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All heads turned when Roy walked into The Porterhouse Grille and Spirits. He was used to it, though. The interest had become commonplace. The reason was simple: Every woman wanted him and every man wanted to be him. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror just behind the hostess lectern, he couldn’t blame them. Mesmerized by the handsome man reflected back at him, he almost ignored the hostess’s attempt at welcoming him. But her fake voice, pitched an octave higher than her speaking voice, was like nails on a chalkboard and hijacked his attention.
“Hi, welcome to The Porterhouse.” Her shrill voice clawed at his ears. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. She leaned in, bowed by his magnificence quite literally. “Will anyone be joining you or are you here alone?”
Smirking, he eyed her up and down. “I’m here alone,” he answered, his voice silken and seductive.
She practically quivered with delight at both his response and his voice. “Mmm.” Her wide eyes glazed over. He supposed she thought the look was meant to entice him, but all he could see was the fact that one eye was several millimeters smaller than the other and her septum, which was a touch lengthened. The asymmetry of her eyes and the slightly elongated cartilage at the tip of her nose was enough to ruin her looks completely.
Roy wanted to curl his upper lip in revulsion but didn’t. He knew better. So he allowed her to fawn over him.
Pulling a menu from a slot at the side of the lectern, the hostess sashayed out from behind it and showed him to a small table near the bar. “Here you go.” She slid him a grin meant to imply that she had all sorts of naughty tricks up her sleeves with which she could gratify him. Little did she know, he was swallowing bile that rose in the back of his throat each time he looked at her. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” she purred then pranced away. She stopped midstride and turned to look over her shoulder, hopeful he was checking out her backside, which he was not, in fact, doing, and said, “By the way, my name is Samantha.” She winked jauntily, filled with confidence she most certainly should not possess. “I’m here if you want me.” She emphasized the word want, still using that idiotic, almost childlike voice. Did she honestly think a man of his caliber would be turned on by her put-on voice? He couldn’t imagine any man liking it. But then again, most men were dull, uninspired, epitomes of every cliché that existed about them, who probably wouldn’t notice that her baby voice, skin-tight black dress and sky-high heels were a desperate attempt to compensate for the fact that her face was hideous.
Roy shuddered as he watched her return to her station with an absurdly exaggerated sway to her hips. Once she was completely out of sight, he was able to recover from the awful ordeal, sit back and take in the sights and sounds of the restaurant. The Porterhouse was a trendy spot to eat and drink and people watch, even on a frigid Thursday night in January. Filled with well-dressed patrons there for after-work drinks or dinner, the place was ripe with energy, an energy that became frenetic when he’d arrived. A veritable gift for them to behold, he’d enriched their experience just by showing up. His presence gave them permission to lay eyes on him. Such a gesture on his part was selfless. He gained nothing from it. Only they gained. And he could feel it. The entire room buzzed like a hive. For him.
Leaning back in his cushioned seat, Roy felt a self-satisfied smile spread across his face. He suspected that while he sat, the rest of the people there were trying to figure out ways to get close to him, that they’d be jockeying for a table near him and to be his waitress.
His suspicion was confirmed when a waitress suddenly broke free from the group of waitresses who stood huddled to his left and likely squabbling over who’d have the privilege of serving him. The waitress who’d fled made a beeline for him, her heeled shoes clacking loudly as she rushed toward him.
