A small red bead floats in the dark as the girl I followed into the cellar inhales on her cigarette.

“What kind do you smoke?” I ask, feeling the brick of the wall behind me grind into my back.

“Virginia Slims. I think their ads are sexy,” she says.

I continue to sit and let the words drift around the blackness like the smoke she just exhaled.

“Do you?” she asks.

“What?” I ask.

“Smoke, do you smoke.”

“Nah, it’ll kill you. Plus I was always a bit scared of Joe.”

“Joe?”

“Joe, Joe Camel. You know, from those old Camel ads.”

“Oh, I thought maybe you knew some kid named Joe, who smoked, and you feared him or something. Maybe he threw you in a mud puddle and ashed on your Algebra books.”

“No, nothing like that. Just your usual fear of large headed cartoon figures,” I say.

“That was some crazy…” she says changing the subject.

“Yeah…it was.”

Silence creeps up on us again and we continue to sit in the dark. My eyes adjust to the lack of light and I make out a faint outline of the walls and her sitting with her knees curled up in front of her torso. She grinds her cigarette into the dirt by her left hip, near my leg.

“So?” she says.

“So,” I say.

“Do you have the time?”

I fumble to find my watch and hit the Indiglo button. “11:43 pm”

“Thanks, that thing is really bright.”

“Yeah, especially now. Worth the extra five bucks I paid for it.”

“Does it stay on for more than a few seconds?”

“Yeah, if you hold it down and wait for a beep,” I say as I demonstrate.

“Can I see that?” she asks. A hand reaches into the green sphere of light emanating from my watch.

I unstrap my watch and place it in her hand. Our hands touch and the green light of my watch floats off. Up and down the walls, across the room, and around the black like a lightning bug searching for food in the middle of the night. After exploring the room, the watch is tossed into my lap.

“Anything of interest?” I ask.

“Not much, three solid brick walls, the stairs we came down, dirt floor you’re sitting on. That’s about it.”

“And you and me,” I add.

“Yeah, and you and me,” she says.

We sit in silence, listening to anything and nothing. The wind rattles the wood gate at the top of the stairs. I stretch out my legs and feel dirt slide into my worn leather loafers. She adjusts her sitting position and lights another cigarette. The flame of her Bic lighter reveals the face I remember from the bar.

~

I close my eyes and remember the same sharp nose, expressive lips, hazel eyes, and dark hair that fell in her face every time she looked down at her drink. I remember watching her play with her half-empty pint sitting in front of her. I stirred my Bloody Mary and tried to catch her eyes. She didn’t look up and continued to run laps around the rim of her glass with her left trigger finger. Her right hand tapped a pile of ones on the bar top almost unconsciously.

I took a sip of my drink and looked around the bar. Over my left shoulder, two guys played pool towards the entrance. One was the bouncer; he wore a gray wool stocking cap over his shaved head. On his knee was a nylon knee brace, the sort you see after a recent operation. He limped around the table before positioning himself to sink the 13-ball. He missed the shot and smiled at his buddy. His buddy scratched his red Afro before lining up his own shot. The red-haired guy sank the four-ball and smiled to reveal a gold incisor with an eight-ball imprinted on it, a distinguishing feature on his Wanted poster.

The red-haired guy was my “Mark,” the man I had to kill before midnight. I swung back around to the bar and watched the girl finish her pint and order another. While trying to see what the bartender poured, I got a good view of the bartender’s expansive back.

The bartender turned around and ran his fingers through his black beard like he just thought of something. He looked at me and I nodded towards my empty drink. He busied himself with making another Bloody Mary. I watched the girl flip her hair behind her ear.

Within minutes my second Bloody was ready. The bartender nodded as he placed my drink on a cork coaster and took my money. The girl lit a cigarette while glancing around the bar. Our eyes met and she smiled. I smiled back with raised eyebrows.

“Hey buddy, IDs,” sounded from behind me.

The bouncer was shoving on the chest of some tired-looking man. The man had an easy dozen of his pals behind him. Each wore the same tired, pale, gray look with dark circles under each of their yellow eyes. They looked like they had just walked in from solitary confinement or worse. The men pushed through the door as the bouncer said, “I’m warning you.”

The one with the bouncer’s hand on his chest opened his mouth wide and leaned down to take a huge bite out of the ample forearm of the bouncer.

“Shit, shit man…” the bouncer said as he cocked his right arm back to take a swing at the mob.

The man with the chunk of flesh in his mouth continued to chew as repeated haymakers landed on his face. It didn’t faze the man, and his buddies pushed into the room as Mark took a swing with his pool cue at the nearest one.

“Watch the merchandise, eh? That’ll be the third cue I’ve replaced this month, you goons,” the bartender mumbled as he wiped a pint glass dry with a small green towel with a white Z embroidered on it.

I watched the dozen or so men devour the bouncer and Mark. I figured it was easier for me to watch for now. Limbs were ripped out, leaving jagged holes in the torsos of the bouncer and Mark. Both guys fell to the ground and the mob chewed their way through their flesh. Blood flew and oozed from the orgy of men. I heard a splatter of puke hit the floor as the bartender lost his dinner.

I turned around to see the girl sitting mouth open, stunned. Her hands lay lazily on her pint glass until she slowly pointed like her arms were on marionette strings. I spun around on my stool and saw the mob of men moving towards me in jerky movements. It was like their feet were stuck in mud and periodically they freed their feet from the suction and moved quickly until they sunk into the mud pit again. I moved my hand to my shoulder holster in a silent, practiced motion. I felt the cool of my revolver in my hand, comfortable, familiar, like holding hands with a long-time girlfriend.

