The strong smell of ammonia assailed Tifa's senses as she entered the Halo & Horns. Caraca, their resident bouncer/assistant bartender/handyman, was mopping the square shaped dance floor near the back of the room. He stopped for a moment and smiled and nodded at her as she came in. She waved a hand in his direction. The room was lit by small ceiling lights topped with cheap plastic multicolored domes. Fake wooden beams crisscrossed between them. The walls were wood paneled, and most bore pictures of dogs playing pool or poker. A country song was playing on the jukebox. Ignoring the smell, which she knew soon enough would be replaced by the odor of cigarettes and liquor, she walked over to the bar.
A woman with short black hair wearing a gray mens shirt knotted at the bottom stood behind the counter stacking trays. Delphine had just started here last week.
"Hi Teef," she said as Tifa stepped behind the bar alongside her. "Bernard is looking for you."
"Oh, why is that?" Tifa asked. She glanced at the clock. She wasn't late.
"I don't know, but he seemed pretty excited about something."
That was no surprise. Bernard was the most excitable man she had ever met. He was constantly walking around whining about one disaster or another. He could blow up the slightest thing into a major catastrophe better than anyone she had ever known.
"Where is he?" she questioned.
"Back in the dressing rooms," Delphine began. "Oh wait, there he is."
Tifa turned to see a short man with dark brown hair and close set eyes walking rapidly toward her. He wasn't that old, but already his hairline was receding, leaving a semicircle of bare skin on his forehead.
"Tifa, Tifa, Tifa."
"Hello Bernard," she said.
He came up in front of her and his arms thudded dramatically on the counter in front of her.
"I need a huge favor," he said.
Tifa's eyebrow rose.
"Oh?"
"Yes," he continued. "Clarisse called in sick."
Tifa's eyes narrowed, waiting for him to continue. Already she had a feeling she knew what was coming.
"As you know, her back up, Lasonya, is in Corel this week visiting her mother. I don't have anyone to cover for her."
Tifa just looked at him for a moment.
"Bernard, we've gone over this a thousand times..."
"I know, I know," he said petulantly. "But I'm really in a bind here. I've got no one else."
"Bernard, when I started working here I made it very clear I'm a bartender, not a dancer."
"I know," he repeated. "And normally I wouldn't ask. But I'm stuck here. I've already called Alica and Deena and they can't come in. You're my only hope!"
Tifa leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter and looking at Bernard sharply. This wasn't the first time he'd tried something like this.
"Bernard, are you ever going to give up trying to get me out of my pants?"
"Yeah, when he gives up trying to get into your pants," Delphine muttered from behind her.
Tifa snickered.
Bernard directed a glare at the raven haired girl.
"Don't you have anything else to do?" he questioned, giving her a look.
Delphine gave him a look, then gave Tifa a nudge and a grin and walked into the kitchen.
"C'mon Teef," Bernard cajoled. "I don't have anyone for the nine to nine thirty slot. That's gold. We need a real draw at that time."
"I'm sorry Bernard, but you know how I feel about this."
"Oh feel shmeel," he said dismissively. "I don't understand why you still have qualms about this. What's the harm in showing a little flesh? You know you could be the featured dancer here, all you have to do is say the word. Do you know what a draw it would be to have Tifa Lockheart, the gorgeous martial artist who helped save the world, up on the marquee out front? We'd rake in the gil! We'd both be rich!"
Tifa didn't say anything. She'd heard this or something similar a million times, although he had never seemed quite this adamant before.
"You know there's no future in being a bartender," he continued. "You know I can't pay you a decent salary unless you dance. I'll tell you what. I'll give you three hundred gil, on top of your regular salary. Three hundred gil for a half hours work, and that's not even counting the tips you'd get. You'd probably end up with twice that. That's more than you make in two weeks!"
Tifa just stood there. It was a very generous offer. She knew none of the other girls made anywhere near that much. Three hundred gil plus tips would make for quite a night. Just the other day she had been looking for some new clothes for Karisa. Her winter things were old and she had almost grown out of them. Tifa could get her a whole new set with that kind of gil. On top of that, if she did that often enough she could quit her other part time job and spend a lot more time with her daughter.
"C'moooon," he pleaded. "I'm desperate. Don't make me beg here Teef."
She just stood there. She didn't want to do it, but why did she feel guilty for refusing? It wasn't fair, him making her feel bad for not wanting to take off her clothes.