Slightly breathless when she arrived, she swept her hair off her shoulders and thrust her chest forward. A shelf of ample cleavage was on display, one she seemed sure would grab his attention. It did grab his attention. Only not for reasons she would like. His eyes were not drawn to creamy, supple breasts, symmetrical and composed of smooth, flawless flesh. That would have brought him joy to see. But no. She didn’t have that. What she did have was a crease that ran the length of each curve of her breasts. And it didn’t stop there. She also had sunspots on her chest. Barely visible in the dim light, the average human being wouldn’t have noticed. But he wasn’t the average human being. He was more. So much more. And he could see her flaws. They were numerous. Ranging in color from light to dark brown, the irregular shapes freckled the tan skin of her chest. Sun-abused skin was unacceptable. Sun exposure invited aging. Roy found aging of any kind repulsive. But to incite premature aging by sitting out in the sun to what? To cook one’s epidermis—the largest organ a human being had—so he or she could look like a baked chicken? He found the notion revolting and had to suppress a gag as she leaned and jiggled what was little more than roasted breast meat. “Hi, my name’s Elisa. I’ll be your server this evening.” She offered a wide smile as she reached in front of him, grazing his arm with her shoe-leather breast as she placed silverware rolled in a cloth napkin onto the table. “Can I get you something to drink while you look at the menu?”
“Yes, please. I’ll have a Corona.” Roy tried to focus on her face but her chest might as well have been ringed in neon, taunting him in his periphery.
“Lime with that?” she asked with her chin low, like an arrow pointing to the very part of her body he was trying to avoid looking at.
“No, thank you,” he replied with what was sure to be a pleasant smile.
“Okay then,” Elisa replied cheerily. “I’ll be right back with your lime-free Corona.” She wagged her eyebrows as if she’d said something witty. She hadn’t, of course, and Roy doubted she was capable of such a feat. Still he nodded as if she had.
She disappeared but returned almost immediately, doused in a strong, cheap-smelling perfume and with his beer. She placed a coaster down first then his drink, nearly choking him with the overpowering stench of patchouli. “Here you go, sweetie. I’ll be back to take your order in just a second.”
Sweetie? How dare she? Was she insane? The word made his insides squirm as if his stomach were filled with innumerable maggots, wriggling and writhing about.
Though the single word made him sick to his stomach, he forced himself to relax. He needed to. To look as horrified as he felt would separate him in an unflattering way from everyone else. And while he knew he was better than everyone, blending in was an integral part of his existence. So he lifted his bottle of Corona to his lips, allowing the cold, carbonated liquid to slide down his throat. Beer never affected him. Impervious to intoxication, Roy never ran the risk of morphing into a drunken fool, one of the many details of his composition he was grateful for. Especially as he looked around. Drunk people abounded in places like this. Tonight, they congregated around several high-top tables pushed together to form one long one. Men and women dressed in business attire were nearly shouting over one another to be heard, laughing and stumbling around.
Roy watched a bleached blonde, in particular, as she tottered from one end of the table with a half-full martini to the next. “You guys!! This is so awesome!” she whined.
“Aw, honey, it’s your last day! We had to send you out with a bang!” An equally tipsy woman with pin-straight black hair and almond-shaped eyes cooed. She then raised her glass. “To Michelle!”
The expressions “woo-hoo’” and “Yeah Michelle” rang out.
“You guys,” Michelle said. She looked away briefly, swerving her head humbly, and as she did, she caught sight of Roy watching her. Lips parting, she stared, unashamed, refusing to break eye contact. Ignoring her friends and with her gaze still pinned to Roy, she moved toward him. She tottered on stiletto heels, her expression tinged with surprise.
Roy wanted to jump out of his skin, to scream “Stop! Please, please don’t come over here. I have no interest in talking to you!” But sat there looking as if what she was doing didn’t rattle him in the least. He sipped his beer again, allowing eyelids to lower and perfect a sultry stare that had been termed “bedroom eyes”.
“Hey there. I’m Michelle,” she slurred and waved dopily.
“Hello, Michelle. I’m Roy.” He extended a hand. When she placed hers in his, he wanted to recoil but shook it gently instead. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He dazzled her with his impeccable manners.
“You too.” A hiccup slipped from her. She covered her mouth with feigned embarrassment. She stood there, wavering for several painstaking beats before she blurted, “So I saw you checking me out and wanted to meet you.”
And just like that, an already painful situation became unbearably awkward.
