He had been ready to leave, the clubbers dull and the air too hot and thick with the scent of over-washed skin and cologne. That was when he spotted her. She walked by the bouncer, under his elbow as she was so small.
She was beautiful. So much more than any of the others in her group. The club's house lights danced on her black hair. The smile that stretched her perfect skin bunched her cheeks, made her eyes crinkle at the corners, and showed off her white teeth.
He moved closer, inching his way toward the group, toward her. She danced freely, smiling, laughing, her head thrown back, her front tooth crooked and making her more beautiful.
Her friends danced and laughed with her, but they were not as wild, as free. The music beat just for her, for her body, for the way it moved.
Sweat glistened on her skin. Her dark eyes shone bright in the flashing lights. Colors glittered in their depths, like stars in a glassy lake at midnight.
With several people between them and a pole to lean on, he stopped and watched her openly.
She was not intoxicated in any way as most of the people in the club. She was here to have a good time, and it showed in the way she wiggled her bottom against those dancing nearest her, the way she laughed that deep, throaty laugh when a young man whispered something in her ear.
As the night wore on, many more men attempted to buy her drinks or get her to dance alone with them. Nothing worked. She was not here to meet anyone. She remained with her friends, though clearly enjoying the attention from the men. Her friends watched with a mixture of admiration and jealousy, here possibly because of her good looks and wishing they were somewhere else for the same reason.
Near midnight her friends leaned close, having stopped their dancing, and spoke into her ear. She pulled away, a frown creasing that beautiful brow, and shook her head. When they attempted to speak to her again she danced more elaborately and they backed off, or else be smacked by her flailing arms.
Finally, one of them shouted something he could not hear over the music, and then stormed away, leaving the club. A moment's hesitation, during which she only danced, her smile forced, and then the rest of the group left her.
Alone, she closed her eyes, ignoring all further attempts to win her attention, and swayed to the deepest bass notes of the music. Others danced faster, keeping time with the notes playing like jagged bits of glass scraping against stone. But not her. She moved slowly, her chest pumping, her arms swinging, her legs bouncing, her hips twitching, all slowly, all hypnotic.
At two in the morning, when the DJ shut down his system, and the manager announced closing time, he followed her as she left the club on shaky legs. She panted in the cool air, darkness everywhere save for the pools of dirty streetlight on the pavement. Clubbers filtered into cars or taxis, but she set off on foot.
She shivered in her skimpy clothes, rubbing her bare arms with her hands. Her heeled boots tapped against the sidewalk, but the man was silent, a shadow among shadows. Though he kept his distance he could smell her, the scent trailing behind on the warm, summer air was something flowery and musky, something he hoped would keep.
At a darkened crossroads, she paused. Perhaps she was going to call for a ride realizing how far she might have to go. Where she would keep a cell phone he didn't know, but he sidled up beside her, making her jump. She didn't scream, but she may have been too frightened or too tired to do so.
She stared at him, her dark eyes wide and looking up so far that her neck was bent backwards. She was so small. So perfect. He knew how women liked to look at him, how spellbound they seemed at first. If he remained still long enough they could see the scars stretching the skin of his face, the burns that flared up his back, the cold distance in his eyes like looking across the ocean at night and seeing nothing. He was a monster. A beautiful monster, and she stared at him as they all do, mesmerized.
He put his hand against her neck, the needle a tiny flash in the moonlight, and she flinched. He caught her easily, lifting her as one might a sleeping child. Her head fitted into the crook of his shoulder and neck, her warmth seeping into his skin. He breathed deeply, that smell exhilarating him.
He never heard her speak, and that was all right. He heard her laugh, heard her breathe, heard her scream. She screamed for only a moment when she woke, the sound shrill, pained, and unheard by anyone else. The moment his blade opened her throat the sound stopped.
He had let her bleed out over the tub, strung up like a deer. He traced the curve of her upside down hip, the underside of her breast. Everything smooth and perfect. After that, everything took a while, nearly three days, but when he was done, when her picture was flashing across television screens and posted to telephone poles, she was in the small room.
He admired her again, that smell was nearly gone, but he had found a replacement that was almost as good. It was her skin and her eyes that he adored. Her hair flowed freely down her back, her clothing a bit more responsible than when he had first seen her, and irises of her eyes shone like black glass from their frozen depths.
Standing behind her, he lifted the cool metal bars. The wires tightened and he lifted her into a standing position. She barely reached his chest. His arms raised, he moved the bars, making her walk toward the wall. Once there he smiled, and dipped the bars, making her bow.
Against the wall sat the others, their bars hung on hooks above their heads so that their wires wouldn't tangle. They smiled at their new friend, their faces frozen into grins.
Behind them, the wall was lined with mirrors and in them she stood, him behind her, her wires barely visible, her perfection caught forever.
She was, and would always be, beautiful.