"Sorry," she said finally. "It's very nice of you to offer that much, but I'm afraid I have to decline."
"But...but..." he looked at her, attempting to look pitiful and succeeding fairly well, but he saw the look on her face and sighed.
"All right, I'll see if I can get one of the other girls to double up," he said resignedly.
He walked away, looking dejected. Tifa sighed. In spite of knowing full well it was all just an act he had still managed to make her feel bad. He would get someone else, he always did.
She bent down, looking under the counter to survey the bottles there, making sure she had enough stock for the night. Not for the first time she wondered if she was making a mistake. Maybe she should take him up on his offer. She wasn't even sure what was holding her back. It was no big deal. All of the other girls here did it. In fact, she knew some of them thought she was stuck up because she didn't, and she sure could use the gil.
She stood up again and sighed. Tempting as it might be she couldn't get herself to do it. She just couldn't imagine standing in front of all those people and taking her clothes off. It was bad enough the come on's she got just standing behind the bar. She just couldn't picture herself doing that. She'd be too embarrassed.
No, she'd stay behind the bar. She wasn't an entertainer, at least, not like that. She'd get by somehow. She always did.
As the night wore on the place began to fill up. The first dancer started at six and it was always busy on Saturday nights. By eight the place was packed, the jukebox blaring and the dancers in full swing. Caraca had joined Tifa behind the bar and they were both working fast and furious preparing the drinks. Along with the men and the drinks came the inevitable string of propositions.
"Did the fall from heaven hurt?"
"You must be tired because you've been running through my mind all day"
"Those clothes look great on you but they'd look better on my bedroom floor."
"If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?"
"Is that a mirror in your pocket? I can see myself in your pants."
And of course the ever popular "Want to go out to my car and have sex?"
It wasn't like she hadn't heard it all before. In fact, you would think after all these years she'd be innured to it. She was well aware that the constant pestering was part of working at a job like this, but it still grew tiresome. Sometimes she was tempted to say yes just to shut them up, but she knew even if she did that wouldn't help. If she got a reputation as someone who slept around it would just make things ten times worse. It wasn't so much the one's who took no for an answer, but there were plenty of men who didn't seem to have any concept of the word no. Being the kind of person she was, she didn't enjoy getting harsh with anyone, but sometimes they left her with no choice. Fortunately, most of the guys who came in frequented the place often enough to know not to get physical with her.
Besides, it wasn't like any of the guys who came in here were exactly god's gift. A good looking guy was a rare event in a place like this, and a polite good looking guy was rarer than a man asking for directions.
Not that it mattered. She had a boyfriend. She wasn't looking. She just wanted to be left alone.
She glanced over at Caraca. They seemed to have hit a little lull, and he stood beside her wiping his hands on a cloth. It was easy for him, he didn't have to deal with all that crap.
"You're so lucky," she muttered.
"Huh?" he said. "What makes you say that?"
"Because you're a guy," she told him.
It took him a moment to get her drift, then he nodded.
"Hey, it's not that bad is it? Everyone loves you."
She gave him a hollow smile then looked down at the counter top.
"No, not everyone," she said slowly.
No, not everyone. Funny how she had failed so miserably with the only person she'd ever wanted to love her. It was strange, even now after all these years she still glanced at everyone who came in the door, still looking for that shock of blonde hair. She knew it was crazy, but she just couldn't help it. After all, he had come back once after a five year hiatus, now hadn't he?
"I know how you feel," Caraca told her, more seriously. "To tell you the truth, I don't know how you can stand it sometimes."
She gave Caraca a rueful smile. It was idiotic to think Cloud might saunter in one day. Even if he did wander into Junon, he didn't know she was here, and she didn't think he was the type to frequent strip joints. No, she'd found him again once, it didn't seem likely it would happen again. She'd had two chances with him and she'd blown both of them. It seemed too much to ask for another.
And did she even want another, after what had happened the second time?
"Thanks," she said, looking at him. Caraca reminded her that all guys weren't jerks, something that she needed once in a while working in this place. He was an imposing man, standing well over six feet, well muscled and with the haircut and square chin of a man in the military. In a way he reminded her a lot of Barret, but he was much calmer than her old Avalanche chum, almost serene. Once you got to know him he didn't seem like the bouncer type at all, and it was true, he was never anxious to get into a fight, but he protected all the girls here with ferocious zeal when necessary.
