Prey

Monster

We hailed a cab and took it to my place as we were both too shit-faced to drive. We giggled and kissed and fondled each other, sprawled across the faux leather upholstery with our limbs tied together like tangled snakes, while the driver kept telling us to get a room in an Indian accent. I think Cassandra tried to tell him to fuck off, but her words were so slurred and broken I couldn't be sure. I laughed maniacally.

As I gazed upon her immaculate face, I noticed something odd. The bruise—it was less intense, the colors less angry, and it seemed to have shrunk. I touched it and she didn't flinch in pain; she squinted instead.

"What? What is it?"

"Your bruise," I said, furrowing my brow. "It looks like it's healing already."

"That's ridiculous. It's just dark out baby. "

That's when I began to notice other things. Her hair wasn't the same shade of black. Her eyes weren't the same shape. Her nose was smaller and pointier than I remembered it being. The vibrant gold tint of her skin was now just a dull tan lacking the glow it had when she first strode into the bar. She didn't look the same. She had changed somehow, yet the change was so subtle I had trouble putting my finger on it.

I wanted to ask her about it, but I found myself kissing her instead.

The headlights of the cab washed over the bronze painted iron double doors with a transom and decorative wrought iron squiggling across the glass like cursive as we pulled up my driveway. The light stabbed through the darkness hovering in the large bay and sash windows that dotted the Victorian house.

"My God," Cassandra gasped. "It's gorgeous! The detail! The gothic architecture. It reminds me..."—she paused and gave me a wary look—"it reminds me of another time."

"It was built in 1854," I said. I handed the driver a wad of bills and told him to keep the change. "It's only undergone three renovations over the years—mostly updates to the amenities of the house. Of course the fireplaces are spectacular, but let's be honest, who can survive without central air these days?"

She giggled and agreed as we climbed out of the cab.

"You bought this house?" She asked as I fished for my keys at the front door.

"It was my parents' ..." I caught myself quickly, remembering the lies I had told her about my father. "It was my mother's actually."

"Was?"

"She died of a stroke ... going on twelve years now."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

I ignited a fire in the fireplace in the living room via remote control, played jazz music on the stereo, and asked her to have a seat on the sofa while I mixed us up some drinks. I asked her if she had any special requests. She asked for whiskey.

As I retreated to the kitchen I realized how drunk I was. I found myself bumping into the hallway walls and keeping an eye closed to focus my vision—I was seeing double. I had gone out hunting with the sole intention of not getting this drunk, but Cassandra had found a way to get me there. Inebriation led to sloppiness, plus it fogged my memory and I liked to remember everything.

I was planning on having a few drinks with her before slipping her the GHB, maybe getting to know her better or cuddling with her and losing myself in her sweet fragrance, but I was getting impatient. If I continued to toss back tumblers of whiskey I risked passing out or an emotional breakdown or simply losing my nerve.

I needed to get her on the table; after that, I could drink as much as I wanted to.

I retrieved two tumblers from the cupboard and dropped two ice cubes in each one. I grabbed a decanter filled with Woodford Reserve and filled both glasses. I pulled a crumpled plastic baggie from my pocket; it contained GHB in sodium form, a white powder that could pass as salt or sugar. I dumped it into Cassandra's drink and mixed it with a spoon.