A trembling vein of rage bolted through Roy’s core. Had everyone here gone mad? How could this woman, this sloppy Michelle character, have the audacity to approach him and accuse him of checking her out? The alcohol she’d consumed must’ve not only swelled her erroneously big ego but also severely affected her judgment.
Swallowing the bitterness in the back of his throat, Roy offered her an easy smile. “I noticed you, for sure.” It wasn’t a lie. He’d noticed her. How could he not? Her group was the loudest in the restaurant. Her buffoonish behavior, ridiculous hair that had been processed to the point it looked like hay and the overall volume of her co-workers was the equivalent of a fog horn blare indoors.
She giggled and twirled the fried end of a lock of hair. “Thank you.” She said.
Funny, he hadn’t recalled giving her a compliment.
“Are you from around here?” she asked. For reasons Roy could neither explain nor understand, Michelle folded one arm across her waist while the other held her drink and allowed her shoulders to slump. This odd stance pushed her pelvis forward, causing her to look as though she were three-months pregnant.
Was she completely inept? That was her idea of small talk? Asking if he was from the area? As far as he could tell, Michelle would benefit from being euthanized. Put her out of her misery. It’d be an act of mercy on his part.
Fortunately for her, he wouldn’t need to undertake such a task. A cake arrived at her table, one that celebrated her departure from whatever company that had been dumb enough to employ her.
“Michelle! Come on! We’re gonna sing!” a man called out to her as he waved her over.
“I gotta go. But I’ll be back in a little bit,” she promised before she staggered away.
“Oh please don’t come back,” Roy said to himself quietly as soon as she was out of earshot.
“Is she bothering you?” Elisa had returned. She glared in Michelle’s direction.
Momentarily caught off guard, Roy hesitated. “No, no.”
“I heard what you said, that you didn’t want her to come back.” Elisa scowled as off-key singing started.
Roy didn’t know what to say. He’d always been careful to hide his disdain. Elisa had sidled up beside him like a ninja, stripping him of his right to privacy. He didn’t know what upset him more, Michelle’s drunken stupidity or this leather-skinned lurker who thought it okay to eavesdrop on him when he muttered to himself.
Backed into a corner, he decided to try something new. He decided to be honest. A little. “I don’t want her to come back.” He shrugged his broad, muscled shoulders. “She mistook me looking at her group with disgust as me checking her out and decided to make me completely uncomfortable by coming over.”
Elisa’s lips pressed together, flattening to an unattractive line. “Skank,” she mumbled then caught herself. “Sorry.” She smoothed a hand down the front of her dress as if the act would return her to a more professional state. A hard achievement to attain when half of her bosom was out in the open. “Here at The Porterhouse, we take pride in the experience of our customers. This isn’t a dive bar or some dump. People pay good money to eat and drink here and shouldn’t have to put up with that.” She clipped her chin angrily toward Michelle’s rowdy table.
Roy was silent for a long moment as Elisa glowered.
“I’ll mention we’ve had complaints about them to my manager. He’ll hurry them up and out of here.” She looked at him, her features brightened.
“Oh, you don’t have to go to all that trouble.” Roy waved a hand in the air noncommittally. After all, where one woman clamoring for his attention was removed another always appeared. It was an inevitable fact of his existence.
“I insist. I don’t want you getting annoyed and leaving. I want you to stay.” Elisa’s attention veered away from Michelle’s group and focused on him. Her words were a carnal invitation. They also nauseated him.
“Thank you,” he said and felt the urge to bolt under the intensity of her hungry stare. Outwardly, he exuded the utmost of grace and charm. Inwardly, he was unnerved, seething.
Elisa arched her back, shoving her chest forward while jutting her backside out simultaneously. She shook her head to toss her hair back again. “I hope you know what you want.” She licked her lips lasciviously then added, “Despite the rude interruption.”