Caraca suddenly produced a small black box.
"Take a look at this," he said.
He opened the lid to reveal a silver necklace with a rectangular ruby suspended from it.
"Oh it's beautiful," Tifa said in approval. "Karen will love it!"
"It's our anniversary in three days," Caraca said. "I wasn't sure what to get. You really think she'll like it?"
"Absolutely," she said. "How many years you been married now?"
"Two," he told her. "I hope she does. I think it's only just now starting to sink in. It all seems to be going so quickly. Karen's been dropping some hints about starting a family."
"Wow. That would be great," Tifa said.
"Well, I'm not so sure," he said hesitantly.
"Why not?" Tifa asked in surprise. He and his wife seemed very happy together.
"I don't know," he said. "I don't make a lot of gil here. Be kind of hard to support three on my salary, especially if Karen has to take time off from her job. I'd like to find a place with a little more security before we do something like that."
Tifa nodded. She knew what he meant. It wasn't easy bringing up Karisa all by herself.
"I think that's very reasonable," she agreed.
"Yeah, but I don't know if she's going to see it the same way," he replied. "She's not always..."
He paused, looking past her. Tifa had been ignoring the crowd in front of the dance floor. What went on there really didn't interest her that much, but now she looked over and saw one man had stepped onto the dance floor and was drunkenly trying to grab one of the girls while a bunch of others egged him on.
"Duty calls," Caraca said with a sigh.
He vaulted smoothly over the counter and quickly made his way through the crowd to the dance floor.
"Excuse me."
Tifa turned and saw a man looking at her.
"A pina coloda please."
She knew the guy. Well, by sight anyway. He was a regular customer. Always came in around nine. Always ordered pina colodas, which kind of stood out in her mind because the Halo and Horns wasn't really a pina coloda kind of place. Most of the men who came in ordered either beer or whiskey.
That wasn't the only thing about him that stood out. He always wore the same ratty black wool coat. His hair was always a mess, and he was pale, paler than anyone she had ever seen, even Vincent. She wondered how you could get paler than someone who had slept in a coffin for thirty some odd years but somehow he had managed it. She didn't know his name. He never spoke to her at all, except when he ordered a drink. In fact, she'd never seen him speak to anyone. Whenever she looked at him he averted his eyes, looking down at the counter or the floor. He sat at a small table off to the left of the bar, or stood against the wall nearby if the table was taken, even if other tables were available. He seemed to spend most of his time staring at her when he thought she couldn't see. It had made her nervous at first, but she was used to being stared at. It was part of the job. You met all kinds of strange people in a place like this but he never bothered her, and at least he wasn't obnoxious.
She quickly made his drink and placed it in front of him. Taking his payment she looked back at the dance floor. Caraca had the troublemaker in his grasp and was dragging him across the room toward the door. The man seemed too drunk to put up much resistance. The crowd parted in front of them, but Tifa frowned as she noticed two men coming up purposefully behind Caraca. She had a good eye for faces, and she remembered seeing them sitting at a table with the man Caraca was escorting to the exit.
"Caraca, look out behind you!" she yelled.
The bouncer spun around, the drunk still in his arms, and the bottle swung at his head glanced off his shoulder instead. Even so, he couldn't avoid the punch the second man drove into his stomach.
Tifa saw the drunk pull free, or perhaps Caraca let him go, realizing he couldn't fight the other two while still holding on, before her view was obscured by the crowd in front of her.
She pushed open the door to the kitchen.
"Keller, we got trouble!" she shouted.
She heard a shout of acknowledgement from the cook, the only other male employee in the place, save for Bernard of course, but the owner was no fighter.
Not waiting for Keller to emerge, Tifa ran out from behind the bar. She pushed her way through the crowd, but, being about half his size, had a much more difficult time than Caraca had. Eventually she forced her way to the front to see the bouncer down on the ground trying to fend off three attackers. Caraca was a big man who knew how to handle himself in a fight, which was why he had been hired in the first place, but being surprised by three men was difficult even for him. She thought she could even the odds a bit.
