Lilium

One

One

Inside the hotel room, the air smelled of cigarettes and death.

Oliver raised his eyes to the ceiling, his spade-tipped tail flicking back and forth between his legs. A cigarette dangled from his index and middle finger, limp. The end was lit, casting a small red light into the darkness around him. Ash and dust descended in the room like snowfall.

"What a waste," he said with the shake of his head. He tapped the cigarette against his thigh and brought the unlit end to his lips. A blood-curdling smell filled the room, nearly rivalling the scent of the stick in Oliver's hands. The smell of decay.

On the bed, a young girl was sprawled out, her hands handcuffed to the headboard and her ruby hair splayed around her body. Her clothes were practically nonexistent, shredded nearly everywhere except for over her chest and over the cavern between her legs. On her stomach, the word whore was written in thick red lettering.

What was worse for her, though, was the heavy score across her neck. Red pooled around her chin, thick and deep in color. If he pricked his ears hard enough, Oliver swore he could hear the last drops of her life-force hit the wooden floorboards around the bed.

But maybe this was an imagination. Oliver took another drag of his cigarette before crushing it under his foot. His boots sizzled with the action as flame met wood and rubber and was quickly extinguished.

Oliver lifted his nose to the air and took a heavy sniff. Blood. And, he noted as he sniffed again, sex.

Imagination or not, Oliver puffed out his collar and approached the bedside and with a final exhale, dug one hand into his right pocket and pulled out his gloves. Now, he mused as he ran his long fingers along the girl's cheek, the investigation can begin.

He gasped as pain shot up his arm. His nails elongated, stabbing straight through the latex on his hands and piercing the air. Deep red in color, they stirred the dust when Oliver raked his hand through the air.

Perfect.

Oliver started first with the silk tie around the woman's wrists. The fabric shredded in his hands, leaving red ribbons on his palms. Before him, the woman's hands fell, one to her temple. The red of her nails made her skin seem all the more grey.

So much red in this room... Oliver swiped his tongue over his lips, tasting the blood in the air and shivering with delight. So much red. So much blood. His stomach dropped as the urge to devour the woman swept through him. With shaking fingers, he reached into his trench coat pocket and pulled out his pack of Marlboros. He shook the box, hearing the cigarettes rattle inside, before flicking open the lid with his thumb nail and pulling out a stick with his teeth. After returning the box to his pocket, he lit the cigarette with the tip of his thumb and a muttered curse.

A sense of calm washed through him after the first exhale of smoke. Now he could begin his work.

A piercing shriek emanated from his pocket, interrupting his thoughts. Oliver sighed, exhaling thick grey smoke from his mouth before reaching again into his pocket. His flip-phone shook in his hands, sending shivers through him as he flipped it open and pressed the button.

"Eh, yullo?"

"We got a new one."

Oliver bit the end of his cigarette, feeling the padding shred in his teeth. With a growing sense of annoyance, he took another drag before replying. "You do realize I just got to the hooker's apartment, right?"

"Er..."

"Oh, rest your nerves, Sullivan. I'm not paying her. She's dead."

Silence. Oliver could barely suppress his amusement as he continued.