Leftovers Ch. 04

Thinking about the bite on the bus brought his scent to my mind. I looked at my bloody but now undamaged palm and sniffed it. I scooted backwards until I was propped against a lightpole, then reached down and touched my stomach with the bloody hand. Without bothering to look around, I stroked lower, feeling myself through the taut leather, right there on the street. I leaned my head back. The frozen metal against my back and neck only made the fire inside glow brighter. My thighs closed around my hand, trapping it.

With my free hand I picked up one of my leather boots and held it to my nose. I inhaled deeply, set my teeth on it, tasted the instep. It occurred to me that if I felt this way now, I might very well need a piece of leather in my mouth to keep from breaking my teeth when the Doog laid his hands on me again.

That jolted me. I wouldn't need to worry about safety, because there wouldn't be another time after that. Not according to that monster. I'd just burn out, the way I thought the blonde girl died, unable to keep up.

And then what? I never saw where the two of them went, where he took her. Does he eat his prey? I caught the scent of my blood again, but this time I pictured it as coming from my heart as it burst. I jumped to my feet, suddenly afraid of the dark again, of claws wrapping around my ankles and wrists and neck, then reaching into my belly just for the sake of seeing what it held inside.

And I smelled something else. An odor, not mine, but that somehow meant me. There was sweat, even in the cold air, aftershave, faint oil and a bare shadow of metal. I thought the man might be armed, but it didn't smell like a gun, at least. I shifted my head slowly, and trapped him in my peripheral vision. Probably eighty pounds or more larger than me, burly chested, surely sporting a bald spot under his knit cap. He watched me from half a block away while leaning against a car. I had the feeling that he was waiting for a chance to get closer.

"Well, why not go for the wasted chick in leather, sport?" I whispered to myself, as the secure haze drifted back over my eyes. I started humming that awful song again, and resumed my aimless walking.

Sure enough, I could hear the crunch of his boots, even above the background roar of the city and the passing cars. Bastard. "Like you didn't see this coming, Miss Fine and Tasty," I breathed. I turned around, and he was a little closer, a little tenser. The odor surrounding him was higher-pitched than before.

"I always feel like... somebody's wat-ching meee, and it ain't no fantasy," I sang softly as I began to casually close the distance between us. I could smell the modest monster in him now. He didn't even qualify as a poor substitute for the Black Dog. Just looking to rape and murder me, at most. It was almost cute.

What would I say? Maybe lean against the car beside him and ask, Is this seat taken?

I was sure that something would come to me.

My left hand strayed to my pants pocket, and the folded sliver of silver I kept there.