She ran forward and drove her foot into the side of one of the men on top of the bouncer. She heard her target's sudden exhalation of breath as he tumbled to the ground. She spun around toward one of the other men, launching a series of quick blows to his head and upper body. Caraca suddenly lunged upward, tossing the man Tifa was striking up and off him like a doll. Tifa had to spin out of the way to avoid the man landing on top of her, causing her to stumble backwards, almost losing her footing. A hand grabbed hold of her shoulder. She turned around, and a bottle cracked against the side of her face. Pain shot through her head and neck. She fell to her knees, bringing her hand up to cradle her jaw as her head swam. She felt someone grab her shoulder and instinctively drove her elbow back, feeling it thud against flesh. The hand let go as she blinked her eyes, trying to shake the fuzziness out of her head.
"Tifa!"
She lifted her head and Caraca came into focus in front of her. He was holding two of the men in headlocks and looking at her.
"Are you all right?"
She managed to nod, in spite of the pain throbbing through her jaw. She looked around and saw that the fight was already over. The men Caraca was holding had gone limp, all the fight beaten out of them, and Keller had the third man firmly in hand and was dragging him toward the exit. Bernard suddenly appeared in the middle of things, looking even more flustered than usual.
"All right, all right, it's all over," he announced. "Everyone relax and we'll get back to business. We don't..." He stopped when he saw Tifa, who had managed to get back on her feet.
"Oh dear, what have you done to yourself!" Bernard exclaimed. "You're bleeding!"
Tifa looked at the hand she had been using to hold her jaw and saw it was indeed covered with blood.
"It's all right," she said slowly. "I'll be fine."
"You most certainly will not!" Bernard exclaimed. "C'mon, into the back room. We've got to get that taken care of and stop the bleeding!"
He practically dragged her into the back dressing room whose entrance stood behind the dance floor. The girls who were supposed to be getting ready for their numbers had pulled back the curtain separating the rooms and were instead gathered by the entrance to watch the fireworks, but they backed out of the way as Bernard rushed in with Tifa in tow.
"Delphine, get some antiseptic and some bandages," Bernard ordered as he pulled Tifa over to one of the dressing tables and sat her down. He lifted her chin, making her wince, and examined the wound in the light.
"Tch. What a thing to happen to such a pretty face," he admonished. "How many times have I told you not to get involved in the fights."
"I'm sorry," Tifa apologized. "It wasn't fair though. The three of them ganged up on Caraca."
"Caraca can take care of himself," Bernard told her. "That's what he's paid to do. You're paid to tend bar and look pretty. And you won't look pretty with scars all over your face. Stay out of it."
Tifa fell silent. She knew Bernard wasn't really mad at her. His tone was that of a father lecturing a wayward child. A wayward child he knew would do the same thing next time in spite of his scolding. Tifa figured the best thing she could do would be to just shut up and take her medicine. Delphine came back with the medical supplies. Tifa winced once more as Bernard applied the antiseptic, then sat there quietly as he continued to show his displeasure with her actions by shaking his head and sighing numerous times.
The curtain opened again and Caraca came in. He looked around for a moment until his eyes fell on Tifa. He walked over to her and looked at her face.
"I'm so sorry," he blurted out.
"No, it wasn't your fault," she said. She knew how protective Caraca felt about all the girls who worked here. She could tell he felt bad at seeing her hurt, even though it wasn't his fault. She had asked for it.
"No, it was your own," Bernard cut in. "You should have stayed out of it."
"Yes, I know," Tifa said, rolling her eyes.
"I saw that," Bernard told her. "Don't make light of it. If this was a six inches higher it would have gotten you in the eye. We could be shipping you off to the hospital. As it is you might need a couple of stitches. It could easily have been a lot worse."
Tifa bit back her response, knowing there was no arguing with Bernard about this. She looked around and saw everyone staring at her and couldn't help feel embarrassed. Caraca had a cut on his lip but no one was making a big fuss over him. She looked at the bouncer.
"I'm fine,' she mouthed.
Eventually Bernard appeared satisfied with his handiwork. He stood up and looked her over.
"How do you feel?" he asked her.
She looked at him. They were already short someone. She knew he didn't want her to go home, but she also knew if she told him she wasn't up to working, he would let her. Bernard could be annoying and whiney but underneath he was a pretty decent guy, which she had found was highly unusual in this line of work. Most of the bosses she had had treated the girls like dirt, or as just another commodity, which was one of the reasons she had stayed here so long.
She brought her hand up to touch the bandage on her jaw. It still ached, and she still felt a little dizzy, but it was a lot better than it had been. It was a discomfort, but it wasn't diabilitating. Besides, it had been her own fault. She couldn't believe she had just walked right into that blow. She must be getting old...
