Caution: Contains intense and graphic depictions of fear, violence, gore, and semi-graphic sexual content (Class VI necrophilia).
Thinking is a dangerous thing. The thought flitted through my mind, halting my previous line of logic. It made sense– When there’s nothing better to do, the mind will drift. I had so many things to get done that week, it’s a wonder I wasn’t trying to escape from it all sooner. I brought my cigarette to my lips, breathing in deeply. I exhaled the smoke slowly, watching it drift before catching on the wind and disappearing. I should have gone outside for my break instead of leaning out the window, but I couldn’t be bothered to leave my office.
And all things considered, there was no reason to leave in the first place. I had a fine view of the cityline from the window, and the building was in the center of the area. I’d decorated the room simply: a bookshelf for client files, a desk made from a dark wood– which I’d had waterproofed a year ago– cluttered with papers from the day, a tall lamp in the corner, a clock on the wall. I kept my ashtray near the window. Maintenance had moved the smoke detector outside of my office after my third incident with them, but I always smoked from the window. It was a courtesy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, make sure to lock your doors at night,” crackled the familiar voice from the other side of the room.
A year ago, Salsera gave me a radio. He claimed that my office was too quiet for his tastes, and that it would unsettle clients. I, reluctantly, agreed to keep it playing. It wasn’t so bad. I’d found a talk show station that was somewhat enjoyable. The anchor prattled about Chicago crime while I worked, and it was an easy enough voice to tune out. Overall, utterly unremarkable. The radio lived on my bookshelf.
“With the warmer weather, the so-called Big Three of Chicago are crawling out of the woodwork like bugs. CPD found a body near the old church, and they’re saying it’s the work of the Devil’s Hand,” the anchor continued. “We’ll have a proper story on it soon, but new information is still coming out. All we’ve got right now is that the word FRAUD was carved into the victim’s chest. Be careful out there, and check in with your loved ones. Now, onto lighter topics, it’s seventy degrees and sunny right now–”
I found myself drifting back into reality with all the urgency of molasses as I realized I’d finished my cigarette. My heart was beating its steady rhythm, as it always was, and my head was remarkably clear given my circumstances. I hadn’t had a good meal in nearly two months, and usually I’d be craving something hearty by now, but there was no pull or call. I took it as a blessing.
With a small sigh, I closed my eyes to think about what else I had to get done today. It was about to be noon. I had a client meeting in half an hour that would run until two. After that, the rest of my day would be devoted to organizing said client’s particular needs. I would be done with the day at five, assuming Salsera didn’t drag me out for drinks again.
I let my eyes open again, then turned away from the window. With almost perfect timing, my desk phone began ringing. I didn’t bother looking at the caller– it was almost certainly the reception desk. I always gave my clients my personal number. I didn’t want to answer, but picked up the phone anyway. “Volo Carter speaking.”
“Hello, Mister Carter,” a woman’s voice replied– Hazel, I recognized. “You may want to move some appointments around.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Well, the MARION went down again. No one’s able to see anything right now.”
“Oh, what a shame. Isn’t this the third time this month?”
“Yes. It definitely has a mind of its own!”
“Worthless junk, isn’t it?” I chuckled as I sat down. “I still can’t believe anyone signed off on it.”
“We’d been using the same system since the dawn of the internet. It was about time for a change. And apparently that salesman was very convincing.” Hazel paused. “At least, that’s what Director Salsera said.”
“Oh, I’ve heard it all. Well, if it’s all the same right now, I suppose I’ll take my break early today. Call my cell when everything’s working properly, won’t you, sweetheart?”
I heard her gasp over the phone. “Yes, of course, Mister Carter.”
“Good girl.”
I hung up the phone and paused for a few seconds. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to leave today. Walking up and down all those stairs is the most annoying thing I can possibly imagine, and the elevator had been broken for days. Damnit. With all of the company systems down again, being in the office was practically useless. Eventually, Salsera would either kill the contract or hire someone to properly manage the electronics of the building. I didn’t see either happening any time soon.
