Awake and still satisfied, she could now re-focus her attention. With dusk settling in the air, she set out onto the sidewalk, rounded the corner, and headed down to watch Paul entertain his latest date.
It was a brunette this time. She seemed much less animated than Bubbles…actually, almost lifeless. Paul could sense it too. He yawned when his date was not looking.
Sophia had positioned herself where she could see Paul’s full face and about a third of his date’s. Sophia sipped her wine and tried to focus her keen ear on their conversation.
“I just don’t know what to do now,” the date said. Sophia thought she saw the woman’s bottom lip trembling a little. Paul’s brow furrowed in concern and he cocked his head.
“You’ll be just fine,” he said to her. He reached out and covered the woman’s hands with his own.
Sophia looked on, curious. Paul seemed genuinely concerned about whatever this woman was going through. Sophia felt a bit jealous. Empathy. She wasn’t sure she had an ounce to give to anyone. She couldn’t remember feeling it for someone…maybe Thomas to some degree, but that was something different, not quite empathy. It was more as if she didn’t want to share Thomas with anyone. He was one of her obsessions, but as far as her concern for his well-being, she wasn’t sure it was there. Thomas was more like a prized possession to her.
Maybe Argie, too. She did care about the cat. But she was more interested in keeping him around as a companion and fulfilling his basic needs. She didn’t feel sorry for him, but she could understand he had basic needs and wants. Argie was easy to relate to. People were not.
What was the brunette to Paul? How was it that he could feel so much concern for her well-being? He must. His facial expressions told her so.
Paul and his date weren’t even close to finishing their meal. Sophia got up to make a quick restroom run.
There was no one else in the restroom. Sophia looked at her emaciated, pale reflection. She furrowed her brow and cocked her head, imitating the gesture she saw Paul making earlier. Instead of looking concerned, she looked angry and intimidating. She smiled at her reflection and noticed her eyes did not crinkle around the edges. They did not change at all. Irritated with herself, she went back to her table.
They were now preparing to leave. Paul helped his date into her coat and put his arm around her. That was another thing. Paul was touchy feely with all of his dates. Sophia couldn’t stand being touched unless she was in the mood for it. Paul couldn’t seem to get enough of it.
She waited until they left the restaurant to follow them. Outside, light rain came down in a misty, cool curtain in the chilly San Francisco evening. Sophia pulled her hood over her hair and stayed far behind the couple. They were still talking softly. Paul’s voice sounded calm and soothing, and the woman sniffled every so often.
Crying. That was another one she didn’t get. Sophia felt a mangled barbed wire cut through her heart when her mother died, but the tears never came. She felt too dried up and empty to express anything. Besides, Claude moved in right after her death and began to “take care of things.” Sophia grimaced at the memory and looked at the damp sidewalk. When she looked up, Paul was peering over his shoulder, his blue eyes locked on hers. Sophia became alarmed. She thought about stopping and staring back, but her instincts kicked in, and luckily, she made herself keep her pace. She looked up at an intersecting street.
Fine. I’ll make the block and go back to his apartment in a moment.
She turned down Geary and pretended to be on her way. In about five minutes, Paul would be at his doorstep, trying to convince the brunette to come inside. No matter. In the same amount of time, Sophia would round the block and be in a perfect position to spy on them.
Sophia mused as she rounded the corner. Maybe she could approach Paul with some problem, or pretend to look sad and hope that he’d approach her. From what she could tell, he was interested in helping people out. Many of his dates looked as if they were in the midst of emotional crises.
Sure enough, the two were standing right outside Paul’s complex. Paul had his arms on the woman’s shoulders, and her head was down. She was crying now, and Paul had that same look of concern on his face.
Sophia wanted his arms around her, wanted him to look at her that way. She stayed still. Watching this scene was absolutely necessary. If she wanted him, she’d have to know about him, and she’d have to keep her distance and watch him carefully.
He won’t see me. I can go out on my own, unnoticed most of the time. I can observe people and drink their energies from afar. People are curious creatures. I do wonder how someone can be so empathetic, so caring, but have the same heightened senses as myself. How do they care? How can it not be superficial?
