In room 107 of the Rambler Hotel, downtown, a man looked at the woman laying on the hotel bed. She shuddered imperceptibly.
“You getting nervous?” She chuckled.
“No.” He began unbuttoning his shirt. She looked down at the bed, trying to force herself to do what she needed to.
A shadow moved from the closet to just behind the man. A figure rose up from the shadow, eyebrows drawn and teeth clenched.
“Turn around, bastard.”
“Huh?” The man turned around, shirt half-unbuttoned and hanging off his stocky frame. The shadow-figure put a finger on the man’s neck and pushed. A dark spot appeared on the man’s skin, following his veins and traveling outwards. The man looked into the shadow’s gleaming white eyes, a look of pure terror on his face. The shadow laughed, then pushed his finger into the man. The black lines had now spread to cover the man’s face, and they were snaking their way across his arms. He looked at his arms, his fear growing as fast as the black lines. When the lines reached his heart the man turned to dust, which lazily drifted to the floor.
“Are you okay?” The shadow asked the woman, coming to stand at the side of the bed.
“Who are you?” The woman had her back pressed against the backboard, her face as white as it could possibly be.
“Your savior.”