Luckily, the silver lining in it all was the freedom. Hypothetically, I could have just canceled my appointment, but where was the fun in that? I patted at my suit pockets for my cell phone and dialed another number.
“Am I speaking to Mister Zak Casimir?” I asked, and he confirmed. “Fantastic. How do you feel about coffee? My treat.”
I liked the coffee shop. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall place with a distinctly baroque theme, and it always seemed to be empty when I needed it to be. I was always particular about how much noise I needed in any given situation– too much and it would be overwhelming, too little and I got swept up in the beating of my own heart. Today, light parlor jazz floated quietly through the air as I stared down into my mug of black coffee.
The front door bell jingled and I looked up. The man that entered had shoulder-length brown hair and tanned skin. His outfit was sensible for the season– a red t-shirt with a black X painted across it, black jeans, ragged shoes. He walked with no sense of urgency. I couldn’t see the small details of his face. He was walking towards me.
My chest tightened, my heart drumming in my ears. Is that–? It couldn’t be. Why, of all places, would he be here? I stared at the man, as if the whole world fell away. And what was this feeling? I tried to calm myself down, tried to place the emotion, but every thought died out as it was formed, like my own mind had become caustic.
“Mister Carter?”
He walked over to me and extended his hand. I pulled in a breath, tried to snap myself out of my head, then gave a smile of my own and returned the handshake. “You must be Mister Casimir.”
“The one and only,” Casimir laughed, glancing back and forth before sliding his backpack off of his shoulders and sitting down. He set the bag next to him. “Sorry, I know I’m a little early. Did I scare you?”
“No, not at all. I was just lost in thought,” I said, the rhythm of my heart slowly fading into the background. “There’s no harm in starting early. Let’s get down to brass tacks.”
Casimir pursed his lips, then sighed deeply. “Okay, I know we talked over the phone a little bit, but it’s gotten worse.”
“Then please, start at the beginning.”
“So,” he began quietly. He was fiddling with the zipper pulls on his backpack. “My grandmother just passed away.”
“My condolences.”
“That’s alright, I barely talked to her– I mean, thanks, I guess. Uhm… She was living alone at eleven-ninety-seven Ivy Avenue. My dad and I have been clearing out all of her things, trying to flip the house, all that. Oh, wait!”
He unzipped the bag and rummaged through it for a few seconds, then pulled a folder out. He opened it and pushed it towards me. It was a hand drawn floor plan of the house, complete with measurements, rooms, and what ways the doors swung. Aside from a few small details, it was a fine architect’s sketch.
“Did you draw this?” I asked passively.
“Yeah. Sorry, I know it’s not the best. I’m still in training. Dad said I should draft up the house and sketch out what needs to be changed and all that. It helps both of us.”
“Impressive,” I said. “My brother was an aspiring architect too.”
“Oh, really? Awesome.”
“He was quite good at it. Then he tried to kill me.”
Casimir paled for a moment, then chuckled slightly. “Unsafe treehouse or something?”
“Yes, you could call it that,” I replied, returning the laugh. “Well, my employer doesn’t refer me to clients often. What exactly is wrong with the property?”
He glanced to one side, then the other, before leaning in as if he didn’t want anyone to hear him. “Grandma used to collect these dolls, and, uhm… They won’t leave?”
“Tell me more.”
I suppose he was bracing himself for some kind of rejection, judging by the way his expression melted into relief. I motioned for him to go on, and he spluttered for a few seconds before continuing.
“Alright, okay… So, she had these porcelain dolls– A, uh, whole China cabinet full of them– and we were trying to get them out, sell them in the estate sale, all that. The problem is, they wouldn’t budge. Like, I mean, we physically could not get them out of the cabinet, and nobody was willing to try lifting the thing with all that extra weight.”
“It sounds like they were just glued in,” I replied.
“We thought so too, and we left the cabinet open for a day to see if maybe something would happen, and…” he started, then trailed off. “They moved.”
