Fiends

    He staggered away from the frantic derelict - and saw a spot of blood farther up the sidewalk.

    Dandy wasn’t the bleeder, after all.

    ‘I’m sorry,’ Byron called back. ‘Go back to sleep.’

    He heard a low groan. A voice sunken in fear and disgust said, ‘Aw, looky what they’s done to me.’

    If only I’d left the guy alone, he thought.

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

    But he’d come this far. Besides, he couldn’t turn back without passing 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 unbutton her blouse and peel the bloody 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 assistance, 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, and…

    ‘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 shiny white blouse. But he saw that most of the buttons 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 breasts.

    ‘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 is… 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.’

    ‘Well… see, I’m looking for someone who’s bleeding.’

    Her eyes narrowed. ‘That’ll cost you extra.’

    ‘No, really…’

    ‘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, buster…’

    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 nobody 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 whore.

    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 flashing 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 pronounced. ‘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 passing 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