PSYCHOSAPIEN

19

The guy pulled onto Northumberland Avenue in a 1976 Chevy Corvette, chrome hubcaps spinning and shining in the evening dusk, AC/DC pumping from the speakers.

Highway to Hell.

An appropriate soundtrack, he thought with a smirk.

He took one last bite of his McDonald's cheeseburger and tossed the crumpled wrapper out the window. There was nothing better than a McDonald's cheeseburger. Well, except for maybe a pack of cold beers and a couple of Scandinavian hookers.

But hey, you couldn't everything.

He slowed as he passed the party house, watching as tight knots of teens and young adults made their way up the driveway. Laughing and grinning lie idiots. Like young, attractive idiots.

You still look young, he told himself. At least you still have all your hair—that's more than your dad had when he was your age!

He drove a little further down the street, mounting the curb and pulling into a narrow space between two rusty old vans where nobody could see him. Normally, he loved being recognized. But tonight was different. Tonight, he was going incognito. Like a spy. Like a hot, badass spy. One who could easily pass for 45, if not younger.

He reached into the back seat and grabbed the white plastic shopping bag sitting there. Inside the bag was a cheap black hoodie and a pair of cheap black sunglasses, bought for $19.99 apiece at a petrol station on the way here. He put on the hoodie and the sunglasses and checked himself out in the mirror. It was perfect. You couldn't even tell it was him. Nobody would have the faintest idea that a celebrity—nay, a god!—walked amongst them.

He popped open the glove compartment and removed a small, metallic object. An object that fit snugly in the palm of his hand. With one last, furtive glance out the window, he slipped the object into the big pocket at the front of the hoodie.

Get in quick, get out quicker. Tie up all the loose ends. That was the plan.

It was a plan he intended to stick to.

He flashed himself one last, devastatingly handsome grin in the rearview mirror and clambered out of the car.

***

Ellie scraped the last inch of fudgy ice cream from the tub and spooned it into her mouth.

"Mm, delicious," she mumbled.

"Fudgy and delicious," mumbled Robin, munching on her own mouthful.

"Hey guys." It was Sten. He was at the window, holding the curtain aside and looking down at the driveway. "Come and look at this."

Ellie and Robin joined Sten at the window and peered out.

"Look." A man in a black hoodie and sunglasses was making his way up the driveway.

"Who's that old dude?" asked Robin. "He looks like that gif of Steve Buscemi trying to pass as a teenager."

Ellie frowned.

"Is that...?"

Sten nodded.

"Dr Weller. I'd recognize that son of a bitch anywhere."

"But what would he be doing here?"

"I don't know. But if he's here, the creature can't be far behind."

***

The guy in the cheap hoodie crept around to the side of the house, trying to blend in with a group of teenagers, each carrying a sixpack of some flavoured ale. Blackberry, lychee, fruits of the forest.