“Oh, did they?”
“I assumed it was some kind of practical joke at first, but… but I tried to pull one of the dolls out the day before and it was stuck. Then it shows up somewhere else in the house and gets stuck again?” he said, his voice getting steadily louder.
“That’s very concerning. I can see why Abattoir sent you to me.”
I reached into the inner pocket of my suit, fishing for my contact book. I found it easily, and began flipping through it as Casimir continued ranting.
“Are you kidding? It’s freakin’ creepy, is what it is! I asked my dad, he said It’s nothing major, as if I’m not sitting here about to get my head bitten off by some China doll?!”
“Luckily, there’s a solution,” I said. I pulled a clean, blue business card from the book and offered it to him. “This is the card for Visitor LLC. Call them and ask for Benjamin when prompted. Tell him I sent you, then explain your situation. He’ll be able to fix it right up.”
He stared at the card for half a second, almost disbelieving, then snatched it from my fingers. “What if he can’t do it?”
“He can.”
Casimir slid the card into his pocket, then pulled his architect’s drawing back to his side of the table.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I asked, already knowing the answer as he slid his folder back into his backpack.
“N-No, thanks.” He cleared his throat. “But, uhm, I wanted to say that I like your earring.”
I chuckled slightly. “Well, thank you. I don’t get many compliments on it.”
“Have you ever considered getting the other ear pierced too?”
“I never wanted this one. My sister was deathly afraid of needles, but thought her friends’ piercings were beautiful, so I ended up being the one to pierce her and show her there was nothing to be scared of.”
He turned back to me, backpack already in his lap. “Wait, so how’d you end up with the hole in your ear?”
“Scaring her half to death,” I said, running my thumb across the table. “I keep up with it so I can remember her.”
He let out another nervous little laugh, standing up from his seat. “I should get going.”
“Well, my condolences again for your loss, Mister Casimir,” I replied. “This was a lovely little chat. Keep in touch.”
I watched him leave.
Then, I finished off my cup of coffee, even though it had gone cold. I pulled in a breath and let it out. There was a dull ache in my chest. I shook my head, starting to collect my own things. My fingers twitched, curling without my say-so. Casimir would look so much better with his head detached from his body. I blinked, the thought dissipating. There was no reason to act on such a stupid impulse. Not now. I was still well-fed, was I not?
I’d at least give it a day. Casimir would have his trouble resolved by then. He’d go a little happier. That was a mercy. I stood up and walked to the counter to pay my bill.
Mercy. The word rang through my head, chiming like bells. Since when did I bother with such stupid things? Was it him? It had to be. Who else could make me weak like this? I nearly scoffed at the thought.
I had no interest in answering the call. I’d do it on my own eventually. It was masochistic to prolong the inevitable, but perhaps I’d be able to supplement it somehow. Change it, somehow. Perhaps I’d get my fill from him this time. What a stupid idea, I realized. How dare I long for that man when all he does is torture and drain me?
He isn’t worth my knife, I reminded myself. He isn’t worth a thing.
I paused in my walk back to my apartment because I needed a cigarette.
It was an end-of-the-month Friday, and Salsera had insisted he take his employees to a bar to celebrate a job well done. I didn’t particularly mind, since the tab was being taken care of, and occasionally the conversation was entertaining. This was a different one from his usual crawl, with no smoking section. He apologized to me profusely before promptly getting wasted.
No conversation I cared for was happening tonight, and I’d taken to observing the scenery on the walls. I didn’t know the name of the bar, nor did I care, but it seemed to be particularly old. There was some kind of timeline of the building’s history on the far wall, and the lights were comfortably dimmed. It was a noisy, crowded place, but it was uniquely comforting in my current state.
“So I says to her,” Salsera was ranting. “I says Where’ya from, lady? and she tells me Wisconsin! Bloomin’ Wisconsin! And I ask ‘er, What’s a Wisconsinite preacher’s wife doin’ out in New Orleans, and she says to me Huntin’!”
