Glamoured: A Modern Fairy Tale

7. The Biggest Hickey

For the second time in a week, Eleanor found herself being questioned by Chief Higgins. Once had been enough. It had started to become a grisly pattern. She muttered, "I didn't get a good look at it—him."

Chief Higgins sighed. Eleanor kept both arms wrapped around her shoulders as if hugging herself could protect her from the memory of that thing. The Chief asked, "Anything helps. Jo's in shock and says she can't remember much, either."

Eleanor glanced around Chief Higgins large frame at the ambulance that was parked outside of El Caliente. Jo sat on a stretcher, where paramedics examined the wound that stretched across her neck and down onto her collar bone. Eleanor hadn't seen the bloody damage up close, yet, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. She didn't do well with blood...or bodies...or guts.

"He was...he was holding her down," Eleanor said, her voice hoarse. "It looked like he was necking her. You know. French kissing. Except—"

He wasn't human, she thought, trying to force the idea into Chief Higgins's head. She didn't want to say it—it would sound lock-me-up-in-Arkham-Asylum crazy, and she didn't think he'd believe her. They were looking for a man, not a costume monster that could jump onto a damned building and scurry away across the roof like an animal.

Chief Higgins nodded, encouraging her to keep talking. She said, "He...it was all wrong. On so many levels."

"And he simply ran away? He wasn't at the bar, didn't have a car here?" Higgins asked.

She shook her head, pretty sure she would've recognized that thing if it had waltzed into El Caliente. She said, "I'm sure he ran, not drove."

He climbed, she thought, a shiver racing down her spine. Her entire body felt like it had been dipped into an ice bath. Higgins clapped her on the shoulder, pulling her towards him. It was a cool, fall New England evening, and she was still dressed in only a tank top.

"Let me give you a ride home," Chief Higgins said. His shoulders slumped, and he took off his hat and ran a hand across his bald head. "I've got people canvassing the area. We'll find this bastard."

"No you won't," Eleanor said, slamming her mouth shut the moment the words came out. Foot in mouth disease—again.

Higgins cocked an eyebrow at her. "What makes you think that?"

"He was fast, that's all," Eleanor said. "Like, track runner fast."

"That's what cars are for," Higgins muttered, motioning Eleanor to follow him. She paused, glancing over at her Tracker.

"I'll have a deputy drive it over to your house if you leave me the keys," he said.

She licked her lips and said, "I need to drive to tutoring tomorrow."

He nodded, punching his chin through the air. "Alright, it'll get delivered tonight, even if I have to do it personally."

"Thanks," Eleanor squeaked the word out and gave Higgins her keys. She climbed into his patrol car, which smelled like it had been soaked in gas station coffee. Eleanor crossed her arms and looked out the window, even though it was dark and she couldn't see a damned thing. Every glowing light felt like that thing's eyes, waiting for her just out of sight.

"Do you think that...is the person who attacked Jo the killer?" she said in a barely audible whisper.

Higgin's voice was solemn. "It's a lead."

"So yes," she said.

"We'll look into it. Someone who could do something that sick...well, I don't believe in coincidences," he said gruffly.