lucinda apart: she had webbed feet, and she was a serial killer. Lucinda loved her webbed feet; they made it possible for her to swim great distances faster than anyone, but they disqualified her from competitive swimming. “Unfair advantage,” said her competitors and the judges. She protested, saying it wasn’t her fault she was born with an advantage, but the officials were unmoved. Resolved to her fate of never making the Olympic team, Lucinda was not bitter, and ultimately found satisfaction swimming with dolphins. The serial-killer thing was different. She was not happy that she had been born with this defect that drove her to take the lives of other humans, but like her webbed feet, she could not deny it either. To date, Lucinda Rainwater has killed 25 people. She ended their lives by driving an antique railroad spike through their hearts. She purchased the spike nine years ago at an antique auction for $17 and kept it clean, sharp, and easily accessible. Although Lucinda tried to understand her need to kill people, she gave up after victim number five, and wrote it off to “faulty circuitry.” Not much of an explanation, but when you’re doing really nasty stuff like killing people for no apparent reason, explanations were hard to come by. It was hard sometimes, being a perky, blond serial killer, but Lucinda did her best. Edgar Smoil was a happy man. His dog Jonny, a pug, won “Best in Breed” earlier that day in the Canine-Orama Dog Show in Bakersville, California. Jonny was now safely asleep in his cage upstairs in Edgar’s hotel room, and Edgar was on his third scotch in the hotel lounge. It was Valentines Day. Edgar Smoil was 39 and had no woman in his life. As a matter of fact, his dog was his only companion. He had been married, albeit briefly, in his early 20s, but his wife Simone quickly became bored and left him for another man. Although he dated a few women over the years, by the third date, they were ready to move on. Edgar had pretty much given up on romance, and even if he was interested, between his job as a chemical engineer specializing in polymers and traveling to dog shows with Jonny, he hadn’t much time for the pursuit of love. But this was Valentines Day, and Edgar was happy, and he wished he had someone to share that happiness with. Lucinda Rainwater was also in Bakersfield at the same moment. She had driven down from Carmel to attend an antique auction, and being an animal doctor, had decided to catch the dog show as well. She, too, was happy. A particularly fine piece of art deco glassware had come up for sale at the auction, and hers had been the winning bid. Lucinda Rainwater was sitting at the long, oak, hotel bar, three stools down from where Edgar Smoil sat. She was enjoying a Campari on ice when her internal electricity tripped a breaker and reset automatically. This was unfortunate, for when Lucinda’s electrical system faltered, she would go into her serial-killer mode. It had happened 25 times before. She turned her head, and saw that Edgar Smoil had the number 26 painted on his forehead. With her antique railroad spike nestled in her handbag, Lucinda moved down two stools and asked Edgar, “Do you have a light?” Shaken out of his reverie and slightly startled, Edgar looked at the pretty, blond woman next to him and stammered, “Uh…no…sorry…uh…I don’t smoke.” “That’s OK,” responded Lucinda, “neither do I. I just thought you looked lonely, and it’s Valentines Day and all. Hi, I’m Lucinda.” Pretty women did not come up and talk to Edgar, so he was more than surprised that this one was paying attention to him. “Uh…hello. My name is Ed,” he said, preferring the shortened version of his name because he felt it sounded manlier. “I’m here for the dog show. Uh…can I buy you a drink?” It was then Lucinda knew for sure her railroad spike would find its Valentines Day heart. In addition to notching up her 26th kill, Lucinda Rainwater found an unexpected benefit on Valentines Day: she now owned a beautiful little pug. © 2007
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Did moi say that? 
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