“My God, you couldn’t have left the poor woman alone, Jack?” Xander Hahn chimed in dramatically, looking up from his empty glass.
“Are you outta yer mind?” Salsera laughed back. “Nobody leaves legs like those alone!”
“She was spoken for!”
“Her ‘usband was at home! What was I s’pose to do?”
I decided I might as well join the conversation. “Did you bed her?”
“‘Fraid not. She kept goin’ on ‘bout how she’d burn me and how it’s defying the will of the Mother and what ‘ave you.”
John Yiske finally returned, setting down another round of drinks for the four of us. He slid into the seat next to mine. “What did I miss?”
“Not much,” I replied quietly.
“You are out of your mind, Jack. Trying to have sex with a married pagan? Are you sure she didn’t curse you?” Hahn teased.
“My peck’s just fine, thank ya kindly!”
“No one said anything about your penis, Salsera,” I said calmly before taking a sip of my Manhattan.
He spluttered for a few seconds before going back to his bottle of Sam Adams. Hahn snatched up the fresh Cosmo that Yiske slid to him and downed it quickly.
“Hey, whatever happened to that fiancée of yours, Carter?” Hahn asked, his empty glass clicking against the wooden table.
“She was murdered,” I said simply.
“God, there’s a time and place,” Yiske hissed, shaking his head.
“Y’know what?” Hahn laughed over the both of us. “I bet she ran off! I knew you were a freak, Carter!”
I raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent. There was something drumming in the back of my mind. Instinctually, I started trying to place it. I nipped the feeling in the bud. I didn’t want to think about that right now. Especially not in front of my co-workers.
“I knew you were a weirdo, but my God!” Hahn continued. “What was it? The cigarettes? The knives? Wait, wait, no, no self-respecting woman would wanna be around a man that cares more about his lighters than his girl!”
“Do you find this funny?” I warned.
“None of those? Oh, I know! She figured out you’re taking it up the ass!”
“Excuse me?”
Yiske polished off his old fashioned and stood up, grabbing his briefcase as he did. “Christ, Xander, that mouth of yours is going to get you killed. I’m not going to be a witness to this.”
Hahn scoffed as Yiske turned to walk off. “Coward!”
“Goodnight!” he shouted as he walked away.
“It’d do you good to listen to him,” I said.
“If you can’t handle the heat, you can leave,” he mocked.
“You’re such a sloppy drunk.” I took another sip of my drink.
“Praise me more, sir!”
I nearly gagged, lurching forward to spit the alcohol back into my glass. It burnt down my throat, a sensation I thought I was used to. I coughed to clear my throat, then looked up to glare daggers into Hahn. My heart pounded in my ears, that war-drum rhythm returning with vengeance.
“Hahn.”
“Carter.”
“Aw, will the two ‘f ya just give it a damn rest?” Salsera brought his fist down on the table. “Went ‘n’ made poor John run off, y’know how he is ‘bout yer shit.”
I sucked in a breath, trying to calm down. “Thank you, Salsera.”
He stared at me for a few seconds. “Y’look like yer ‘bout to blow a fuse! Need a smoke?”
I pondered the idea, then shook my head. “I have plenty. But I think it would be wise to step out for a few minutes. Excuse me.”
“Just go home for the night,” Hahn hissed at me. “Debby-fuckin’-downer.”
Salsera shot Hahn a glare as I rose from my seat.
There was an unclaimed space between the two bars, wide enough to fit a convertible car through. I’d never risk it in mine, and I wasn’t sure if there were any roads on the other side of the alley. I stood just inside the alleyway, relishing in the occasional gust of wind coming in to cut the nighttime heat. I could feel the steady pulse of my heart in my chest, beating loud in my ears like a war drum. The feeling wouldn’t go away. I was starving, weak and delirious. I shook my head. I just needed sleep. There was no reason to go out my way tonight. I could just go home for the night. I didn’t leave anything in the bar.
