A Case of Time-Travelling Shorts

Passing Time -IV

IV

Bastian zipped the pest controller's jumpsuit over his own clothes, and pulled the stolen cap over his face, a cage embroidered on the front of it. The controller had been a welcome treat. Bastian had been careful to slice his throat surgically with a glass bottle shard. Fang marks raised all sorts of alarms with the authorities. A dog cowered in a cage at the back of the van, whimpering pitifully. Bastian felt sorry for it, it looked like a living skeleton, its ribs protruding from its body. He glanced at the corpse lying on the floor of the van, and shrugged.

"Waste not, want not," he told the dog, unbolting its cage.

He slipped out of the van, leaving the door ajar for the dog, and approached the back of the museum. He carried a rectangular cage, and the name'Dennis' embroidered on the front of his jumpsuit.

At the security desk, a security guard looked at him skeptically. "You're here for what?"

"I don't make the calls. I catch the pests," he said dejectedly. "Do you want your robo-conference to be overrun with vermin or not?"

"I'm going to have to check with your company."

"Fine by me," Bastian said, putting on an air of arrogance. 

"Oh, yup. You're coming up on the screen. What's your full name?" the guard asked.

"It's Dennis. Dennis -uh-"

The security guard narrowed his eyes.

Bastian thought quickly. He bludgeoned the security guard with the cage. The man collapsed to the floor. Bastian bundled him under the desk hurriedly, and checked the screen.

"Dennis Angoris. Huh."

He patted security guard down, looking for a security tag. Annoyance burnt through him when he found none. There were none in the desk either.

The amphibian smell was close, Bastian realized, as he scented the air. It mingled with human blood. By the accompanying smells, he guessed it coming from a bathroom. He hadn't used a toilet for centuries; not for their traditional purpose anyway. As he approached the door, he noted two sets of small wet footprints leaving the bathroom.

He investigated the alluring smell of blood, pushing open the bathroom door. The stall at the end of the room was occupied. An irregular heartbeat thumped in the stall, close to the ground. The best thing about toilets, Bastian had found, was a lack of security cameras. He took the stall adjacent to the occupied one and knelt down, peering under the adjacent wall. In the other stall lay an unconscious security guard, in a puddle of blood and half frozen water. The toilet itself had jagged spears of ice sticking from it. The frog and meerkat were dangerous; he would have to be careful not to underestimate them when they finally did cross paths. 

Bastian put his hand under the stall, reaching for the man's wrist. He admired the security guard's gloves. Iron knuckles were embedded the black polyfibre. He pulled the glove off and slipped it on own his hand. A perfect fit.

As he yanked the guard's other arm under the door, his body thunked hard against the wall. Bastian removed the other glove. After appropriating it to his hand, he glanced at the man's exposed wrist. This was too good of an opportunity to miss. He cut a careful line across the man's wrist, and savored the first draw of blood as it pulsed over his tongue.

While he was feeding, Bastian realized the guard might have a security pass. With his free hand, he grabbed the blood bag's belt and pulled, slamming the body against the wall. Something cracked, though Bastian didn't particularly care what. Humans were pathetically frail. He reached under the wall, but found no security tag affixed to his belt or pockets. Frustrated, he pulled the body toward him again, rotating it for the left pocket. There was nothing. Not even in his shirt pocket.