Through the Eyes of Madness—Part Ten
By: David K. Montoya

Black thunderheads took form over the city, and instantaneously an atmosphere of doom and despair engulfed all its surroundings. A heavier downpour begin, and the roads quickly flooded from the autumn storm—headlights of the traffic became the only illumination, for the people that got caught on the sidewalks in the sudden flash flood.

The pedestrians rushed to their destinations to avoid further saturation, but caused congestion and disorder for those who were impatient or self–entitled. But, that had become the norm, as rude behavior was almost expected while one took a stroll down their neighborhood.

It was on the South Side—known by the locals as the Gutter for being below sea–level and eventually collected all of the city's rain—that received the most rain fall. It was also the location where the body of forty–three–year–old, Polly Nichols. A cabdriver noticed her on the way to work, and decided to pull over to help. The woman was found on her back her face covered and oddly had her skirt pulled up, which exposed her bare body underneath and like the others she had been viciously stabbed multiple times.

The cabdriver claimed that he wasn't completely convinced that the woman was in fact, dead, but rather, she was highly intoxicated and had passed out where she lied. It took a second man who passed by and saw all the blood on the scene questioned the first man there. After a brief examination of the situation, he ran to the closest police officer he could find.

Murders became such a regular in the city, that the officer did not want to be bothered with the discovery of the homicide. But, the two men drug the hesitant cop to the crime scene, where he was then obligated to follow through.

Within the hour, the area was taped off and squad cars surrounded the crime scene. More than a dozen officers combed the area, while the never–ending downpour washed away any form of evidence that could lead to a capture of the killer. The final person on the scene was Detective Hugh Peatos, who was known as the Weekend Warrior at the station for only willing to work Saturday and Sunday approached the body. He was older than Tidwell by a decade, and his interest in details had faded while in his fifties.

As he approached the corpse, he notice Junior Detective Patrick Huntsman already inspecting the injuries. Once Peatos was upon him, he looked up at his senior and said, "It's another one, just like the others."

"Did anyone call Tidwell or Copeland," Peatos grumbled and knelt down next to them.

"We were unable to reach Detective Copeland, and Tidwell said cover it and that he'll check the report Monday," the Junior Detective replied.

"Lovely," Peatos flatly said. The older detective pulled up a notepad and continued. "So what the hot–shot junior detective find out?"

"I believe it's the same killer that Tidwell and Copeland are investigating."

"How so?"

"Well, like the others, her shirt had been removed and was used to cover her face."

Peatos used the edge of his pen and lifted the shirt off the dead woman's face, then said, "Jesus Christ in Heaven! Do you see how ugly this broad is? No wonder the perp cover her face, it's a classic case of the brown paper bag syndrome."

"The victim's throat was cut like before too," Huntsman said while he ignored the rude joke.


"And, like the others she was stabbed in the chest and abdomen," Huntsman said while he pointed at the bloody stomach area and then, up toward the chest. "What do you think?"

"I think that bitch was ugly as shit," Peatos said, then let out a deep–seated laugh. "I'd seriously be surprised if she had any kids."

The younger detective shook his head in disbelief and said, "She was the mother of five."

"Holy shit balls," he said stunned at the news. "Really?"

"Yes," Huntsman replied.

"Do we know what her occupation was, son?" Peatos asked.

Huntsman looked down at his notes with an annoyed sigh, and answered, "Domestic servant."

"What the fuzzy Hell is a Domestic servant," Peatos asked with his mind swirling in confusion. "Is that what you millennials call whores nowadays?"

"No. They typically clean houses, wash clothes and watch the employer's children… That is a Domestic servant." He answered.

"She's a maid! Good God, you millennials and your damned political correctness! Drives me freaking bonkers," Peatos spat in frustration. "If she's a maid... Say maid, dammit!!"


The two stared at each other for a few moments in silence, there was a tension that arose between them. It was obvious that the two did not like each other for their own reasons, and it appeared their dislike was coming to a head.

"All right. I'm done here," Peatos said and begin to stand.

"So what do you think about the killer, your professional opinion?" Huntsman asked.

"Okay my professional opinion, same guy," Peatos admitted.

"So what do we do?"

"We can go back to the station and let the two lead detectives handle it on Monday," Peatos said as he stood up closing his book. "I'm soaking wet and my balls are getting chafed squatting like that"

"Before you walk away, I feel like I need to tell you that the only difference with this murder and the others are that this woman was sexually assaulted, while the other weren't," the young detective said.

"That's nice. They can deal with it on Monday, I'll file the report then too," Peatos said as he walked away. "I need to put on dry underwear."

Huntsman was speechless as he watch the old detective walk awkwardly way, after a few moments he stood to his feet. He bent down and with his thumb and index finger grabbed the blood stained shirt and placed it back over the woman's face.


There was a pounding knock at the door, Betty knew who it was before she even answered it. It was a Cop Knock. She opened the door and found Grayson, he stared at her—her mind flashed to he ex–boyfriend who had that same look when he needed a fix. There was a wave of fear that turned her stomach, but it quickly transformed into anticipation.

She invited him into her apartment, he never took his eyes off of her. Grayson examined her, she wore a gray short–sleeved shirt with a Depeche Mode album cover screen printed on it, a black skirt with a pair of matching pantyhose underneath.

There was something different about him this time, before when the affair first started, he was shy and awkward, he never cursed or spoke about sex. Grayson reminded Betty of the modern day Boy Scout, clean cut and by the books—which was a surprise that someone like him would even entertain an idea of an affair in the first place.

The first time it ended, it was her doing—she felt like he was wrong for her. But a mere month later, and they were back together, the dynamics were different. She tried to push him away, which did eventually work, they faded away. But this time it was only for a few weeks, and it was Betty who engaged him. For the most part, he appeared uninterested, that was until now.

"Wanna follow me to my bed," Betty said with a seductive smile and turned to walk away, but Grayson grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back to him.

Grayson stared deep into her eyes, he felt her heart race through her wrist. Finally, he said in a stern tone, "No. I want you on the floor. Right here."

Betty gave him a look of surprise, and said, "Right now?"

The fear returned.

But she knew that she was not in danger, and complied to his request. Betty lowered herself to her knees and then placed her face on the carpeted floor and lifted her black skirt. Before she could get to them, Grayson ripped apart her pantyhose.

He forced his way inside.

At first, Betty cried out, but not from pleasure—rather from pain. Though the discomfort of not having moisture only lasted momentarily, as his hands forcefully gripped her hips which cause sensations that she had only heard about traveled through her body. As Grayson's hand movement changed a different sensation occurred, like was reminiscent of pushing buttons on a video game controller.

After a few moments her body begin to twitch, it was hard for Betty to tell if he was moving or if it was her doing it. She smiled and pushed that thought out of her head, and declared that it would be pondered on at a later time.

While on her knees, Betty her petite frame pushed back, forced more of him into her. His hands move upward and latched on to her cleavage before, Grayson took one hand and grabbed her hair with the other spanked her bare bottom. She cried out, but this time it was one of pleasure.

It was in that moment while Grayson continued to have his way with her, it was in that instant that Betty had a realization that she had her lover back, that he was in fact addicted to her! He quite literally had all the symptoms of someone addicted to a substance. She was his drug of choice, which in midst of her sexual activities that thought caused her to smile. Regardless if it was a relationship that was fast, messy and frustrating, it was her life now.

To be continued…


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