The fattened belly of winter lay across the town, smothering life from the streets.  Thick black clouds rolled across the sky towards the northwest, quiet and steady.  A blanket of snow drifted down to Earth in their wake, covering mankind’s angular contours with a soft white cast. The wind swept snowy curves against apartment buildings and closed stores, inventing a new alien landscape of ashen features.  It was all but desolate.  A solitary man leaned against the decaying bricks of an abandoned warehouse, his gray eyes watching the last few souls trickle out of the Red Phoenix bar.   
            For over half an hour, he waited.  "Patience is a virtue", or so they said, but as the minutes ticked by, his patience receded into anticipation.  Excitement began to work it's way through his veins.  The end of his cigarette glowed red as he pulled warm smoke into his lungs.  A momentary reflection of the ember in his ring caught his attention.  The gold-plated skull howled silently up at him.  He smiled back and exhaled a sigh.    
            He liked the waiting; savored it.  Arriving half an hour early would have been playing it safe.  Arriving a whole hour early was all about the anticipation of it.  Like a child waiting for Santa Claus to appear, his eyes barely moved from the doorway.  Memories of last night’s show still played in his head.  The star was quite a performer and such a pleasure to work with.  But that show was over.  Memories were all he had left of last night’s performance.  Well, not quite all.  In any case, it was time to bring new life and blood to the stage.       
            Another fifteen minutes passed as he watched the snow fall in front of the door to the Red Phoenix.  Inside, he imagined, patrons joked and blustered between swigs of amber ale; laughed at each other's drunken wit.  Outside, the wind carried only its own voice through the streets.  The world was quieter in the snow.  Some regarded winter as a nuisance and sought only relief from it's annual tarriance.  Others, like the one leaning against an abandoned warehouse across from the Red Phoenix, loved it and reveled in it.  Snow meant less people on the streets.  Snow meant softened footsteps.  Snow hid things from view.  For a few moments, imagination stole his awareness from the doorway.  Anticipation was definitely in control.       
            He snapped back to attention when the neon sign in the window blinked and faded out.  He flicked a butt out onto the street and shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.  The last few die-hard barflies came out of the Phoenix.  His eyes examined each one:  a giant, bald man wearing a leather jacket; an old man wearing overalls and a grease-covered baseball cap; a young brunette in a white, tasseled coat and jeans. They were all meaningless extras.  None mattered but her.      
            He turned his wrist to look at his watch.  It was nearly half past two.  The bar would be closing shortly and his star would soon emerge.  Then it would be show time.  More faces exited the bar and disappeared into a dirty, white pick-up.  The leather-clad giant lurched into a battered Bronco and started it with a growl.  The watchful eyes remained on the doorway, while the cars in the parking lot dwindled.  She didn't have a car; he knew that.  She walked home every night, or at least had for the past week he had watched her.  The Bronco took off down the street and was soon swallowed by the snow.     
            All was quiet again.  The wind danced through the trees.  No one had exited the bar for several minutes, but there was still one car left in the lot.  For a moment he thought his plans would be ruined by some interloper giving her a ride home.  He grimaced at the thought.  The night was too perfect; he didn't want it disrupted by some beer-swilling, low-brow monkey with a Mustang.  He continued his intent observation of the entrance.  A shadow appeared behind the glass, opened the door a few inches, and then stopped.  For almost a minute the shadow stood with the door propped open and the watcher standing across the street in snow-covered cap did not breathe.
            Finally, the door opened wide.  A man with a long, black rat tail and denim jacket sauntered sloppily across the parking lot, towards the Mustang.  Across the street, a pair of gray eyes flicked back and forth.  The lights in the bar blinked out.  The driver-side door on the Mustang slammed shut and the engine came to life.  The car sat there for a moment.  The watcher still held his breath.       
            When the white lights on the back of the car lit up, the man across the street let a relieved sigh escape his chest.  He smirked as the Mustang struggled to make the turn out of the parking lot, running his back tire over the curb.  Eventually the driver made it out of the lot and took off down the snowy street in a meandering path. 
