Sarah's Hunger: Part One

Sunset was minutes ago. The park emptied fast now. Young lovers abandoned twilight shadows, rushing toward the light and safety of homes, of families and of each other. Sarah looked on with hungry, predatory eyes. After that cop was killed, people were being more cautious. Too cautious. That made life difficult for Sarah. She remembered other, harder times. Taking a long drag on the cigarette clenched in her lips, she looked every bit the slut her mother warned her she'd become.

"Take it! Take it, you thieving bitch. You'll never steal from me again," screamed Sarah's mother. Shabby clothing flew into a shoddy, second hand suitcase. "What you stole will rent a room. Sell yourself to some whorehopper. Buy your own freaking crack!" She flung the suitcase at her unrepentant daughter. "Now get out."

"Whorehopper," Sarah whispered in a rush of smoke. She hadn't heard that word in years. Not since leaving the sticks. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered but the hunger. It had to be soon now. Maybe she would...

"Excuse me, miss, would you please move your feet so I can rest a moment?"

Sarah's icy stare appraised the prim, gray haired spinster sagging before her. A kid clutched her blue veined hand, a huge purse hanging like a millstone around his neck. "Go to blazes," leaped to Sarah's lips, but she bit back the words. These two fools might be her only chance tonight. She eyed the purse. It was obviously heavy. Some of these old ladies had taken to carrying guns since the murders. Illegal, but smacking of good sense. Sarah feared no gun, but street smarts worried her. The old lady was in no shape to run, yet gunshots or a screaming kid could attract unwanted attention. Sarah was too weak and sick to be certain of silencing both of them in time. Sweeping her fishnet clad legs from the bench, she tossed the cigarette into the gathering darkness.

"Sure lady, have a seat," Sarah forced a smile, perfect white teeth glistening. "Right here beside me."

"Thank you. I simply couldn't walk another step. Poor Bertie is exhausted, playing beast of burden carrying my purse. Here, child, let me get that."

The boy plodded forward obediently. Looking like a tired cherub, he bowed his head as the spinster wrestled with the bag, dropping it to the bench with a metallic clank.

The British accent bothered Sarah, stirring memories. She studied the pair as the woman fussed over the boy's mussed hair. Both were well dressed. Conservative. They were all browns and dark blues and as boring as only nerds could be. Sarah recalled another Brit acquaintance, her first kill. Nothing like these two, she mused.

Charlie was young, exciting and a sadist. Hooking at the bus station one cold Friday night, she'd felt lucky when the handsome stranger offered her two century notes for an overnighter. Really lucky, until she woke up from a drugged whiskey sour and the beatings began. That was her introduction to "the joy of flagellation," as Charlie put it. It was two days before he succumbed to a sex and cocaine induced stupor. After freeing herself, castration was only the first thing Sarah had introduced to Charlie. She laughed inwardly. Nothing like firsthand experience. What was the old lady yammering about?

"Here I go on, without so much as an introduction," wheezed the old lady. "The lad chasing bugs is Bertram Fawnsworth, my charge and I am Mildred Percy. And you are...?"

"Call me Sarah. What are you two doing out this late?"