I patted at my suit jacket pocket, eventually fishing out my carton of cigarettes. I flicked the top open and stared down at them for a moment. A fresh pack. An odd blessing.
The Chicago nightlife pounded around me. Laughter, cries, constant chatter. I tried to pick out a conversation in the blur, but I couldn’t seem to focus.
I pulled a cigarette out of the pack, turned it around, and replaced it in the far left of the top row. Then, I plucked a different one out and set it to my lips.
A shout caught my attention– a wordless little yelp. A blur flitted past my peripheral vision, followed by a woman’s voice. “Oh my God, Connor, get off of me!”
I turned away from the scene, replacing the carton and fishing out my lighter from the same pocket. I started walking down the alley, flicking at the flint wheel. I paused when the flame finally caught, lit my cigarette, and shut the lighter.
Salsera had dragged me out to this particular bar many times, mostly because of the smoking section, but I’d never explored the area. I clearly wasn’t going to be sleeping much tonight, so what was the harm in doing it now? I continued my steps, becoming acutely aware of the pattern in my gentle sway.
I stopped walking only because I’d come to the end of the alleyway. It opened up slightly, but was a total dead end. I didn’t recognize the building blocking the path, but there was a door and a single concrete step on its face. Perhaps it was some kind of poorly constructed fire escape. The night was just a quiet hum here, my starved rhythm slowly overtaking it all.
I had to steady myself. I felt delirious. I took the first drag of my cigarette. Breath in, four beats of my heart. Hold, four more beats. Out with a one, two, three–
“Volo?”
I turned around to see Yiske, leaning against the back wall. There was a lazy smile on his face, and he had his phone in his hand. The screen was flashing a few colors against his tanned skin. Some of his hair had fallen out of its slicked-back hold, brushing against his forehead with the wind.
“What are you doing here?” he pressed. “This is a dead end, you know.”
“I… didn’t know, no,” I said, pausing to take another small drag of my cigarette. “And I suppose I could ask you the same question.”
“Just trying to sober up. Xander wasn’t too much for you, was he?”
“He’s been particularly annoying this week.”
Yiske laughed. “God, tell me about it.”
I smiled back at him before taking another deep breath, sucking in the familiar taste of cigarette smoke. I held it on my tongue and closed my eyes to savor it. My heart was still drumming loud, the pulse of my blood harmonizing with it. My fingertips buzzed, aching, itching. I forced the feeling down. I exhaled, and the white smoke was pulled away by the light breeze.
Without realizing it, I’d taken a few steps towards Yiske.
He was still talking. “I saw in the paper a few months ago what happened to Penny. I can’t imagine how you feel. I’m sure it’s still hard for you. He shouldn’t have been pressing it like that. I’m sorry about him, buddy.”
“No need,” I replied automatically.
Yiske’s phone screen went dark and he slipped the device back into his pocket in a fluid motion. I glanced down. His briefcase was at his feet.
“You live in the apartments on South King, right?” he asked me. “If you go left, walk to the end of the street, and then take a right, it’ll be a straight line home for you. I don’t think it’s more than a fifteen minute walk.”
I thanked him quietly, then pulled in another breath. I tapped the ash out of my cigarette and realized I’d polished it off. I could feel the rhythm of my heart start to speed up.
“Are you okay? You seem kind of… out of it.”
I let the cigarette butt fall to the floor and I crushed it under the heel of my dress shoe. I was counting the beats of my motions. One, two, three, four. Over and over again, that constant time signature of the mounting symphony. I found myself pulling on my leather gloves.
“Must be all that alcohol, huh? Sorry, Jack said keep ‘em coming–”
It was all too much to bear.
I felt my body surge forward, grabbing Yiske by the tie. I pulled him forward, stumbling back in time. He sputtered out something, but I couldn’t hear over the beating of his heart joining mine, outpacing mine, overtaking mine. One-two, one-two.
He put his hand over mine, trying to tear me off of him. I twisted on my heel, pulling him with me. I rammed into him, sending us both toppling to the ground.