She was just as ridiculous as Michelle and the hostess, Samantha. “Oh I do,” he said. I want you to take your wrinkled, leathery-skinned body away from me and stop acting like you’d ever have a chance with me because you don’t, he thought. “I’ll have the Lobster Tail and Filet Mignon with a salad.”
“Excellent choice.” Her features lit up at his expensive choice. “How would you like the Filet Mignon?”
“Medium, please.” He closed the menu and held it out to her. “And another Corona, please.”
“Absolutely.” She smiled and took the menu, but not before making sure her hand touched his. The fact that he didn’t snap it away from her as if her touch were an open flame was a testament to how generous he was feeling. Gifting her with his touch was magnanimous of him. She turned her head to one side, eyeing him coyly from what he was sure she believed was her “good” side. To his highly skilled, trained eye, she didn’t have a good side.
She disappeared after what felt like an interminable period where, when she retold the story she would say they “connected, soul-to-soul” but really he was wondering whether there was enough hand soap in the men’s room to purge him of the foulness of her rough fingers.
It took Roy a minute or so after Elisa left to regain his internal composure. He was able to return to scanning the dining area. For him, the experience was akin to being a celebrity. Everyone in the place would look his way and whisper, sensing he was something special. They were right, of course. He was special. Far more special than a trained monkey who’d obtained his look at the hand of a plastic surgeon. No, he wasn’t Hollywood handsome. Such run-of-the-mill good looks were a ruse and mediocre at best. Every inch of his six-foot-four inch frame was manly, muscular and looked as if it had been sculpted after the gods. With blond hair, deep blue eyes and a strong jawline with the exact amount of scruff to compliment his rugged appeal but not detract from his deep dimples and boyish allure, his face was every girl’s dream. Perfection. Samantha saw it. Elisa saw it. And drunken Michelle, who was being rushed to the bathroom to undoubtedly vomit the martinis she’d been downing, knew it. Everyone saw it. He needed only survey the faces in the room to confirm it.
Brushing a hand through his short hair, he draped a powerful arm over the back of the empty chair next to him and allowed his eyes to skim the room once more. Looks of adoration poured his way. He sighed quietly, smiling inside that he was the highpoint of most of people’s day. He looked down to see how much beer he had left but noticed in his periphery that the door had opened and more people had entered. Two men and a woman walked in.
Damn, he thought. He’d hoped they hadn’t seen him. He’d followed them from what he’d deemed a safe distance. Yet here they were. The three of them sauntered in as if they owned the place. Samantha greeted them and gathered menus.
As Samantha passed with them in tow, heads turned, following the three. All exceptionally good looking—good looking enough to keep company with him. If they weren’t monsters. Dainty little monstrous creatures, the men were as lean and pretty as the woman. Nothing like Roy. Roy was the embodiment of human perfection. Facially, bodily and in every possible sense of the word. The three stared at him as they passed, and not for the reasons all others stared at him. They were, undoubtedly, trying to figure out what to make of him. Accustomed to sensing all humans were prey in the same way a human was capable of sniffing raw sewage, the three realized he didn’t emit the same air as the masses. The ones they fed on.
Seated behind him, he could feel the press of their eyes boring a hole into his skull. Ha, ha. Keep looking and keep trying to understand why I’m not entranced by you the way other humans are, Roy thought. Bet you’re wondering why I’m not instinctively afraid, too. Their kind, filthy bloodsuckers, bathed humans in a wash of glamor to mask the inherent fear they evoked. Humans were like gazelles in the presence of a cheetah. The fear was built into their DNA. They sensed who the hunters were. And that they were the hunted. The glamor came in the form of an intoxicating scent, inebriating looks and enthralling charm. Roy wasn’t enchanted by them. In fact, to him, they smelled like everyone else except for a faint, metallic stink. He didn’t fear them, either.