She lingered in the shadows and watched them talk. The woman’s voice rose and fell in pitch, unlike her own flat, ineffective voice. She supposed that was why she observed people. I don't know. I can't care. I think I did at one time, sometime before Claude showed up in my life. He made me not care. I really think he made me the way I am.
Paul’s date contorted her face in strange ways and Sophia made a mental note to try them out in the mirror later. Deep inside, she knew this made her strange, an outcast. I still do not know what I am. Or who I am, really. I know I am good with my business: it's been lucrative, passive income for me for a long time now. I know I have a need to control others, but it's also for business. It serves many purposes. I still don't know why I allow myself to obsess over certain people and want to control others.
They say you’re obsessed with certain people because they have something you lack. Paul’s got charm. He has a heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tamara and the Tall Order
Tamara drummed her nails on the countertop and waited for the little snot nosed brat to order. Tamara guessed she was from Marin and that she probably drove a Jetta, bought by Daddy. These kinds of girls set Tamara’s teeth on edge. Order a latte. With skim milk. You know you want to. Marin girls always ordered skim milk lattes.
Tamara wanted to laugh when she finally did order the latte, but she bit her tongue.
She hadn’t noticed the guy she was with—he fell in step behind the Marin girl, but it began to register when he smirked and locked his eyes with her. That sadistic little grin told her that he enjoyed the fact that she was having a hard time placing him, and then a familiar chord struck her. Chills ran up her spine in little icy spikes of adrenaline. The same penetrating eyes that stared at her from behind a video camera. She had to hand it to him. He blended in very well. It was as if he became a different person every single time she saw him. But it was him all right. Tamara cursed herself for not remembering him right away.
He ordered a plain black coffee. She hated the way his fingers brushed her palm when he handed her the money, and she hated the way he looked down at her. Most of all, she hated the fact that little Ms. Marin didn’t seem to have a clue about what was going on. In fact, she seemed absorbed in her own thoughts, unsure of what to do with her latte, and on the verge of a meltdown.
Tamara watched the pair interact. The guy talked animatedly and Ms. Marin smiled a little more each minute. Tamara tried to ignore them as much as possible, but it was hard not to eavesdrop on their conversation. It was pretty clear that Ms. Marin, despite her good looks and the fact that cute guys wanted to buy her expensive coffee drinks and make her smile, was depressed about something. And this guy, whoever the fuck he was, was trying to make her feel better. More like trying to get in her pants, Tamara thought as she occupied herself with dishes.
Ms. Marin left with a satisfied look on her face, still carrying her skim milk latte. Tamara prepared herself. She knew the creep would come over and talk to her, but when she made eye contact with him, he just held her gaze and sipped his coffee. She felt a little skittish since they were alone in the shop together now, so Tamara sighed and put her hands on her hips, raised her eyebrows in dramatic irritable fashion. The man chuckled and got up, wal
ked to the counter.
“I already know what you’re going to ask me. The answer is no.”
The man laughed. “How do you know what I was going to ask? I respect that you’ve stepped away from your wild past.”
“And I’m doing just fine now, thank you very much. I don’t need your money.”
“I see that. But don’t forget what got you started,” he retorted in a low, baritone whisper. He reached out and wrapped his finger around one of her curls.
“Don’t touch me!” she hissed. He chuckled again.
“Where’s your little friend?”
“You mean Celestine? She works here for me. And no, she’s not an escort. So fuck off.”
“I’m talking about Rikki.” The man’s tone was now husky, serious. He made a face as if he realized he slipped up. “I miss her, you know?” This time, sugar coated sweetness.
“I’m sure you do. Rikki still works. You can find her in the Tenderloin.”
“The Tenderloin, huh? Is she with an agency or is she independent now?”
Stupid jerk, Tamara thought as she bit her tongue. The question was loaded with sarcasm.