            The front door to the bar slammed shut.  There she was, locking up for the night.  The wind caught her hair and she winced at the sudden chill, reddish brown curls billowing out to her left.  He smiled.  The star of the show had finally entered the stage.
            The snow padded the sound of his boots as he trudged along behind her.  She huddled against herself from the piercing winds that dragged her hair into twisted forms about her head.  She wasn't from this area of the country; he could tell that.  She had no scarf or gloves to protect herself.  Her steps were slow and overly cautious on the snow-covered sidewalk, and it didn't help that she was wearing high heeled boots.             
            She turned her head to the side, avoiding a clump of snow blown off the roof of a nearby building.  He caught a glimpse of her profile, masked by curly streaks of hair.  Velvet lips, ruddy cheeks and a slender nose were momentarily lit by the amber street lights; the reflective snow gave her a spectral aura.            
            He stopped dead in his tracks, afraid she would notice him.  Panic threatened to flood his awareness, but he was distracted by her visage.  She turned her head back down the street, and continued walking, unaware of her follower.  He started walking again, quickening his pace to catch up to her.  Looking down at his watch, he knew the train would be coming very soon, any minute now.  There wasn't much traffic on the line, but every week night, a freight train roared by just a block from here.  He walked faster, slogging through the snow double time.
            From his left pocket, he produced a bottle of chloroform, carefully unscrewed the cap and palmed it.  His right hand pulled a white rag from his other pocket.  The rumble of the train rode in on the blustering snow.  It was getting close.  His steps were only a few yards behind hers now.
            He put the rag against the neck of the bottle and soaked up a good amount of chloroform.  The deep rumble was clearly audible, shaking the night from its tranquility.  She turned her head back towards the sound of the train, and for the first time, she saw him.  Quickly shoving both hands in his pockets and tilting his head down against the wind, he tried his best to look like a man just trying to walk home in a snowstorm.  A man who was not there before and to her eyes, had appeared from nowhere.      
            He clenched his teeth.  She was still turned, examining him.  Panic reeled in his head, but he kept cool, kept walking, and pretended to ignore her like every other person he encountered on the street.  A voice in his head screamed curses at him.  He did his best to ignore it. 
            
            The train whistle blew as it neared the crossing.  It made her jump, but she quickly recovered and continued walking at a faster pace than before.  The voice screaming inside the head following her subsided.  He became calm and aware, ready to do what he came here to do.  Taking his hands out of his pockets, he prepared to dash at her.  The rumble of the train shook him.  Wait, for it. Wait... 
            The whistle blew again, blotting out all other sound.  Now!  He rushed forward.  She didn't turn until he was two steps from her.  Before she could begin to scream, he covered her mouth with the rag and dragged her into a shadowed alley.  The whistle blew again, covering his grunts as he grappled and fought to subdue her.  She kicked and clawed, even tried biting his face, but her energy and consciousness waned and after a few seconds she went limp.  A disfigured snow angel marked their struggle.  He got up and looked around.  No one was in sight, no windows with lights on.  He grinned as the train sounded its final whistle before rumbling on to the next crossing.      
            “Well, that was exciting, wasn't it.”  He took her unconscious expression as an affirmation.  “Yes.  Now, let's get you ready for the show.” 
            She awoke in darkness.  A faint streak of moonlight shone in through a small window above her.  She could make out very little: a doorway and stairs, a pair of oil drums, a large pile of rags, a push broom.  The only sound was the howling wind, muffled by cinder block walls. 
            A rotten, wretched smell infested her senses.  She shrank away from it, but could not escape its vile presence.  A voice in her head told her to stand up and get the hell out of there, but as the reality of her situation became apparent, the voice turned into a desperate cry.  Heavy chains bound her wrists and ankles to the floor.  She struggled against them, trying to stretch and twist out of them, but the half-inch thick irons would not loosen their grip.  She slumped to the cold floor beneath her and sobbed quietly.
            She thought about screaming, but was too terrified.  She might alert someone to help her, but she might also awaken some terror lurking just beyond her vision.  So she crouched on the floor, shaking and trying not to breathe in the decaying atmosphere of the room.  The cement was hard and clammy as was the wall behind her.  It felt like a dungeon.  A picture she had seen in her Art History class flashed in her head: a skeleton slumped against a stone wall, still bound in chains, with one arm stretched towards the light above. 
