What Lovely Kidneys You Have (An Eyeless Jack P.O.V & Romance)

2 - You're A Drunken Mess Of Devilish Deals

Mindlessly rubbing alleyway pebbles in the palm of my glove together, I stared emptily into the shallow puddle in front of me. The water was a midnight black due to the illusion caused by the pothole it sheltered itself in, the cracked cement rough in texture and harmless in size. As the puddle began to shake, deforming the reflection of the sky it held, I bowed my head as the engine of a vehicle rumbled closer until I acknowledged the truck. It drove by, its tires crunching against the rocks and debris, pushing its way through the depressed tension the alley held. I remained leaned against the irregular brick building, the pebbles in my hand scrapping against each other. The noisy truck revved off as it pulled into a lane, joining the scant frenzy of cars, anxious to rush home after a lengthy day of labor. Releasing my occupancy from the wall, I tossed the rocks to the ground as they splashed into the concrete abyss, exiting from the darkness of the corridor and into the dying light of the city. The streets carried tired cars as they rolled along to their unimportant destinations, my hunger rising along with the level of pollution in the atmosphere. Pacing across the asphalt, evading the bumpers of multiple vehicles, I tapped the sidewalk with my feet and continued my focused stride, folding my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. Raging smells ran themselves under my nostrils, forcing me to memorize each one, their scents holding identification with every human being I happened to cross paths with. This skill of filing the scent a person’s insides gave off allowed for unnatural tracking and reigned true of practical importance; it made finding specific victims months after invading their space simple. And trust me; I never forgot a smell.

Pacing across numerous streets and reminiscing through targeted neighborhoods, the quiet whisper of an unforgettable scent blew itself around me as I detoured onto another road, the sign overhead reading LIMA in white  paint, florescent green background enforcing the letters. Focusing my senses, the sensation of hunger teased my fingers into a tremble, the overwhelming urge propelling me into a quicker stride as I made my way past the street, revealing a large field with trees. The park rounded on the edges, homes surrounding it in a semi-circle as the rest of the field spread down farther until it reached the beginning of a lake. Patiently gazing east and then west, I surfed the air, sniffing carefully until the scent was located. I followed it diligently, not giving it the opportunity to evade my advances. Capturing sight of bodies ahead of me, I slowed my pace and scaled my travels horizontally from the direction I had been following as the trail went cold. I surveyed the area desperately until a miniature flicker of a flame caught against the darkening environment, just a street across from the park. Stepping forward towards the light until I was in close enough proximity to rediscover the scent, I stood behind a tree, peering from behind it with my hands placed delicately against the rigid bark. The aroma filtered into my anatomy, the scent scratching deliciously at my core. Analyzing the meal approximately 30 feet away from me, I patiently awaited the moment it would travel home and I would stalk it, until the privacy would grant me the right of way to attack. This system of quiet, private, assaults tended to be my genre of murder. Simply attacking in broad day-light or messily and drawing attention was idiotic and went against my standards, especially when the police department got involved. Unlike others I know of, I disapprove of immature publicity; I preferred to keep my killings to a minimum of one newspaper.

The girl pushed herself from the fence she had been leaned against and tossed the cigarette in between in fingers to the concrete, stepping on its thin body with the toe of her shoe, crunching the flame into oblivion. She then took the opportunity to clear her throat before spitting to the ground dismissively, turning into the alleyway with a reckless stumble, disappearing into the darkening corridor. Beaming with pleasure, I smirked, appearing from behind the tree as I paced through the remainder of the park, passing over the asphalt and into the mouth of the alleyway. The meaty scent was as powerful as I had remembered the previous night as I gazed around, the immediate sight of the girl nonexistent. Metallic trash bins reeked in their places, violated with graffiti as the broken fences clung to their pillars. Stalking forward with patient steps, I made virtually not a sound, the odor traveling closer with each step.