"I'm all right," she said. "I just need a couple of aspirin."
"We can do a lot better than aspirin," Bernard said.
"No, nothing too strong," she said. "You don't want me keeling over while I'm pouring drinks, do you?"
Bernard looked thoughtful.
"No, I suppose not. Okay, if you're sure you're all right..."
"I'm okay," she said, standing up, as if that would prove she was telling the truth.
Bernard looked at her for a moment, then gave her a pat on the arm. Then he turned and walked back out as Delphine handed Tifa a glass of water and two aspirin. Tifa washed down the pills with the water, took a deep breath, then went back to her station at the bar.
"Thanks," Caraca muttered as she walked past him. She smiled in return.
The rest of the night passed without mishap. Which was good as far as Tifa was concerned for she had had more than enough excitement for one day. Two days really, now that she thought about it. There hadn't been a fight in the Halo and Horns in months, and now she had been in two fights in two days. She really didn't want to make a habit of this.
Even with the aspirin her jaw still ached, and though it was bearable it was a relief when she finally did get off work that night. She couldn't wait to get home and sack out.
She shivered when she stepped outside. She had forgotten how cold it was. The air was like ice now and it stung her cheek and her lungs as she breathed it in, but it was fresh at least, cold and crisp and so unlike the stale air inside the Halo and Horns that had reeked with cigarette smoke. She looked up and saw the stars glittering in the clear sky above her. The moon was almost full and hung suspended in the western sky with a hazy ring of cloud surrounding it. She had seen that before on occasion and always wondered what caused it, but she had never found out. She walked briskly down the street. Not many people were about this time of night, and those that were didn't pay her any attention. Nevertheless she was always a little nervous on the trips home and kept her eyes open. She wasn't too far from home when she noticed a man behind her who seemed to have been there for a couple of blocks. This late at night even that simple fact was enough to raise her suspicions. She crossed over to the other side of the street. As she neared the end of the block she saw him cross over too. He was far back, almost a full block, and she couldn't see anything except a figure in the darkness. She reached the end of the block and stopped. She turned around, looking back. If someone was following her, she wasn't about to lead him right to her apartment, and she was too tired to turn off and lead him on a wild goose chase. It might be foolish, but she thought it would be best to just confront him now.
She could just barely make the man out in the darkness behind her. He seemed to have stopped as well. For a long time she just stood there, but he didn't move.
She was in no mood tonight to play games. If he wasn't going to come to her...
She started back down the road in his direction. He was still standing there, but when it became clear she was headed toward him, he suddenly turned and began walking back the way they had come.
Tifa sped up. It seemed obvious he was trying to avoid a confrontation, and that emboldened her.
"Hey!" she called out, breaking into a trot.
The man might have glanced back. She couldn't be sure in the darkness, but then he suddenly broke into a run.
"Hey!" she yelled again. She chased after him for a moment, until he reached the end of the block and disappeared around the corner. She halted.
She stood there for a long time, waiting to see if he would come back, but the street remained empty. Whatever his plans might have been, she seemed to have disrupted them by spotting him. She sighed and turned back toward home once again.
She kept glancing back every few minutes, but saw no sign of anyone the rest of the way. She let out a sigh of relief when she finally reached the door to her apartment and pulled it open. She had had just about all the excitement she could stand for one day.
Frantic, stuttering footsteps fell against the pavement, splashing water and filth onto the clean, expensive trousers of a man clutching his aching side as blood ran hot and sticky through his fingertips. Pain misted his vision, and his breath tore from his chest in harsh half-gasps. The alley way was narrow and unimportant. Its only inhabitants, the homeless, rats, and the occasional stray cat had no use for the drama being played out here. He was alone in nearly every sense of the word, save for the one following behind him. And the slick, oily feeling that coated his insides was one of a man tasting death.
His thoughts were a jumble of disconnected ramblings, nothing that could help him, truly. The only clear instinct was to run. He had tried fighting, and fighting had nearly disemboweled him. It didn't occur to him that running excited his pursuer. His mind simply didn't work that way.
Still... He couldn't hear footsteps behind him. For one frenzied, joyful moment, a part of him actually believed he could make it away, alive. But a moment only before he heard the cold voice from the darkness.