            She thought of her family and hoped she would see them again; her mother, father, two brothers.  Then she thought of the creature she held inside her.  Normally its presence was in the background, an ambient buzz in her mind.  In the last few minutes since she regained consciousness, it had become a quiet din growing steadily louder.  She tried to force it out of her mind, but it refused to leave.
            Footsteps clamored on the floorboards overhead.  The sounds traveled away from her, in the direction of the doorway across the room.  She gasped in a musty lungful of air as a lock clacked aside and the door swung open.  Her wide eyes did not blink.  A few resounding steps on wooden stairs and then light filled the room.  Her eyes slammed shut. 
            She heard his boots scrape the gritty, concrete floor as he walked, stepping closer until he was right in front of her.  Her eyes stayed shut, praying this monster would go away if she didn't look at him.  The leather boots creaked as he squatted down in front of her.  Stale, warm breath swam over her face in waves.  He said nothing, nor did he move for what seemed like an eternity.  Finally, unable to stand the sound of his breathing any more, she slowly opened her eyes.
            "Welcome to the show, my dear."  His voice was gruff and quiet.  She was not looking into his face.  Across the room, where she had seen the dim outline of a pile of rags, a horrific image shot her between the eyes.  Once her mind recognized and comprehended what was lying there, her face turned pallid and an awful scream tore itself from her throat.  He looked over at last night’s star while, outside, the wind continued to howl.
            "Oh, hush now.  That's Rona.  She was the star of the show last night.  She did a fine job, too.  A fine job indeed!  I do hope you'll be as satisfying a star as she was.  We played together all night long."  His voice made her sick.  He chuckled to himself, seeing the revulsion on her face.  Her screams retreated back down her throat as he moved over in front of her; his bulk cast her in complete shadow. 
            His heavy boots rasped against the floor as he shifted and reached around behind his back.  Her gaze drifted over to the torn wreck of a body that was Rona.  A disheartened sob escaped her chest.  The sound of a snap being released brought her eyes back to him.  His arm drew an object out from his back and extended it out for her to see.  Her eyes followed his movement, down the length of his arm to the thing he was holding.  The heavy, curved blade of a khukuri extended from his hand.  She whimpered.
            He brought the blade gently onto her skin, dragging the point lightly around the curve of her neck.  He paused, examining a tattoo he hadn’t noticed before.  It was a simple, black design, quite faded.  An imperfect circle with a horizontal line bisecting it sat underneath an arch with another horizontal line extending out from either end.  It almost looked like a sleeping eye, but its real meaning eluded him.  The knife point continued its careful examination of her skin down around her breasts and further to her belly, stopping to rest in the cup of her navel.
            "Oh yes, I think you'll make a fine star for tonight.  Fine indeed."  The kuhkuri circled her navel a few times, pressing a bit harder each time around.  He sighed happily.  "Shall we begin our feature presentation?"
            "Please... you can't do this."  Her will to live finally broke her fearful silence.  A sly grin crept across his face.  Tonight's star had finally begun her performance.  They usually started in a similar fashion, begging for their lives in exchange for something.  He wondered what this one was willing to offer.  Her silence, money, sex?  Rona offered him all that and more, anything he wanted.  In the end, he got exactly what he wanted from Rona.
            "And why is that, my dear?"  He made a shallow cut along the top of her abdomen, enough to sting but little blood.  She winced and struggled with the chains, trying to squeeze her wrists past the manacles, but to no avail.  He laughed behind closed lips, causing a pit of revulsion to open up in her stomach.  The din in her mind suddenly became a vicious roar, propelling her  to overcome fear and despair.  Every moment of his sick laughter made the noise grow louder.  Her sanity blurred in her mind and the thing she had held within her for so many years crept into the foreground.     
            "If you kill me... you'll set it free.  And then you’re fucking dead.  Or at least you’ll wish you were, believe me!"  She shouted this last bit hoarsely at him.  He paused, stunned by her statement.  She had fire that excited him tremendously.  He smiled curiously at her.  This was going to be a better show than he first thought.
