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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE |
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17-12-03 12M (p2)
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The Tender Flesh Moments by Gary Chamber |
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Synopsis Raymond Hersey has lived without knowing his mother for most of his life, but a burning need to ask her why she left all those years ago sees him turning to law enforcement agencies to help him find her. When they ignore his pleas, he embarks on another course of action, demanding that FBI Agent Andrew Doyle tracks her down and brings her to him. Only time is against Doyle; for every week that goes by will see a young woman die at Hersey’s hand, mutilated in a way only his mother would see the relevance of.
As the city Mayor calls for Doyle s head and a politically hungry District Attorney works against him, Doyle travels up and down the Eastern Seaboard searching for Hersey’s mother whilst the Bureau hunts for Hersey. With an inexperienced agent in tow, and a marriage crumbling underneath him, Andrew Doyle cannot afford to take his eye off the game; more innocent women will die, and Raymond Hersey is beginning to enjoy his tender flesh moments.
A Beginning
A mother’s challis close to chest That makes an infant mild A cup of love that none can fill That soothes the suckled child
When natures hand then takes away The need for mother’s nourish Upon life’s journeys one embarks With memories left to flourish
But in some men the memories rest Of pleasures long deprived And of such pleasures they will seek Till tender flesh arrives
Chapter One It was cold again. It had been cold last week as well, and he could feel the nights creeping in earlier with every week that passed. He didn’t mind the dark, it was his friend, his accomplice, but the cold made things more difficult, more awkward. People tended to wear more clothes, making getting to his trophy harder, and he was always aware of the time it took to finish the job. The cold made people walk more quickly though, and for this he was glad, as they did not dwell near the alleys he inhabited on these nights, keen to get home to warm houses and loving families.
He had watched her for an hour, laughing with her friend as they sat and drank coffee, idly passing away the time before she would be his, not that she had the slightest idea she had been picked. And as she lay under him now, he could not help but look forward to what he was about to do, relishing the sense of fate that she had no idea awaited her as she had pulled on her clothes, her coat, the scarf and hat, protectors from the cold that waited for her as she left the diner. But there were no protectors for her from him, and her small lithe body had been no match for his muscular frame, the struggle over quickly, grabbing her, dragging her back into the alley, quickly twisting her delicate neck until her legs stopped shaking, holding her against him as he lay in the rubbish surrounding the dumpster.
Now he began the task. Her clothes were clean and fresh, fairly expensive, giving him a brief picture of her carefree, want-for-nothing lifestyle, so different from his own. So very different from the life he led, the gaping chasm that sat in his soul, the blood he longed to be reunited with. She was quickly naked from the waist up, for he was now practised in the art of stripping his kill, the tailor’s dummies and two previous victims showing him what he had to do to be quick, to ensure he was not caught in the act. To be discovered before he had his trophy would not do.
Her skin was beautiful. Smooth, soft, looked after, the smell so inviting, yet so revolting. He had to shake himself, detach himself from these thoughts; she was nothing but a means to an end, and although he savoured taking home his trophy that night, as he had on the other nights, there was a greater prize he sought.
From his coat pocket he took the blade, carefully palming it in his hand so as not to catch a reflection from the street lights, alerting some passer by to his presence. This was what he waited for, cold as he sat and watched her drink her warm coffee, her last coffee, cold as she pulled her coat on, but now so warm, so very warm as she lay in his arms. He touched her gently on the lips, noting for the first time how young she was, maybe only in her early twenties. She had seemed older when he spotted her; maybe he had wanted her to be older, but it was too late now.
Her skin, smooth as it was, would start to change, to tighten, and he could not dawdle, he had to act quickly. He could feel his loins begin to stir as he cupped her flesh in his hand, slowly raising the blade until it pricked the surface of her skin. The stirring turned to stiffening as the blade bit deeper, and he gasped, suddenly aware of how much he enjoyed these moments, these tender flesh moments as he thought of them now. Another prize was about to be taken, and as he gently cut at her soft tissue, he wondered what the one he sought would make of all this, this hiding in dark, cold alleyways, taking the lives of women, taking his prize, just so that he could make sure they would find her, track her down and bring her to him.
It was time to send the letter. |
