She's a Man-Eater

1. Night Shift

The early August air was still humid, dampened only by nightfall and the occasional gust of wind that blew by the back alley of the station. The noise of the generators settled to a quiet hum as the lights in the building went off one by one. The station's employees had gone home, leaving the building entirely empty until the night shift crew arrived.

Jesse breathed in the night air as she mindlessly fiddled with the flip lighter in her left hand; with her right she dug around in her pockets for her keys. Her shift ended an hour ago, she guessed. Her watch was broken and she didn't bother checking the time on her phone. She wasn't yet interested in going home to her loud neighbors or her irritating roommate. Instead, she opted to wait outside her car until it was absolutely necessary for her to leave.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She sighed and pulled it out, glancing at the time as she did so. Jesse's roommate, Oliver, was calling her, and she noticed a missed call from him earlier that day. She considered ignoring the call, not particularly interested in whatever it was Oliver had to say to her. She was only five years his senior, but she found him to be incredibly child-like. Jesse's thumb was hovered above the decline button when she considered the possibility that something could be wrong with the house. Grudgingly, she answered the call.

Jesse held the phone to her ear, the cool screen felt nice against the hot air. "Hello?"

"Jess, hey," Oliver said, his voice muffled by something, "You gonna be home soon?"

Jesse could've asked why, but she didn't really care to know, "Half an hour or so."

"Cool, cool," something on the other end of the line crashed and Jesse heard Oliver let out a small yelp. He must've set the phone down, because his voice became faint as he quietly muttered to himself.

"What was that?" Jesse asked flatly.

"Just one of my cameras, no big deal." His voice was still distant. "See you when you get home." The call abruptly ended and Jesse shoved her phone back in her pocket. If she actually planned on getting back as soon as she said, she would need to leave now.

Again, she searched her pockets for her keys, finally finding them in one of the pockets of her blazer. Just barely over the sound of her car unlocking, she heard something behind her. Jesse glanced over her shoulder to see a man stumbling towards her. He wore a torn white button down soaked in what looked like blood and urine. He held his hands in the air and coarsely called out to her.

"I need help! I need the police!" He continued his shamble towards her. She stood up straighter, putting her keys back in her pocket. "I need help..." the man said again, quieter.

Jesse held one hand up, "It's all right, I'm with the police." The man stopped only a foot or so away from her, he reeked of alcohol. "Is that your blood, sir?"

The man looked down at his shirt, as if he hadn't noticed the blood. "I need..." he looked around them, like he was unsure of where he was. "How do I know you're with the police?" He asked suspiciously.

Jesse furrowed her brow. She wasn't technically lying when she said she was with the police, she was currently working on a case with the local PD. Still, she found it curious that a man clearly in need of help would be so suspicious of her. From her wallet, Jesse produced her FBI identification card.

His eyes widened as Jesse put the card away, "Oh, man." His voice was stronger now, though he seemed more frantic.

Again, she asked about the blood. When he remained silent, she asked, "Do you need medical attention?" She took a single step toward him and abruptly stopped. At some point, the man lowered his hands. One hand was beneath his shirt, now. He was holding something.