“V-Volo–?!”
I’m sure the look on my face was one of complete delirium. I felt insane. I put my hand over his mouth. He thrashed. I had pulled my knife from my pocket and flicked it open. I gripped his face and pulled it to the side, drawing first blood by dragging the tip of the knife down his jawline. It wasn’t enough. I pulled back and plunged the blade into his shoulder.
He let out some kind of noise, a strangled cry. It wasn’t the same. He would do. It wasn’t the same. He was a fine substitute. He isn’t the same. I readjusted my grip and dragged it down, pulling another scream out of him. Unfiltered. Raw. Better. I was breathing heavily, panting, indignant. I removed the knife.
I took a moment. I tilted my head. He was screaming. Tears glittered in the moonlight, streaming down his face. Could he even talk? There was more noise. Was I laughing? I couldn’t tell. The city would drown out his death.
I pressed the knife down again into the right side of his chest. I didn’t want the heart yet. The crack and the squelch were familiar sounds, welcome instruments in the cacophony. His cry became a drone, a dying organ to play over. And I did.
“C’mon, baby, you can do more than that.” I heard myself drawling.
I wasn’t talking to him anymore. I’d already replaced him in my mind. It was stupid. It was filthy. I wanted him under me instead. Dark red blood spilled out from his chest, darkening his white shirt, and he writhed beneath me. Not. Enough. I pulled my knife to the side, scraping against his ribcage. The sound was music to me.
I let my free hand slip down to his throat, squeezing tightly. He spluttered and choked, the expression on his face an etched-marble fear. I dragged my knife down the fabric of his outfit, catching the tip against plastic buttons. I could feel my cheeks burning red hot. I felt feverish. I felt faint. I felt alive.
He let out another almost-cry as my knife found purchase again, sliding cleanly under his ribcage and cutting upwards, pulling his flesh apart. The smell of blood hung thick in the air, metallic, cloying, overwhelming. The out-of-tune note that carried along the air. I squeezed his neck tighter.
“Aww, too much?” I taunted. “That’s not like you, baby. Go ahead, scream.”
He looked weak. Pale. He couldn’t possibly be bleeding out that fast, could he? I hadn’t done that much to him. That had to change.
I pulled my knife out of his flesh and spun it in my hand, watching the blood drip down onto his chest. I gave him just a moment to breathe, drawing back from him to admire the picture. If only his hair was a little longer. If only he was in different clothes. At least I could savor this one’s fear. I drank it down like wine.
I steadied myself, pressing my hand down on his chest. My fingers slipped into the wound I’d made, and he bucked up into the pain, having nowhere else to go. I felt my knife hand shake, every inch of me buzzing with the need of the Slaughter. I brought the knife down on his stomach. He didn’t have the energy to scream anymore. I felt his lung spasm against my palm. I pushed my knife deeper into his abdomen.
I clawed inside his chest, the slick heat enveloping my every touch. He yielded easily to it now. My mouth was watering, suddenly full of the taste of someone else’s blood. I didn’t want to taste him. I didn’t dare pull my hand back. I continued to feel around, the messy sound becoming like lilting strings.
My knife hand twitched, twisting the blade into his stomach. He twitched again, causing another weak jolt through his body. I pulled the knife out slightly, then cut across his stomach. Easy access for later. I let my other hand slide up, feeling around in the darkness for what I truly wanted. My body shook, my entire being pulsing adrenaline.
Then, deliciously, my fingers wrapped around his beating heart.
It was a slow pulse, asynchronous with mine. He must have run out of fighting spirit a while ago. My eyes flicked across his face, glazed over with pain, eyes glossy with tearful fear. I let my fingers twitch to his rhythm. One-two. One-two. They pulsed with him. I found myself mumbling under my breath.
“One-two. One-two.” Louder. “One, two, one, two.”
I was laughing, beginning to squeeze harder, overpowering his natural beat. One, two, three, four. I replaced it. I rewrote it. My beat. My rhythm. My victim. Mine. Mine, mine, mine.