When the three of them appeared before him at his table, the energy in The Porterhouse shifted. Conversations quieted. The clink of silverware stilled. It was if the collective breath of the patrons was being held, waiting and watching. Roy didn’t flinch, but he did breathe. Perplexed by his reaction, the beautiful monsters traded lightning-fast glances. He caught the looks, of course. Roy missed nothing.
“How are you tonight, friend,” the male closest to him asked.
Roy cocked his head to one side, his eyes hard but his body relaxed. He knew he’d confront them soon. Just not here. Now was not the time. “You’re no friend of mine,” he replied flatly.
The male facing off with him held his gaze.
Roy didn’t look away. He remained, unwavering and unafraid, until they turned and left the restaurant.
As soon as the door closed behind them, conversations resumed. The energy of the place livened. And Elisa appeared at his side. “What was that all about?” she asked.
Feeling as though she’d somehow managed to intrude upon his privacy once again, Roy repressed the urge to stand up and march out as well. “I have no idea,” he lied smoothly.
“Must be a full moon or something,” she said as she placed his dinner and beer in front of him. “All the crazies are out.”
“Indeed they are,” he agreed.
“Enjoy you dinner, sweetie,” Elisa said and strutted away.
Roy nearly lost his appetite at her use of the word “sweetie”. Incensed to the point of trembling, her behavior was testing his restraint. He took his frustration out on the food, hacking into his filet mignon with his steak knife before tackling the lobster tail. When all had been eaten, including his salad, and his plates were cleared, he leaned back and took a long swig of beer, relaxing as he digested. But relaxation was impossible for Roy. Elisa returned.
“Nice work,” she marveled at the empty plates in front of him. “I love a man with a nice, hearty appetite.” She leaned in as she cleared his table, practically placing her raisin-like breasts squarely in his face. “I love to cook. I just need to find someone to cook for.” She batted her eyelashes at him coquettishly.
Did she think she was in a period romance novel? With the absurd amount of cleavage showing, a hoop skirt and corset wouldn’t have looked out of place. Perhaps if she’d used a parasol to protect herself, her chest wouldn’t look like it was covered in elephant skin.
“I’m sure you will.” Roy managed to sound so even-keeled and suave even though he was livid.
“Maybe I already have.” She froze and looked him straight in the eyes, doing her best to seduce him.
Roy smiled and chuckled.
She took his gesture as encouragement, flitting away and returning with another beer for him. “This one’s on me.” She winked and turned away quickly, switching her hips.
Roy would’ve rolled his eyes but he didn’t want to risk someone seeing him. So he sipped the beer, savoring the crisp, refreshing flavor as he watched The Porterhouse empty out. A quick look at his phone revealed he’d been there for three hours. Searching the space for Elisa so that he could get his check, Roy found Samantha, the hostess, gazing at him longingly as she slid an arm into her coat. Pitying her neediness but not blaming her in the least for having impeccable taste, he threw her a bone and didn’t look away in disgust as he’d have liked to. Besides, Elisa returned.
“This is for when you’re ready.” She placed the check on the table. “The place is closing soon. Cooks went home. My shift is over.” She stood beside his chair, as if waiting. He didn’t take the bait. She sighed. “Then I’ll head to my apartment, which is right down the street.” She remained stationed to his left, her body so close to his he could smell the odd blend of perfume and fryer oil seeping from her sun-dried pores. “I live alone, by the way.”
After a painfully long, awkward pause, Roy felt compelled to speak, to move things along in hopes of shooing her away. “I see.”
A group of waitresses left. Elisa waved and said goodbye to them. “Looks like I’m the last one here.” She fiddled with an errant thread on her black apron. “Well, the manager is in back in his office. So technically I’m not alone.”
For Roy, the interaction grew more and more unbearable with each second that ticked by.
Elisa cleared her throat nervously. “Hey, why don’t you come to my place? I have beers in the fridge. We could watch a movie.” Her eyes pled with him. It was like witnessing a train wreck.