“Obviously, if she’s in the Tenderloin, she’s independent. She’s….um…” Tamara paused, her mind bouncing back to a time when voluptuous Rikki had been bubbly and cute. The last time Tamara had seen her, she was somber and had lost her curves. She’d probably need the money. Tamara hesitated in telling the man Rikki’s exact hangout, but she figured she’d be doing the girl a favor by sending her some business. The man was a creep, but he had money. Lots of it. His wealth had been absolutely evident that time she’d gone back to his place with him, and since she actually knew where he lived, she thought it wouldn’t be much harm in hooking him up with Rikki’s number.
“Here. I’ll just write it down.” Tamara thumbed out a clean napkin and scribbled down the location.
“Thanks, doll.” The man fetched a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and deposited it into the tip jar. He turned on his heel in a quick, practiced motion and nudged his way out the door. Tamara’s mouth set into a deep frown as a steady and powerful wave of queasiness passed through her.
CHAPTER NINE
Sophia: A Blood Bond
Sophia felt a heavy presence of paranoia tapping her on the shoulder. Something felt wrong. Argie knew it, too. He paced endlessly and frequently paused at the door, looked at her and opened his mouth, as if to say, “Will you please let me outside?”
Sophia didn’t dare. Argie wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Neither was she. Not for a while, anyway. It was dark with a sheet of mist in the air, but she still had plans to check on Paul later that evening.
Argie paced a tense circle around the kitchen table where she sat. She watched him for a moment to distract herself. His fur prickled, making him look about ten pounds heavier. She listened carefully for noises outside.
There it was. Something outside, just below the fire escape. Sophia looked at the digital clock on the microwave. 9:14 p.m. She tiptoed over to the balcony and peered out the window. Yes. Someone was definitely outside. A homeless person, possibly. Or maybe the person who broke into her apartment. Sophia could practically smell the same pheromones that lingered in her apartment the day of the break-in. It was as oddly familiar now as it was then.
She continued to keep her eyes locked on the area the noise came from. There! She saw movement from the dumpsters.
She felt disappointed. So it was a homeless person. She sighed and started to leave her location at the window when she saw movement: a pair of black gloves, leather glistening in the moonlight.
They looked familiar. She puzzled over who she saw wearing them. The young girl’s face immediately popped into her head, but she wasn’t sure that was right.
Argie let out a concerned yowl and Sophia lost sight of the gloves and movement. She scowled at Argie, but felt confident she had enough information for the time being. She decided to leave it be and get dressed to go out.
* * * *
Sophia wondered what Paul could be up to this evening. She had never seen him take public transit. She hated it herself. It always left her faintly sick, as though some strange entity had sucked out her soul. The bright lights burned her already sensitive eyes, and the constant chatter and roaring, demonic sound of the bus accelerating made her feel overwhelmed. And the smell. The smell was like a toxic gumbo of body odor, strong enough to make her gag.
She shifted uncomfortably against the blue fabric covered seat and stared at the back of Paul’s head. Following him on foot was much more comfortable. She had the shadows to veil her and she could get away quickly if she needed to. Public transportation was different. What if he recognizes me?
It was a short ride. Paul began to gather his coat and umbrella when the operator announced that the Civic Center was approaching.
Sophia kept him in her sights and made an extra effort to stay low-key. Her stalking would be much more apparent since they were both outside of their own neighborhoods. But part of the reason she was on this daring expedition in the first place was the hope that he’d catch her. If confronted, maybe he’d be flattered that a lost love sick puppy was following him around, totally enthralled by his every move.
Women don’t like stalkers, but men are totally different.
All of her victims had blushed or smiled with a glint in their eyes when they noticed her staring at them.
A blast of cold air greeted her as she stepped off the train and followed Paul. The chilly, humid breeze provided relief from the stifling, stagnant air inside the station. Sophia wished there was a way to open windows on public transit without pissing off confrontational passengers. Public transit made her thankful she had her Honda, even though it was a piece of shit. At least she could roll down the windows.
Paul didn’t go far before greeting some street musician with a guitar. They talked for a moment, and the busker pointed up the stairs. Paul thanked him, dropped a Washington into the guitar case and headed up the stairs.
