Benny looked at his reflection in the mirror. But he wasn't Benny tonight. He was Connor.
Connor ran his fingertips against the stubble across his chin. It felt right. He was pleased. He turned and reached for the bathroom door. He nudged it open just enough so he could slip into the next room. A bedroom.
The window curtains were drawn but the moon was full. He waited for a few seconds as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
A cheap table, littered with empty food cartons. A monobloc chair strewn with clothes. A rug on the floor. Worn and stained. A few photographs taped to the wall. A sad effort to make this lonely place feel like home. And finally, against the far wall, a bed. Someone was sleeping in it.
Connor licked the edge of his teeth as his eyes ran across the room once more. He had found a path. He would make no sound.
Slowly, he crouched down and put his fingers against the floor. It was wooden. And cheap. He could feel the boards bend as he shifted his weight. Connor smiled. At least it wouldn't be too easy.
He slid his fingers across the floor board, following the grain. A few inches to the right, he felt the head of a nail. That meant there was a support beam underneath. It would hold his weight without creaking. It would make no sound.
Connor shifted his weight to his right hand, then lifted his foot a fraction of an inch from the ground. Carefully, he moved his knee up past his elbow, then planted his foot right below his palm. He returned his weight to his foot. The floor board moved ever so slightly. But it did not make a sound.
He repeated his motion with his left hand and foot. Then again with the right. Then left. Then right. And again. And again.
It took him ten minutes to cross a distance he could have taken in four strides. But stealth was important. The night was young. And he had time to spare.
Now Connor was crouched beside the bed. His eyes roamed over the person lying in it. It was a girl.
She was lying on her side with her face toward him. Her eyes were closed and her long lashes fluttered slightly as she dreamed. Her nose had a gentle slope and ended with a slight upturn. It reminded connor of a Klimdt painting. Her mouth was small, but with full lips that parted slightly with each breath.
The neckline of her night gown was cut low. That wasn't surprising. The nights here were warm and humid. The less one wore to sleep, the better. In the dim light he could make out the curve of her chest. Her gown had slipped revealing her left nipple. Connor found himself longing to grip it in his teeth.
In a minute, he let his eyes wander once more. He followed the line of her stomach, then up along her hips. The hem of her gown ended just halfway down her thigh. His gaze swept down the length of her legs and finally to her feet. Her toes were curled, as if she were dreaming of something exciting. Or naughty.
Connor had a fleeting memory of his lips grazing those toes. Of his tongue flicking and licking over and between the polished nails. Blinking, he chased the memory away. He was not here for nostalgia.
With great care, he reached into his shirt pocket. From it he drew out a thick piece of cloth and a small syringe. Then he settled down for the wait.
Minute after minute passed with Connor crouching mere inches away from the girl. Motionless, silent and watchful.
At one point, the girl stirred. Connor tensed, ready to move in case she was waking.
But she wasn't. She rolled onto her back and stretched her legs out. Her right hand shifted from her waist to her left breast, cupping it. Her other hand snaked down, pushing her gown aside as her fingers slid between her thighs. She moaned so very softly.
Connor smiled and shook his head.
Then, he put the cloth over the girl's mouth and plunged the syringe into the base of her neck.
The girl's eyes snapped open and she tried to scream. In less than a second, Connor had moved his body onto hers, pinning her down with his weight. She was clawing at his back, trying to push him off when suddenlt, their eyes met.
She recognized him.
She stopped struggling then. She placed her palms against his back and pulled him to her, as one would embrace a lover. She moved her legs, he let her, until her knees were at his hips and her ankles were hooked behind his knees. She pulled him to her, and he let her.
A moment passed.
And then her eyes closed and her limbs fell limp at her sides. The drug had done its work. Connor got off the bed.
There was a quiet tap and Connor turned to the window. Behind the haze of the curtain, he could make out the shape of a man. Connor raised his hand and the man outside raised his in reply. Connor turned back to the girl.
Gently, he slid an arm under her shoulder and behind her back. His other arm slid under her knees. As he was about to lift her, he noticed that her gown had slipped again. There, just inches from his face, her left nipple was exposed once more.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the flesh of her breast. He parted his mouth, then gently took her nipple between his teeth. He shifted his gaze so he could see her face. He bit down, softly at first, but she didn't flinch. He bit down harder, but again there was no response.
Connor pulled his mouth away. He felt... disappointed.
With a quick heave, he lifted her off the bed. He turned and in two steps was in front of the window. The floor boards creaked under his weight. But that was not important anymore. His job was done.
Connor lifted the girl through the window and passed her on to the man outside. Then, Connor stepped out through the window, pulling it shut behind him.