Temper flaring, Roy’s insides coiled tightly. He struggled to cling to the last fiber of patience that remained within him. But it was hard. Harder than he could have imagined. She was clawing at the fabric of his being with her incessant pleas for attention, her shameless flirting when it was plain he was so far out of her league he was doing her a favor by simply acknowledging her. He, the embodiment of male perfection, would never voluntarily share his time and space with Elisa. In addition to her flagrant neglect of her skin, she was grotesquely overweight. At least eight to ten pounds of unnecessary fat clung to her frame, like scum on a pond. Yet she wore the tightest, most revealing dress a woman could wear. Frankly, he was insulted by her invite. How could this heavy, wrinkled woman presume that he’d be interested in her? He was Adonis incarnate.
Roy furrowed his brow in annoyance, but the expression was broodingly sexy. Irresistible. He knew it the moment a blend of determined attraction flickered in Elisa’s features.
Leaning one elbow on the table, her breasts flopped to the tabletop. She studied his face, attempting to pucker her lips in a pathetic attempt to entice him sexually.
Roy suddenly felt crowded. Her face. Her hair. Her body. Her scent. All of them closed in around him. Overwhelming him. Smothering him.
His heart hammered, drilling his ribcage as rage and adrenaline coursed through his veins.
Then unexpectedly, Elisa reached out a pudgy finger and traced the length of his jawbone from his earlobe to his chin, tiptoeing her index and middle fingers to his lips. “What do you say?” she asked in a baby voice.
Unable to withstand the injustice of her pushiness and the sight of her hideous being a second longer, Roy sprang to his feet. Gripping the back of her head with one hand, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her face first into the table. The sickly sound of her nose breaking was followed by a wet, whistling sound as she tried to breathe through her nose, crying and screaming the entire time. Looking at her, with her face covered in blood that burbled with snot from her destroyed nose, he felt angered anew. He smashed her face to the table again. Half conscious, her eyes rolled back into her head, making her even more revolting to behold. He didn’t think it possible for her to be more monstrous than she was. He’d been wrong.
“Did you honestly think someone like me would be with someone like you?” he asked and laughed, just before he brought her face crashing down to the hard wood of the tabletop again and again until life left her.
Satisfied that he’d ended her miserable existence, Roy stood and slipped his arms into his sleek, leather coat. He took three steps before a man came rushing out of the back room screaming at him. “What have you done? What have you done?” he screamed over and over.
Roy simply stood and watched the man as he melted down.
“Don’t you move! Don’t you move a fucking muscle!” The man raced to the bar to Roy’s right. “I’m calling the cops!”
Roy closed the distance between his table and the bar, moving with the speed and purpose of a jungle cat. In one swift motion, he reached across the bar and wrapped a powerful hand around the man’s throat.
The man, who held a phone in one hand and a small handgun in the other, dropped both.
Roy squeezed, applying the deadly pressure of a crocodile’s jaw, and lifted the man off his feet. He could feel the man’s windpipe collapse as he compressed his hand fully and finally. The man’s eyes bulged and blood vessels burst within them, causing his lifeless, bugged gaze to resemble a bloated demon. Roy released him, letting him fall to the floor and land in a heap. He then turned, crossed the dining area of The Porterhouse Grille and Spirits and walked out the door.
Filling his lungs with crisp, January air, Roy felt a swell of pride. He had not intended to accomplish as much as he had this night. He’d only planned to have dinner. But he’d done so much more. He’d done a service to the world. He’d ended the lives of two disgusting human beings. Both had abused their bodies. Neither had deserved to live. Roy had bettered the world with just two small acts. Two small steps in a race that had just begun.
Roy smiled to himself as a few snow flurries began falling from the sky. He loved the snow. Snow hadn’t been predicted in the weather forecast. He took the flakes as a gift from the heavens. A gift for him personally for a job well done. For playing his part in making the world a better place.