"Tis only a flesh wound... But the rats, they come when they smell blood. It's rather sickening, don't you think?" And to punctuate this sentiments, his pursuer stepped out of the shadows and speared a rat on a gleaming length of slender metal nearly as long as his own leg. Squealing, the rat struggled, and he watched it, his pale face unmoved by the effort.
Tears squeezed, hot and useless from the hunted's eyes. "Jesus. I'm going to die, aren't I?" He couldn't run anymore. The stitch in his side hurt too much. He should have used the gym more often for working out instead of just a place to meet women.
"Yes. But by all means, run some more. I'm enjoying stretching my legs."
Shadows favored the man. They clung to him the way tight clothing did a woman, showing off her curves to the utmost advantage. He wore his long, black hair pulled back, so that it fell easily and exposed his pale face. But it was the face that left his intended victim cold, without hope. It was pitiless and without changing expression. The eyes were dark, empty, and even the lips were bloodless and vague, without definition or form. If the Gods had intended to grace him with a face fit for killing, they couldn't have done a better job. Only a scar marred the stillness. It followed the curve of his cheek from eye to chin. He traced it now with a gloved fingertip.
The rat slid from his blade, and he didn't bother wiping it clean. He enjoyed the struggle, liked the fear, the helplessness of his victims. The longer he could draw it out, the more pleased he was. There wasn't anything admirable in quick, clean kills. He didn't like bathing in blood, but he liked feeding on pain, on fear. Killing, he felt, was like sex; it should be drawn out for the pleasure and savored for the way it made you feel.
That he was paid to do this, was merely an added benefit.
"I'm not going to run anymore." At the admission, the man's shoulders sagged, his arms went limp at his sides. Everything about him dimmed.
Displeasure sliced through the swordsman. He tempered it, moving his own wrist along the blade's edge untouched by the rat. The sharp sting of air touching bare flesh calmed him, and he raised his bloody wrist to his lips, sucking.
"And if I said I want you to run?"
Anger flashed, however brief, in the countenance of his sacrificial lamb. "I'd say screw you."
The swordsman laughed at that, but there wasn't anything comforting in the sound.
"My job is merely to kill you. Accommodate me, or I'll expand it."
Another kind of fear tightened the chest of his victim. "What do you mean?"
"There are people you care for. Most everyone has ties to someone. I'll see they... suffer too."
"Bastard..."
His tormentor bowed. "Run. Run, and let yourself believe I'll let you escape. It might make you feel better about dying."
The pursued's hesitation was brief. "How can I know?"
The shrug was elegant. "You can't."
Anger, powerlessness escaped in a hiss, but he ran. What else could he do?
The thrill made the swordsman's blood race. It was almost sexual, almost. No, not even sex could feel this good. He was in complete control. The man died when he said he died. What could offer a better high?
He knew his way. He would never have picked a playground where even the slim chance of losing might be possible. So he backed his tired mouse into a corner and felt none of the weak punches as he slid the sword through the victim's stomach with one hand, gripping the back of his neck with the other. Twisting, he pulled higher, destroying flesh, ripping and tearing and violating. And, as the glazed look came into the man's eyes, he leaned down and planted a gentle, cool kiss on his parted lips.
A high, breathless shriek pulled him back. Well aware that he was covered with blood not his own, he turned his soulless eyes on a young woman. She wore a dress of white and red, and her trembling hand was pressed to her mouth, just below her nose, and above that, her eyes were wide and disbelieving. Not part of the equation. An unknown variable that shouldn't have left her house today.
His pulled his sword out, eyes never leaving hers. The lifeless man's body fell, remaining motionless on the pavement. She was coming to life now, like a marionette whose master had just found her strings. She stumbled backward, and took a few steps in heels too high for getting away. But that wasn't what he intended for her.
The lust for death came quickly.
She turned, teetered, and ran. But her shoes were awkward, and she fell to her knees, crying and screaming.
He descended on her, swept her up into the dark coat he wore and kissed her neck even as he forced her head around. His sword arm pinned her to his body and he felt her tremble, saw the white of her eyes and was pleased with the mindless fear. He let her head go, put a gentle hand at her waist, and slit her throat.
When he let her go, she was on her knees again, holding her throat and making soundless gasps. With patience, he watched her die and then carried her over to his first victim. He laid the two together, liking the picture they made. The investigators would likely think they were together. Lovers, perhaps, unlucky to have been caught together at the wrong moment, in the wrong place. Who knew? Whatever the case, they would admire his work. And never know it was him.
For silence, was absolute.