Criminal Minds A Real Rain Novels & Stories

The driver eyed Rain suspiciously but he didn't dare utter his thoughts. The man looked scary. His multiple veins on his arms and his clenched jaw accompanied with curse words were what any sane person would run away from. He might have been a serial killer or a robber but only a fool would utter it in his face. He looked at the card he had thrown at him. This was probably fake but at least he left his car without taking his head with him. Rain ran through the cars that were waiting for the green light. He was shaking and somewhat unaware of his surroundings but he could feel himself going further.

They part from each other, eyes matching. Something is not right here. RAINE POV She’s a roach. I was hoping to have a relaxing night. I’d wow the crowds, have a few drinks, and head home. With Karen here, I could not do that. The fact that she’d show up, after saying she no longer was planning to attend, rubs me the wrong way. Her entrance into Mr.Davis’s circle was obviously strategic, I just couldn’t figure out why.

The blonde let everyone out from her body until there was nothing left to bring out. The sound of glass shattering. The sight of red liquid continuously flowing out. The look on the lifeless man’s face. The loud siren of the police cars. The panicking voice of Dakota. The look of betrayal on her face as they met eyes. That exact moment flashed vividly in her mind.

Chapter 95: The Escape The night rain fell like a whisper, threading silver trails down the city windows, muting the world in a hush of water and wind. Inside the armored transport van, Vincent Maddox sat handcuffed, shackled at the wrists and ankles, his expression blank. His pale eyes flicked to the window, watching droplets race each other down the glass. Rain always meant something was coming. He could feel it in his bones.

“I don’t get it either but I’m just trying to be thankful that even though these visions are gruesome, at least they give us an edge over the rogues. They’re keeping us one step ahead of them and could end up saving countless lives. That has to count for something.” Both Micah and Liam nodded their heads, taking sips of their liquor. It was going on nine o'clock and the anticipation to hear what was happening was killing me. Storm was antsy in my head, pacing back and forth. He wanted to rip each and every rogue to pieces. We sat in silence for a while, occasionally making small talk when the quiet became too much. We’d each had a few more glasses of bourbon, the liquor helping take the edge

​The rain in Crestview didn’t just fall; it punished. It was a cold, rhythmic assault that turned the city’s soot-stained streets into a labyrinth of grey slush. It hammered against the cracked, salt-crusted windows of the bus station, mirroring the frantic, shattered rhythm of Elara Vance’s heart. Each drop sounded like a gavel striking a desk, pronouncing a sentence she wasn't ready to serve.

One of the soldiers supplied each soldier with a raincoat. Matt and Chicago stood on the balcony and fixed their eyes on the large garden, studying the wolves. "Heavy rain on a full moon?" Chicago shook his head in shock. "An abomination!" "I don't understand what has been happening today," Matt said in confusion, "Trainor is a suspect." He paused, then rejoined, "He was very certain something unusual will happen today, I want to know what he knows, how he knew, and what he intends to do with it... Everything."

That night, Rain had awful dreams about running through the woods. Each one ended with her, Mist, Adam, and several others being mowed down by gunfire or ran over by land riders. Often, it was the steely eyes of Mother White baring down on her just before she died. Mothers like her would show no mercy, Rain was sure of that. When Rain awoke the next morning, her clothes were sweaty, and her hair was matted to the side of her face. She’d need to take a quick shower before she went to class or else everyone would immediately think something was wrong with her.

> On the Night of Murder< Rain came pounding on the windowpane. The pattering sounded blistering, biting, and relentless. Compared to the quietness inside, the storm outside was thunderous. In a dark studio-typed apartment room, a man in his thirties sat at the table, intently watching the monitor.

The girl chuckled before calling the other girl, who was still in the cubicle. "I think your drink was spiked. I'm glad I saw you, Alyssa! What if I didn't? Your mommy will kill me," she said. The woman also came out of the cubicle and sat on the side, "I feel like I'm paralyzed. Damn that drink!" "You two could've been in someone's hands. Someone's bad." The woman with red hair commented as she handed me the lipstick she borrowed. "You shouldn't accept drinks from strangers," I added. The four of us have fixed ourselves. It looks like the two are feeling better since, according to them, they don't feel numb anymore.