She slid out of the strap with a whisper of oiled leather. With my left hand I raised my Blood Mary to my lips, and by the time my right hand squeezed six times, my drink was down my throat. Six of the dozen men now lay on the ground, writhing in death throws, with gaping holes through their foreheads. The last six kept sliding towards me. I grabbed a bottle of Bacardi 151 from behind the bar and searched the countertop for a book of matches. Just my luck I chose the pub without a signature matchbook.

I continued to grope around the maple bar as I looked up to the girl. She tossed me her purple Bic lighter. I jammed a bar rag into the top of the bottle and lit the free end. A blue flame wriggled around and gained momentum as it ate through the rag. I tossed the bottle like the final pitch in a full count in the ninth inning of the World Series with two outs. One more man, if that’s what you can call them, was now squirming around in flames.

I got off my stool and the girl picked up on my body language. I followed her out the back door and into an alley. We splashed through the alley and onto a side street. I hoped she knew where she was going. I followed her to an open grass field. The grass was slick, and when another man jumped out of the dark I slipped before I could pull him off her.

They struggled on the ground, like lovers or gladiators, as I delivered a running kick to his skull. His head flew off, twisting jaw over crown into the night. I helped her up and followed her a few more yards to a storm cellar door.

Without a word we climbed down into the darkness and braced the door shut behind us with a large plank of wood. Huffing from the run, we sat down and she lit a cigarette.

~

“Yeah, and you and me,” she says.

We sit in silence and I mull over the night.

“How did you know this would be here?” I ask.

“My grandmother used to live down the hill. When my mother brought me to visit, I would take her dogs into the field and run around. I found this place. There is a little creek that runs a little west of here. Up the hill is a tree where I kissed a boy with a scar on his chin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Kaitlyn. Katie.”

“Clark,” I say.

She offers her hand and I shake it. Her handshake is strong, but with a cold, soft palm.

“You’re cold,” I say.

“Yeah, a bit,” she says.

I take off my leather jacket and toss it towards her.

“Thanks.” I hear the shuffling sound of leather sliding over skin. “Why’d you follow me?” she asks.

“I don’t know…well I do know. All night I’ve been looking at you,” I say.

“Yeah, I noticed that. I liked it. You’ve got pretty eyes.”

“Thanks, so do you…”

She says nothing.

“I also like your hair,” I say.

“Really? Most guys don’t like short hair. They think it makes me look like a dyke.”

“I’m not most.”

Some time passes and I check my watch. It is 2:30 am and I relay the information to Katie.

“Probably best to get some sleep, hunh?” she says.

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” I say. I stand up and grope my way towards the door. I double-check the plank is in place and the door is closed. I then feel my way to a wall and sit down.

“Um, do you mind…” Katie starts.

“What?” I ask.

“Two favors…”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

“Could you hold me tonight?” she asks.

I slide over to where she is laying in the dirt. I wrap my right arm around her and she scoots her body against mine. Her butt is near my crotch and I try not to react. I feel her breath as she pulls herself even closer to me. The rhythm of her exhalations hypnotizes me into falling asleep and forgetting about the other favor.

~

The next morning, sunlight stretches in from narrow openings in the door. I wake up and check my watch, seven in the morning. Kaitlyn is in my arms, and I can still feel her breathing. Her back expands against my chest with each inhalation, and every exhalation sends a gust of warm air onto my wrist she is using as a pillow. I lay there for a while until my bladder can’t stand it.

I sit up with hesitation and creep my way to a corner of the cellar.

“You’re awake,” she says. Her voice first startles me and then comforts me.

“Yeah, nature calls,” I say as I zip up my dirty khakis.

“Sounds like a good idea,” she says with a yawn and a stretch.

I turn away as she squats where I just stood. We say nothing as she finishes up and slides her jeans on.

“About that second favor…” I say.

“Yeah, about that,” she says.

I turn around to see her sitting on the steps leading to the exit. The light shines on her as she shrugs off my jacket and places it on the step beside her. She is wearing a black tank top and I see a mean scab forming on her left shoulder.

“Take a look at this,” she says.

I bend down near her and examine the wound. It has all the signs of a bite: teeth imprints, jagged, gross, and messy. She looks at me and I look back at her. I place my hands on the worn knees of her jeans. She puts her hands on top of mine.

“I’ve seen a few movies in my time, and this is probably the kiss of death,” she explains.

I nod and look at her sculpted eyebrows. I start to say something but she puts her hands up to my mouth.

“Don’t. Don’t,” she says.

“I was going to say that I’m out of bullets.”

She smiles and stands up. She steps closer to me and places her cold hands on my cheeks. I lean down and we kiss. I recall my first kiss. I remember walking home still feeling the silky softness of her lips on mine. The tingle of her lips burned into my subconscious. Her name was Andrea. I’ve never felt a better kiss than that first kiss, until Kaitlyn.

My lips tingle and buzz with pleasure as I hold her down with my hands around her throat. I was trained that it takes about three minutes for somebody to lose consciousness when getting strangled. On minute five the person is usually dead.

Minute one: Katie smiles at me.

Minute two: the smile continues.

Minute three: her eyes close as she slips off.

Minute four: her eyes flip open with blazing yellow orbits. She has the same worn-out, hungry look I saw the night before. She struggles.

Minute five: She stops struggling.

I open the cellar door and step out into the morning. Smoke rises from the nearby neighborhood. Sirens scream out from all sides of me. I start walking west, towards a water source. The tingling on my lips stays.