Chapter 36 The Bite
The Bite
An easy place to hide.
The bar’s double doors were open, the place full of early drinkers. It had a relaxed vibe, with exposed red-brick walls, soft music, and seats in the corner—not unlike The Hollow. It was easy to imagine Karson sitting there.
The barmaid was a young girl in her early twenties, with curly, long blond hair. She smiled as I approached. “What can I get you?”
“I’m looking for Karson Worthington.”
Her smile died on her lips. “Not for a few weeks now. He stayed here while his house was being renovated, then he moved out.”
“Oh.”
I’d traveled all this way for nothing. Deflated, I dropped my bag on the floor. “I don’t suppose you know where he lives?”
She stared at me, her expression assessing. “No idea, sorry.” She dipped her head to my bag. “Are you from out of town?”
“I am. I also need somewhere to stay, so if you could point me in the direction of reception, please.”
“We have accommodation upstairs. It’s sixty per night.” She pointed through some side doors. “Reception’s around the corner.”
“Thanks,” I said, disheartened. I collected my bag from the floor.
“You could try The Bite later,” she said almost hesitantly. “I know he used to go there a lot.”
I straightened. “The Bite—where’s that?”
“Tressle Lane, on the corner of Main St. Go to the end, big red doors. It’s not signed, and usually you must be invited to get in, but I’ve heard of some girls making it through the doors without one.”
“Thank you . . .” I paused, not sure what to call her.
“Mackenzie,” she said.
“Amy.”
She beckoned me a little closer with her finger, leaned forward and spoke quietly as if she were sharing a highly classified secret. “If you’re going to get in, jeans and a T-shirt won’t cut it. You need to dress as sexy as possible and wear makeup. They only let certain looks in.”
“Thanks again, Mackenzie.” I turned away.
“Wait, Amy.” She stopped me, I turned back. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting, but if you care for him, you should prepare yourself to see him with someone.”
My chest panged with an irrational flare of jealousy. “He has a girlfriend?”
She grimaced. “Not exactly. Well, not as far as I know. But there’s always someone different hanging off him.”
I faltered. Karson was a player. Was all his behavior in Church Heights just one big act?
“One day, if you allow me, I’d like to take you there.”
He’d played me. And like a desperate fool, I’d fallen for it. I wanted to believe he thought I was special. Because I was pathetic and weak.
“When I first saw you in the bar, you looked like a wounded butterfly. Delicate, beautiful, and broken.”
He’d spotted my insecurities and preyed upon it.
My jaw clenched. I realized Mackenzie was staring at me with sympathy in her eyes.
I swallowed and forced a smile. “I might come down for a drink before I go.”
“Good idea.” She smiled. “I’ll make you my special shot.”
***
After I’d checked in, showered, and ordered room service, I sat down and cracked open a premixed vodka.
I’d rifled through my bag and laid out the best clothing choices on the end of the bed: a short tan skirt and a black silk camisole that I’d brought to sleep in, but would suffice as a top, and tan heeled ankle boots. Not exactly sexy-goddess style.
I hoped Ethan didn’t run into Georgie tonight. I’d left a note saying I was staying at her house. I supposed even if he did run into her, he might think I’d lied because I had a date; he was unlikely to think I’d travel across the country looking for Karson.
My stomach tightened in apprehension—for about the tenth time since I boarded the plane—that perhaps coming here wasn’t the smartest idea. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d done something on impulse without any regard for the consequences. It almost always didn’t end well.
I finished off the can of vodka and set about blow drying my hair. Then I applied my makeup, adding a smoky-gray eye shadow, thick eyeliner, and red lips.
After I got dressed, I covered the burn on my thigh with a skin-colored patch. It was visible from under the end of my skirt, but in the dim light no one would notice. I pumped a couple of sprays of perfume, grabbed my small tan shoulder bag, and by the time I headed downstairs it was 9:30 p.m.
Mackenzie glanced up as I stood at the bar, and she flashed me an approving grin. “Yes, that should do it.” She leaned over the bar to get a good look. “Don’t suppose you have a leather skirt and some strappy heels, though?”
I shook my head.
“Oh well,” she said, fluttering her hand. “With your looks, I’m sure it won’t matter. Ready for your shot?”
“I’ll take two of those special shots.” I needed them.
