Fiends. Part 27

Real neat play. I should've gone on home.

But he'd come this far. Besides, he couldn't turn back without pa.s.sing Dandy. He might cross to the other side of the street, but that would be cowardly. And he was no less curious than before.

The drops of blood led him to the end of the block. He waited for the traffic signal to change, then hurried into the street. This time, the trail continued over the pavement. A good sign, he thought. Maybe the bleeder had crossed so recently that no cars had yet come by to wipe out the spots.

I'm gaining on him. Or her.

Oh, he did hope it was a woman.

A slender blonde. Slumped against an alley wall, a hand clamped to her chest just below the swell of her left breast. *I'm here to help you,' he would say. With a brave, pained smile, she would say, *It's nothing. Really. Just a flesh wound.' Then she would unb.u.t.ton her blouse and peel the b.l.o.o.d.y side away from her skin. She wore a black lace bra. Byron could see right through it.

He imagined himself taking out his clean, folded handkerchief, patting blood away from the cut, and trying not to stare at her breast. His knuckles brushed against it, though, as he dabbed at the wound. *Excuse me,' he told her. *That's okay,' she said. *Come with me,' he suggested. *I'll take you to my apartment. I have bandages there.' She agreed, but she was too weak to walk without a.s.sistance, so she leaned against him. Soon, he had to carry her in his arms. He wasn't huge and powerful like Digby, but the slim girl weighed very little, anda *Hey you.'

Startled, Byron looked up from the sidewalk. His heart gave a quick thump.

She was leaning against the post of a streetlamp, not against a wall. She was a brunette, not a blonde. She wasn't holding her chest.

Her hands, instead, were roaming slowly up and down the front of her skirt. The skirt was black leather. It was very short.

Byron walked toward her. He saw no blood on her s.h.i.+ny white blouse. But he saw that most of the b.u.t.tons were undone. She didn't wear a black lace bra like the bleeder of his fantasy. She didn't wear one at all, and the blouse was open wide enough to show the sides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

*Looking for someone, honey?' she asked. Running the tip of her tongue across her lower lip, she squirmed against the light post. As her hands slid upward, the skirt rose with them. It lifted above the tops of her black fishnet stockings. The straps of a garter belt were dark against her pale thighs.

Feeling a little breathless, Byron looked her in the eyes. *You aren't bleeding, are you?' he asked.

*What do you think?' She eased the skirt higher, but he didn't allow his eyes to wander down.

*I don't think you understand,' he said. *I'm trying to find someone who's bleeding.'

*Kinky,' she said. *What's your name, sweet thing?'

*Byron.'

*I'm Ryder. Wanta find out how I got my name?'

*Have you been standing here long?'

*Long enough to get lonely. And hot.' One of her hands glided up. It slipped inside her blouse. Byron saw the shapes of her fingers through the thin fabric as they fondled her breast.

He swallowed. *What I mean is, did you just get here?'

*Few minutes ago. You like?' She eased the blouse aside, showing him the breast, stroking its erect nipple with the edge of her thumb.

He nodded. *Very nice. But the thing isa did you see anyone go by?'

*Just you, Byron. How about it?' She stared at the front of his slacks. *You look mighty sweet to me. I bet you taste real fine. I know I do. You wanta find out just how fine, too, I'll bet.'

*Wella see, I'm looking for someone who's bleeding.'

Her eyes narrowed. *That'll cost you extra.'

*No, reallya'

*Yes, really.' She curled her lower lip in, and nipped it. Then she pushed the lip outward as if offering it to Byron. A trickle of blood rolled down. When it reached her chin, she caught it on the tip of her index finger. She painted her nipple with it. *Taste,' she whispered.

Byron shook his head.

Ryder smiled. More blood was dribbling toward her chin. *Oh? Do you want it someplace else?'

*No. I'm sorry. Huh-uh.' He backed away from her.

*Hey now, bustera'

He whirled around and ran.

Ryder yelled. He understood why she might be upset, but that was no reason to call him such names. They made him blush, even though n.o.body seemed to be around to hear.

I'm hearing, he thought as he dashed up the sidewalk. And I'm not half those things she's calling me. She knows it, too. She saw.

Crazy wh.o.r.e.

By the time he reached the other side of the next street, she had stopped shouting. Byron looked back. She was gone.

While he gasped for air, he swept the beam of his flashlight over the sidewalk. He saw no blood spots.

I lost the trail!