Where the hell is he going? This wasn’t the best area. Paul often frequented lavish restaurants and trendy places. This area was run-down and sad.
Paul approached a young woman who was sitting with her back against the concrete wall. The young woman didn’t move or say anything for some time, as if she was mulling something over, and then got up and followed Paul down 7th Street. Sophia’s nose wrinkled at the smell of garbage and urine, so strong it stung her nostrils and burned the back of her throat. She gulped and quickened her pace to catch up with the suspicious pair as they disappeared into a dark alley. She hung back and crouched, using the shadows of the looming buildings as her cover.
They talked for a few minutes, and then Paul put a hand over the girl’s mouth. His other hand pushed her back against the dingy brick wall, and her high heel crashed into a mucky puddle. Paul’s face changed from soothing to venomous. She knew that look. That was the face she put on when she was attacking her own victims. Sophia licked her lips and shifted her weight, excited. The woman was nervous, and her pulsating energy was drifting through the air. Sophia lapped it up like a hungry pup.
Paul thrashed around with her in an attempt to pin her arms above her head, and the girl kicked and pushed against him. He slapped her. He reached down below and jerked her skirt up over her hips and ripped her thong off. The girl let out a scream, but Paul muffled her with his hand. He unzipped his pants and gripped his erection, then pounded it into the girl, taking a few strokes to get it in. Sophia watched the woman wince and writhe under Paul’s weight. Sophia could practically feel the girl’s energy fizzling out like a pathetic neon light. Was it the rape? Sophia guessed so, although she suspected that her nervousness would spike, not diminish like this.
She was confused--then she smelled it. Sourly sweet and familiar. Copper and metal, with a hint of rust and salt. Blood. Sophia squinted through the shadows. Yes, it was everywhere now, pooling around the woman’s abdomen and trickling down her legs. T
he woman’s energy was nowhere to be felt, either. It had finally faded out. She was gone.
Paul neatly wiped the knife off on the woman’s shirt, and its blade shimmered, so bright it almost hurt.
What just happened? How could this be? As a thousand questions swam around in her head, her body stiffened, like icicles had formed up the length of her esophagus. She felt a strange, intense need to urinate.
Should I run? Stay here? He held the dead girl in place for some time before he moved away from her body. She slumped and collapsed, and Paul walked in the other direction, leaving her like a used up piece of garbage.
She was long gone. She was surprised to see Paul walk away from the body without disposing of it. This concept was foreign to Sophia. She always got rid of her bodies. She was paranoid that evidence would point back to her.
After she regained her composure, Sophia stood up. Her muscles felt locked into place in that crouching position for so long that they ached and she had a hard time standing up. The smell of the blood was getting to be too much. Her mouth flooded with saliva. Sophia was not sure if she wanted to throw up or take a closer look at the body, but the prospect of checking out Paul’s handy work got the best of her. She tiptoed over to the slumped body, careful not to get too close. No blood on the shoes. The girl’s lifeless body was in the fetal position, and Sophia could tell from the sheer volume of blood that Paul had stabbed her in the heart. So, he does it just for fun.
Footsteps in the distance startled her back into reality. She fled back to the main street, her mind racing.
As the bus crept back through the city towards the Presidio, the humidity felt like it spiked, making it harder and harder for Sophia to breathe. She felt like gasping for breath.
She did not sleep that night. Instead, she sat in her apartment, cozy enough, wrapped in an old blue quilt. The rain outside pattered against the windowpane, collected in neat little spherical pools, then trickled down in sparkling rivulets. Sophia watched them for a long time, fascinated, letting her mind drift to the events of the evening.
Paul had defined shoulders, a tapered torso, and tight waistline. She remembered seeing his body twist and contort perfectly while he fucked the girl, his strong, controlled movements when he plunged the knife into her, and how his body visibly relaxed when he finished the job. Even now, going back to the memory, she found herself as wet as she was before. She lay back on the loveseat, letting the threadbare blue quilt pool around her legs and shoulders. She wished she could have done this while watching him…if only she’d been able to, it would have provided the most intense climax. This was something she was positive of.