“You are nothing but a bum,” he hisses.
Heat spreads through the cellar.
“And what exactly are you?” I lean against the wall.
The scent.
“I am an honourable man, an admirable man!” he exclaims, and I can’t help but laugh. “How dare you—” he starts, but I interrupt him.
“I know about the bodies,” I say, still calm. His face drops into an expression of utter shock.
“What b-bodies?” he stammers.
Food.
“Did you hire me to kill me, too? Once I did all your chores for you,” I ask, and his quick muttering only confirms my suspicion.
The scent of food.
“What did you do to Pepper?”
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about?” He’s completely unconvincing. He lifts his arms in innocence. When they drop, a red glow lingers in the air. Just for a second.
I step toward him in four long strides. His body reeks of age and disuse. But his blood is calling to me. Incessantly. My mouth involuntarily waters, but I brush it off. Gross.
“What did you do to Pepper?” I repeat.
And when he doesn’t reply, I step closer. He lets out a confused squawk. His breath smells worse than rotten meat. I’m so disgusted but I try to ignore it.
“I really don’t want to repeat myself again, okay?” I say.
Bayard starts to splutter. Is he scared?
“I, uhm…I killed…“ he stammers, but fear seems to make his tongue too soft.
“Come on, Bayard. Spit it out,” I say, not wanting to spend any more time around him than I have to.
“I killed her family. I…” he explains.
“Did you?”
“I killed her parents and brought them here,” he adds.
His hands are scrambling along the wall. The scratching of his nails on the stone hurts my ears. Bayard’s every breath coats the air. It clings to my skin, crawls into my throat. Drool and snot mix with his words. It’s unbearable. His spit lands on my cheek, and before I know it, my hand is around his neck. I push him against the wall. He squeaks, and his eyes bulge out of his face. Surprised at my sudden strength, I loosen my fingers.
“Eat him,” a voice behind me says suddenly.
I turn and see Lazarus standing next to the stairs. Then I look at Bayard, his bloodshot eyes, wide and desperate. I just want this stench to stop, for his revolting spit to stop flying across the room.
But it would be so easy to just crush his throat and make it stop. I feel the strength coursing through me. Alive.
The channels across his withered skin sing. So vivid.
“I sense your hunger,” Lazarus says.
I feel my mouth watering. Yes. It is easy. Just eat and make the hunger stop.
I step closer, my fingers twitching. I could do both. Stop the stench and quench the need. The blood calls. It screams my name. But the stench doesn’t lessen. It clings. It only grows. And the smell of food makes my stomach turn.
