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Patrick’s corpse looked down at Catharina’s still twitching body. His gaze scanned across her shapely legs, lingering on the gentle curve of her buttocks before moving up the smooth alabaster skin of her back and hideously twisted neck and into the serene beauty of her face. The bathwater still sloshed from side to side in the wake of her violent passing, her swirling hair gradually fanning out around her angelic countenance like the twisting snakes of Medusa’s living locks. Driven by an unquenchable need, he knelt beside the bath, running his hand over the firmness of her muscle before leaning over her half-submerged body to rip a strip of tender flesh from her soft, slightly pinked buttock with his teeth.
It tasted divine, better than any steak the previously living Patrick had ever tasted. He pushed his fingers into the open gash and ripped more of the fatty flesh free of the dead nanny’s rump. He stuffed the slippery morsel in his mouth, not bothering to finish the first mouthful, and chewed the still warm flesh, oblivious to the water soaking the sleeves of his tunic and running in tiny rivulets from his elbows. He didn’t notice the bathwater turning a dark, dirty brown as Catharina’s torpid blood gently seeped from the tear, and he was unconcerned by her beauty or the allure of her firm curves. He just needed to feed, to consume without consequence, without conscience, and without compassion.
Once he satisfied his hunger, Patrick rose from the bath-side, dropping Catharina’s torn and chewed remains back into the bath’s murky Hungarian nanny goulash, and staggered to the door. He fumbled clumsily with the door’s handle before finally freeing himself into the corridor beyond, where he stumbled into a scruffily dressed passenger walking towards him, a knowing smile plastered on his bearded face, his eyes twinkling impishly.
“I bet you fucked her good. I saw that seductive bitch follow you in there.” The words died in his throat as he saw fresh blood smeared around Patrick’s mouth and across his strangely marked cheeks. The unsuspecting passenger’s eyes moved slowly down the darkly stained jacket, which hung at a rakish angle caused by several missing buttons, to look at Patrick’s bloodied hands, his mind struggling to understand how the stranger had gained such severe injuries.
The bearded man took a step back. Confused, he glanced over Patrick’s shoulder into the bathroom the Irishman had just left. The pale, lifeless face of the young nanny stared back at him over the edge of the bathtub, and although he could only see her face from where he stood, it was enough for him to know she was dead.
“Sweet Jesus!”
Emitting a deep, throaty growl, Patrick lunged at the young passenger. Before the man had time to react, Patrick was on him. His actions and reactions heightened, his speed and strength increased. Patrick bit into the man’s lower lip, tearing away a large chunk of sticky, wet flesh, leaving the man gasping in pain, too shocked to respond. Then, lifting him with one hand, Patrick slammed his head against a protruding iron girder. The scruffily dressed stranger went limp; the dead Irishman dropped him on the deck without a second thought.
Patrick had sated his appetite for flesh with Catharina, and having no need to feed on the bearded passenger’s body, quickly stepped over his prone form and disappeared into the comfortable darkness of a nearby laundry cupboard. Here he hoped to sleep off the drowsy effects of gorging himself on prime Hungarian rump, firm flank, and one succulent, juicy breast.
