Teeth

Chapter Six

"And where exactly have you been, Mr. Trent?"

His landlady stood on the front doorstep, a cigarette dripping from her fingers. Her unpainted nails were short and chipped, yellowing with tobacco stains. She brushed a lock of hair back from her face and gave him the grin that always made him feel self-conscious.

"Hi Jenna," Thomas muttered with a guilty smile, bowing his head away from her gaze.

"Come on, Tom," she cooed. "Been out with a nice girl?"

She planted her hand on the other side of the doorframe, blocking his entry as she looked him over. The clothes weren't his, so he could understand her interest. The jeans were a little too long, scrunching around his ankles, the shirt too baggy. Thomas took a step back down the steps away from her and smoothed out the front of the shirt, Usually, he could deal with her incessant questions. He could block out the acrid scent of sweat and smoke, plastered over with flowery perfume that was far too strong. He could even laugh at the raunchy jokes that made him blush, but not today.

Thomas gritted his teeth behind his forced smile. The memory of the woman in the basement room was too recent and too sore to pretend to be happy. He'd considered going to the police but he couldn't think of what he would tell them. He didn't remember how he got there. The man holding him had been blonde, tall, in his early thirties, but had never hurt him. He didn't know the man's name or the woman's. He didn't even know where he'd been kept or what the house looked like.

He'd walked for so long, groggy and confused, that by the time he had thought to remember these things, he couldn't remember which roads he'd taken. He had absolutely no evidence of a crime, not after the man had given him a new set of clothes to wear. And they had just let him go.

That wasn't even to mention that he had been told that he was turning into a vampire. Whoever the sick bastard was, he was, at least, clever. The police would probably lock him up in an institution instead of taking his word and searching for a killer he had no evidence of.

"Just been working," he said finally. "Internship is all hours these days."

"Well, you'll be a good doctor if they ever let you get some sleep."

Thomas gave her a gentle smile. She pulled her arm back and took another drag of the cigarette. Ash fell from the end and landed on her shirt. Swearing under her breath, she brushed the offending ash away, giving Thomas time to slip past her into the hallway. His nose wrinkled, the cloud of smoke burning in his nostrils. Was it him, or was it more pungent than usual? There was a nutty smell underneath the smoke as well. He shook it off, he was just being paranoid.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, he dug around for his keys. As he pulled the set from his pocket, he stared at them in surprise. He'd not thought about it until now, but the man had been thoughtful enough to move his keys to the new clothes. He patted around his hips and even his wallet was in his back pocket, his phone in the other.

He let himself into the apartment and closed the door behind him, locking the deadbolt. This was insane. He was going insane. He was calling a murderer thoughtful. The fact he'd been let go was odd enough but why give him back his belongings? Why hadn't they just killed him? Why—if the woman had been the target—had he been taken at all?

He tossed his wallet, keys, and phone onto the table. Stripping off his clothes, he pulled out a black bin bag and threw the new clothes inside. He tossed the thing down next to the door. He didn't want anything to do with them.

His apartment looked exactly the way it had when he'd left. The half-finished cereal was still on the sideboard, the remains of the milk letting off a stench. Thomas gagged. He'd never known milk to smell so bad. It was sour and layered with the sweet, wet, smell of mould. It made him imagine sandwiches left in lunchboxes and jam with layers of grey and green fur.