His throat tightened.

It's all her fault.

He stomped his foot on the sidewalk.

Calm down, he told himself. It's not over yet. You still had die trail when you ran into her.

The DON'T WALK sign was flas.h.i.+ng red, but Byron didn't care. After all, he hadn't even looked at the signal the first time across. Now, it just didn't matter.

Old Dandy'd been bad enough. But Ryder!

Running into people like that made traffic signals seem pretty trivial.

No cars were coming, so he hurried back across the street.

Nothing to it.

He smiled.

When he found a spot of blood on the sidewalk, a thrill rippled through him.

*Ah ha!' he p.r.o.nounced. *The game's afoot!'

Now I'm talking to myself? Why not? I'm holding up fairly well, all things considered.

Spying a second drop of blood, he understood how he had lost the trail. The bleeder hadn't crossed the road, but had headed to the right along Kelsey Avenue.

Byron quickened his pace.

*Gaining on you,' he said.

As he hurried along, he realized that the spots on the sidewalk were farther apart than they used to be. The distance between them had been irregular from the start - but anywhere from three to five feet, usually. Now, it seemed more like eight to ten feet from one drop to the next.

Is the wound coagulating? he wondered. Or is the bleeder running dry?

What if the blood stops entirely?

If that happens, I'll never find her.

Or find her too late - dead in a heap.

Neither outcome suited Byron.

He broke into a run.

A few strides after pa.s.sing the entrance of an alley, he lost the trail again and staggered to a halt. Turning around, he returned to the alley. His flashlight reached into it, and a spot of red gleamed on the pavement two yards ahead.

Odd, he thought. In his fantasies, he'd imagined finding the bleeder in an alley. What if it all would happen just the way he'd pictured it?

Too much to hope for, he told himself.

But he felt a tremor of excitement as he entered the alley.

He s.h.i.+ned his light from side to side, half expecting to find a beautiful woman slumped against one of the brick walls. He saw a couple of garbage bins, but nothing else.

She might be huddled down, concealed by one of the bins.

Byron stepped past them. n.o.body there.

He considered lifting the lids, but decided against it. The things would stink. There might even be rats inside. If the bleeder was in one of them, he didn't want to know.

Better not to find her at all.

This was supposed to be an adventure with a glorious and romantic outcome. It would just be too horrible if it ended with finding a body in the garbage.

He kept going.

Ten strides deeper into the alley, his pale beam fell upon another drop of blood.

*Thank G.o.d,' he muttered.

Of course, there were several more bins some distance ahead -dark boxes silhouetted by faint light where the alley ended at the next road.

Fiends I'll find her before then, Byron told himself.

Any minute, now.

A black cat sauntered across the alley. It glanced at him, eyes glowing like clear golden marbles.

Good thing I'm not superst.i.tious, he thought, the back of his neck tingling.

*If only you could talk,' he said.

The cat wandered over to the right side of the alley. Back hunched, tail twitching, it rubbed its side against a door.

A door!

Byron tipped back his head and inspected the building. He thought that it might be an apartment house. Its brick wall was three stories high, with fire escapes at the windows of the upper floors. All the windows were dark.

He stepped toward the door. The cat leaped and darted past him.

He almost grabbed the k.n.o.b before noticing that it was wet with blood.

A chill crept through him.

Maybe this isn't such a great idea, he thought.

But he was so close.

Still, to enter a building where he didn't belonga This might very well be where the bleeder lived. Why had she entered from the alley, though, instead of using the front? Did she feel that she had to sneak in?

*Strange,' Byron muttered.

Maybe she simply wandered down the alley, lost and dazed, and entered this door in the hope of finding someone who would help her. Even now, she might be staggering down a hallway, too weak to call out.

Byron plucked a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket, shook it open, and spread it over his left hand. He turned the k.n.o.b.

With a quiet snick, the latch tongue retracted.

He eased the door open.

The beam of his flashlight probed the darkness of a narrow corridor. On the hardwood floor gleamed a dot of blood.

He stepped inside. The hot air smelled stale and musty. Pulling the door shut, he listened. Except for the pounding of his own heartbeat, he heard nothing.

His own apartment building, even at this hour, was nearly always filled with sounds: people arguing or laughing, doors slamming, voices from radios and televisions.

His building had lighted hallways.

Hallways that always smelled of food, often of liquor. Now and again, they were sweet with the lingering aromas of cheap perfume.