I should probably start at the beginning. You see, my parents died while taking me home from the hospital. I was 2 days old at the time. It was a car theft gone bad, and my parents were both understandably belligerent with the thief because of their newborn child in the back, so he shot them both in the head. The newspapers from that day say that he then went on with me in the back, and he drove almost 50 miles before the car we were in was struck by a piece of metal thrown from the road by a tire. It came through the windshield, killing him instantly.
Two days later, the doctor who had delivered me died suddenly of a massive heart attack. Then the EMS worker who pulled me from the wrecked car was diagnosed with cancer. He lasted 2 weeks. The pieces of the puzzle were put together surprisingly quickly, and I was quickly sequestered for “the safety of the general public.” I grew up alone. I had no friends. I had no enemies. I was watched from afar, never talked to unless it was on an intercom, and I was studied incessantly by doctors who never stood near me unless there was a wall between us.
My name, I’m afraid, has been my curse. I’m not wanted anywhere.
The way I’ve been treated would have cracked a lot of children. It would have sent them spiraling out of control down a long stairway of madness and into the basement of senility, where deep rooted issues take up permanent refuge in the now clouded home of the mind. However, I’ve come through it okay. I believe I can be useful. There are things I can do that you normal people cannot.
It is those things that I am doing now, even as I write this. You see, I’ve escaped. I’m not as dumb as one might think I am after being cooped up all those years. It gave me time to think, to plot, to notice weaknesses and flaws in the system. Three nights ago I made my nighttime run towards freedom, and I headed south.
You see, while I was incarcerated, I was given access to newspapers, television, the internet, and several other types of news media. There was a man being hunted in Mississippi. He goes by the name Thomas Fields, and he is wanted for 32 counts of murder in the state. He claims the longest list of victims in Mississippi’s history. His face has littered the pages of papers, the screens of televisions, and the monitors of computers every day for 2 years now. And still no one can find him.
I’m in bed with Thomas now. His hand is resting on my naked thigh, and he is snoring softly. Finding him was simple. Apparently I’m an attractive woman. There are many advantages given to the attractive, such as being able to ask questions and get very accurate information, especially out of men.
He’s stopped snoring now, but he’s still breathing. I wonder how long it will take?
You see, I can be useful. I will be useful. I will forever be known as Rain Storm, and with that name comes a curse. I will never know love, and I will never meet anyone I actually want to meet. I won’t have friends. Walking will be my method of travel. It will be a lonely life with absolutely no recognition for my actions, but that’s okay, I don’t want any. I just want the world to be a better place.
Justice, like the weather for which I was named, is seldom wanted. However, it was delivered here tonight, because Thomas is no longer of this world. I have to close this journal now, pack up and head towards Los Angeles.
Am I coming to see you?