            "And what, exactly, do you mean by that?  What would I... set free?"  He punctuated his question by poking her lower abdomen with the knife and twisting it.  She tried to pull back, but her feet were securely bound in place.  A painful groan crawled its way out of her. 
            The writhing noise in her head grew louder and dissonant.  A desperate part of her soul tried to hold on to the prisoner within her.  She knew the horrific consequences of its escape, but another part longed to set it free and be rid of it's burden.  She felt its alien currents eroding her sanity, day after day; now they threatened to wash her away completely.  Perhaps this abject brute of a man was to be her deliverer.
            “Do you recognize my tattoo?”  He could hear in her voice that he was losing control of her.  Something had changed, shifted away from him.  Anger rumbled in his gut.  His expression crept towards a snarl.
            "No, I don’t."  The khukuri dragged across her midriff.  "Do enlighten me."  For a moment, she watched apprehensively as the blade drew slow circles around her belly.  She swallowed hard, looking into his eyes, watching them glare at her. 
            “It means there is a monster inside me and if you kill me… you’ll let it out and, if you’re lucky, it’ll kill you too.”  Silence held them while he tried to understand what she just said.  None of his girls had ever been so strong, so defiant.  The show wasn’t proceeding as it was supposed to.  The show had a script and this ad lib of hers strayed too far.  Anger was the only response he could muster.  His glare tightened.  He looked down at the floor for a moment, then surged forward, stopping a half inch from her face.  His hot, stale breath enveloped her consciousness.
            "You think I'm some sort of… ignorant child who's going to believe something like that?  The only monster in this room, darling, is me.  The only thing you have to fear..." he growled into her face, spitting and frothing, "... is... me."  The khukuri slashed  across her belly, leaving a deep cut.  She yelped.  Crimson blood flowed freely.  Hunching over, she clutched her wound. 
            He stood, turned and walked a few paces away.  Calm slowly came back to him, as he listened to her cries.  If he let himself go off to fast, the pleasure of it would be wasted.  He had to be cool and savor it; taste it and smell it in his hands.  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. 
            "Please... don't do this.  Please..."  Her quiet pleading brought his attention back around to her.  Now she was back in line.  The cut had reminded her who the monster was.  So much for her ad lib.  He sauntered back over to her weeping body and knelt down again, brandishing the blade in front of her.
            “Now, that’s better.  This is how it should be.  You are the prey, darling and I’m the predator.  I am the monster.  Don’t you forget it.”  His hand brought the knife up in front of her.  The edge towards the tip had a few streaks of red.  She turned her drooped head towards him, dirty, matted hair obscuring her face.  His eyes stared menacingly at her forehead.  If he could see inside her head, he would have witnessed her life fading away and an alien presence clawing its way to the surface.
            "You think you are a monster?"  Her quiet, strained voice crept up onto him.  "You have no idea.  Kill me if you want to see what a real monster is.  You’ll only have a few seconds to look at it, though, before it rips you in half."  She sputtered, coughing up blood and let her head fall. 
            He stared at the top of her head, fury boiling up inside him.  The hand that grasped the khukuri trembled; his grip tightened painfully.  She coughed again and his whole body began to shake as he tried to control the rage burning within.  He failed. 
            Screaming like a wild animal, he swung his arm across his body and came down in a hard chop across her neck.  The tattoo that looked like a sleeping eye was roughly bisected.  Her tear-stained face flew off to the right, tumbling and rolling onto the dirty basement floor.  Her body sagged, hanging from chains that still gripped her wrists.
            He breathed hard, adrenaline pumping through him.  His chest rose and fell excitedly, eyes focused on a lock of wavy brown hair, stuck in the middle of the red stain slowly oozing its way down the cinder blocks.  His arm was still outstretched at the end of its deadly arc.  He examined the knife in his hand.  It, too, was stained with crimson along the inner curve of the blade.  A short distance away, lifeless brown eyes stared at him.  Her final expression looked unsettlingly like laughter.  He looked away, gathered his breath and stood up.

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