She poured the largest shots I’d ever seen and slid them over. “Fifteen dollars.”
I paid and threw one back. The liquid was fire, singeing my throat and nearly making me choke. “Holy shit,” I spluttered, laughing.
She chuckled and slid a glass of water over. I took a few sips to drown the flames and then, with a grimace, threw the second shot down.
“How long have you known Karson?” she asked. There was a slight hesitance behind the question.
“Not long.”
“Okay then.” She nodded. “Well he’s quite charming, but he has a temper, so just watch yourself.”
“Have you seen his temper?”
“Yes.” She glanced past my shoulder towards the door, then looked back and lowered her voice.
“Some guy came in and charged straight up to him. They argued. And Karson’s eyes .
. . they went black . . .” She visibly shivered.
“The next thing I knew he had the guy up against the wall by his throat. It took four men to wrestle him off. After that night, I was pretty cautious.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard about that kind of behavior. And I’d seen his temper. I had a temper. The guy must have done something to infuriate him.
“What about with women? Have you seen anything that worried you?”
“Like bruises?’
I nodded.
“No.” She shook her head. “But I wouldn’t want any of my friends to date him, put it that way.”
“Thanks for the shots.”
“Sure, good luck.” With that, she walked off toward a customer waiting over at the middle of the bar.
***
The night air was warm. A sea mist hovered over the water, licking around the edges of the boats moored in the docks, and the smell of salt filled my nose.
People milled about leisurely. Hazy wharf lights covered everything in a ghostly pale glow, illuminating a few couples walking hand in hand.
Two men strolled past with their dog, a white, fluffy terrier.
Kids ran full steam ahead of their parents, haphazardly clutching ice cream cones.
The alcohol began to have an effect on me, my neck and shoulders relaxing, and the tightness in my stomach eased.
Huddled on the edge of the sidewalk near the corner ahead was a homeless man.
He wore an old, threadbare tweed jacket, holey and filthy.
All of his worldly possessions were in a small tattered backpack beside him.
Everyone—families with children, well-dressed couples, groups of young adults in the midst of an alcohol-fueled night—walked past without so much as a glance in his direction, as if he was no more than a piece of garbage on the ground.
I couldn’t see his face; his head was stooped toward the ground.
I reached into my little bag and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, bent down, and held it out for him.
His head moved slowly up, his graying hair unkempt.
His face was smeared by dirt and his forehead was lined like train tracks.
A deep-seated agony haunted his eyes. On seeing the money, light and joy swelled in them.
“Oh, love! Thank you, thank you.”
His sheer gratitude brought a lump to my throat.
He took my hand and held it in his. His hands were filthy, large, and strong.
It wasn’t comfortable, but I didn’t want to be rude and pull away.
The smile fell from his lips. His mouth dropped open, giving an unpleasant glimpse of a tongue that looked like a bloated hot dog.
His eyes hardened, and darkness cloaked the irises like a cloud.
He uttered, “Beware of the man with the red eyes—he’ll come for you, he’ll come for you.”
My flesh seemed to come alive and crawl over my body. I yanked my hand away and jerked upright.
He began to rock back and forth, manically, uttering gibberish interspersed with “So much blood, so much blood, so much blood, so much blood.”
I pivoted and hurried away.
“He’ll come for you,” he sang out.
I half twisted back to look at him, and he was standing up stiffly, his fists clenched by his sides.
“Beware, love, he’ll come for you!”
I crossed my arms around my waist, hunched into myself and walked faster.
Turning right onto Main Street, I breathed a sigh of relief at being out of his sight.
The pavement was dimly lit, each streetlight choked by thick fog.
The further I walked down the street, the closer I got to the corner, the darker it became.
People emerged out of the night as if they were little puppets yanked forward just as I came into their line of sight.
The whole world seemed surreal, as if the area rippled with hidden danger.
The hairs on the nape of my neck prickled.
Several times I found myself glancing across the road, looking for eyes I was certain were watching me. The night grew colder, and the further I walked, the colder it seemed to get.
I paused at the edge of Main Street and Tressle Lane.
A red-brick, double-story warehouse hugged its corner.
It was devoid of life, its windows boarded over with pale plywood.
Graffiti covered the facade. The moody glow of the streetlights fell against the artwork, trailing down as if a flashlight beam had been deliberately placed to highlight the wall.