Here is Part 5 of “She.” The conclusion will be posted tomorrow. Thanks for hanging in there.
She, (part 5)
The fourth man, the one whom reminded of her Ichabod, paced nervously back and forth, watching for police. “C’mon man. You said we was just going to scare her.”
“We are going to scare her,” Tony answered. “Then I’m gonna fuck her.” He turned to his twitching partner. “We all are, got me?”
Ichabod licked his lips and looked at his other two friends, who were tearing at Bobbi’s skirt as she struggled against them. One glanced up, a look of predatory rage on his face. “Don’t bitch out on us now, man. It’s too late for that shit.”
Ichabod nodded, hanging his head. “Just hurry up. I wanna get out of here before the cops show.”
“Man, shut your punk ass up,” Tony ordered. He knelt down, caressing Bobbi’s smooth legs for the first time. There was a sheen of perspiration on her skin, causing it to glisten in the muted amber light like colored glass. Tony stopped there, his hand extended toward the woman’s panties, not moving. He blinked, once … again, but did not move.
“Whatchu doing man?” asked the predator seated on the ground behind Bobbi holding her by the shoulders. “Come on, let’s see that shit.”
Tony blinked again, turning his eyes away from Bobbi and toward his open hand. His mouth sagged open, but he spoke only silence. He knelt there, staring at his perspiration-covered hand as if it were a stranger.
“What the fuck’s got into you, man?” asked the fourth thug. He was kneeling to Bobbi’s left, his hand fondling her breast through her bra. His other hand held a lit cigarette, from which smoke wafted toward the woman’s face. She was streaming tears.
“I’ve gotten into him,” Bobbi said, speaking to the smoker. With no more than a shrug, she tore her arm free from the attacker behind her and jabbed five long, stiletto-sharp nails straight into the smoker’s neck. “And now I’ve gotten into you.”
Blood spurted from her victim’s neck in a high arc and the man behind her howled with surprise, his hands flinging in the air, releasing her other arm. Bobbi spun and jabbed four fingers of her other hand deep into his eye sockets and into his brain. He shrieked and fell back, his head making a sickening thump against the concrete. She bent over, picking up the smoldering cigarette her first victim dropped and flung it into the alley.
“Filthy habit,” she said. “Smoke always makes my eyes run like rivers.”
Tony, by now recovering enough of his senses to be frightened, was backpedaling on his bottom and trying to wipe her perspiration, which was to mortal men as powerful a drug as any created, from his system. It was to no avail. With her sweat having entered his bloodstream, he was hers for life.
Sadly for Tony, that life, and the life of Ichabod, who stood pissing his pants, lasted only another two minutes. That was all the time she needed to end their pumping hearts, place her hands on their dimming flesh, and allow their life force to enter her body. By morning, what was left of their bodies would look like little more than bones and mummified skin. Bobbi stood, covered her nakedness with Ichabod’s skull t-shirt, and turned for home. She hadn’t wanted the hunt this night and tried to resist. But the men wanted her. She could smell their hungry scent, and the need to take them was too strong. Her neighbors would never understand her bloodlust. She couldn’t possibly have allowed the men to follow her home. But here, in the filthy back alleys, the rats would not mind. The rats never minded.