The Killing Dance

Richard came up behind me. "There's no one else in the apartment, Anita."

I didn't argue with him. I didn't ask if he knew this by smell or by hearing. I didn't bloody care. I checked the bedroom and bathroom just to be thorough and came back out to find Richard staring down at the dead man.

"Who is he?" Richard asked.

It occurred to me that I could hear again. Bully for me. I still had a faint ringing in my ears, but it would pass. "I don't know."

Richard looked at me. "Was he the. . hitter?"

"I think so." There was a hole in the door big enough to crawl through. It was still open. Mrs. Pringle's door was closed, but the doorjamb was splintered like something had taken a big bite out of it. If she'd been standing there, she'd have been dead.

I heard the distant wail of police sirens. Couldn't blame the neighbors for calling them. "I'm going to make some phone calls before the cops get here."

"Then what?" he asked.

I looked at him. He was pale, the whites of his eyes showing just a little too much. "Then we go with the nice police officers down to the station to answer questions."

"It was self-defense."

"Yeah, but he's still dead on my carpet." I walked into the bedroom, searching for the phone. I was having a little trouble remembering where I'd left it, as if it ever moved from the nightstand. Shock is always fun.

Richard leaned in the doorway. "Who are you going to call?"

"Dolph, and maybe Catherine."

"A friendly policeman I understand, but why Catherine?"

"She's a lawyer."

"Oh," he said. He glanced back at the dead man, who was bleeding all over my white carpet. "Dating you is never boring, I'll give you that."

"And it's dangerous," I said, "Don't forget dangerous." I dialed Dolph's number from memory.

"I never forget you're dangerous, Anita," Richard said. He stared at me and his eyes were amber, the color of a wolf's eyes. His beast slid behind those eyes, peering out. Probably the smell of fresh blood. I stared into those alien eyes and knew I wasn't the only dangerous thing in the room. Of course, I was armed. The dead man could vouch for that. Laughter tickled the back of my throat. I tried to swallow it, but it spilled out, and I was giggling when Dolph answered the phone. Laughing was better than crying, I guess. Though I'm not sure Dolph thought so.