For a moment, I wished I hadn’t put my gloves on. I wanted to feel that heat against my skin, the pulse and the twitch, the fever, the fervor. I was delirious. I was insane. I needed more. I pulled the heart closer, digging the tips of my fingers into the soft muscle. It wouldn’t come loose unless I really wanted it to. I kept up the steady rhythm, the beat, the pulse, and my body rocked and swayed along to it. Everything was so damn hot. I didn’t want to take my jacket off and ruin the moment. I felt like I was burning up.
I pulled the knife from the stomach. I lurched forward to plunge it into the neck instead. The body jolted. I cut left. It stopped blinking. I twisted the blade. I couldn’t feel it breathing. I squeezed. Its heart pulsed at my direction. One-two, three-four. One-two, three-four.
I was shaking. Everything in my body was pure energy. A perfect feeling. This was it. This was what I needed. Ecstasy. It bubbled over. I couldn’t tell why I’d ever tried to have anything else. I rocked forward, a cry of my own escaping. I pulled back again, cutting down into the shoulder. I stopped at the bone, pushing the crimson blade down the arm. My fingers danced wildly, pushing out a countermelody to the slow strokes of my knife.
“C’mon, c’mon baby, surely that’s not all you can give me.” My voice was a moan. A song. A cough. A melody. A choke. It cut through the cloying air of metal and sweat and meat. I became the choir to back the symphony.
My fingers teased the flesh, passing the baton of the rhythm to my hips. I laughed incredulously, finally pressing my thumb down into the core, forcing it open. I shifted my knife grip. I carved into the chest, dragging the tip back and forth across the skin just to see the tiny pricks of red blossoming. My fingers slid up and down. One-two, three-four. One-two. Three-four. I matched it to my pace.
I stabbed down just to hold the knife there. My body lurched forward, the rhythm suddenly changing as my fingers clawed their way into that no-longer beating heart. I felt my breath quicken, my head spinning from the rush. Every cell in my body was on fire. It was utterly delicious. My free hand crawled its way up to the face and I turned it towards me. The eyes were dull, still full of fear. I pressed my finger into one before closing the eyelids. Its mouth was still open. I pushed up on its jaw, sealing the lips together. I turned the head again, tilting it up and to the side.
It wasn’t enough. Something in the rhythm was screeching, screaming, squeaking, squealing. Entirely off-pace. Out of tune. It wasn’t enough. But why?
It’s not him.
And the symphony came grinding to a halt.
My body lurched forward, then froze, staring down at the face of the corpse. I breathed heavily. I stared. It didn’t stare back. It wasn’t him. It had no snarky retort, no warm touch, no pulse to force me into. It was just another corpse.
I drove my knife into its heart with a strangled cry of frustration, then pulled it out again. I rolled off of the body. I felt like a corpse myself in that moment, staring up into the blank, dark sky. I let my body jolt, and slowly calm.
I felt full. Truly, properly full. It was about damn time. I turned my head to look at the corpse again. I could feel the grin playing at my features. Time to clean up, I mused.
I pushed myself up to my knees, then grabbed my knife again. I moved my hand down, finding that wound in its abdomen. My fingers wrapped around an intestine, and I pulled. I cut off adequate pieces, and set them aside. That was all I’d need.
I wiped the blood off on the jacket of the corpse’s outfit, then flicked it closed and slotted it back into my pocket. I’d make an angel of this body yet.
“Man, do I have a doozy for you all this Monday morning,” crackled the radio show host.
I flicked through the papers that Hazel had handed to me on the way in. An invoice, a few reports, and an update on the Casimirs’ project. Like I thought, Visitor was able to clear the issue right up.
“Chicago’s just been hit with the first Blood Angel attack in months. The coroners are saying the body was probably rotting for the whole weekend. I don’t have all the details– No one does when it comes to him. All I can say is I don’t think I can really do this one justice. I’ll get taken off the air.”
I let out a deep sigh. I had so much to do this week.
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