Fresh Flesh

The scrape of footsteps on the cobbles behind him quickened his pace. Fright had replaced his usual confidence earlier when he first became aware of his pursuer and now his anxiety increased with the realization he hadn't eluded his shadow.

The big clock in a nearby church steeple chimed the midnight hour just moments ago, though it meant nothing to the man known only as Hook for he could not tell time any more than he could read or write. Still, he knew it was long past the hour for ordinary citizens to be abroad on a weekday night.

Hook broke into a run, turned a corner, then another before ducking into a dark opening between two buildings. He stood, chest heaving with the exertion, his exhalations forming a hazy cloud in the damp air, as he strained to hear the approach of his unknown follower. Silence. I've evaded him, he thought. Yet, he decided it best to wait a bit longer to be sure. Sweat burned in his eyes and dampened his armpits as he waited.

The lack of lamps on this street pleased him. The moon above was in its final phase and the dark of the night gave him solace. His breathing and the erratic beat of his heart became more normal as he leaned against the moist brick wall of one of the buildings. Bats swooped above him in pursuit of insects and the only sound he detected was the lonely wail of the horn of a tug out on the bay.

Arriving at his destination, Hook paused to glance warily up and down the street. Detecting no movement, he quickly opened the gate, entered the yard, and darted down the stairs to the below-ground lair where he'd regularly delivered his product in recent weeks. The doctor worked in a lab of his creation here rather than at the hospitals like others of his kind.

His only employer at the moment peered at him, his dark eyes a mix of anxiety and disgust. Hook stared back at him. His adversary was a short, stout man, balding, and with long-fingered white hands. Hook didn't even know the man's name. They'd been introduced by a surgeon who no longer sought Hook's assistance.

"You haven't brought me anything," he said. "How am I to continue my work if you can't supply me what I need? I hope you're not expecting to be paid tonight."

Hook exhaled a long breath. "It's becoming increasingly difficult to procure product. There was another protest at the hospital this morning. It got nasty. It's bad enough when you have to watch out for the police. With the people riled up--well, it's dangerous to go poking about even in the poorest of cemeteries."

"You don't need to tell me about the protest," the doctor snapped. "I was there. It's bad enough when the fools are shouting insults. This morning some of them were hurling bricks. A colleague was struck and severely injured.”

"But, as I've told you before, my needs are different from the vivisectionists you're accustomed to dealing with. I don't require bodies for students to dissect. I need specimens to conduct my medical research. And I particularly don't want decaying trash like you brought me last time. That body was so putrid I could barely stand to be in the same room with it. I require fresh corpses."

"Look," Hook responded, his anger building, "it's difficult enough to find bodies with all the competition. Are you expecting me to kill people to provide you with merchandise ripe enough to suit your needs?"

"Yes. I'm willing to pay a premium if you can provide what I need. If you can't, I'll look for someone who can."

"I'm the best in the business. But I draw the line at murdering people. I'm a resurrectionist, not a murderer."

This admission stunned Hook. Though he wasn't about to admit to this man or any other that he'd murdered in the past. Triple the price. It was intriguing. The common practice of digging up bodies from a cemetery was becoming increasingly fraught with danger. There were armed guards in the cemeteries of the wealthy and family members were standing watch now in those used by the lower classes. Luring a drunken sailor or a street whore into a darkened alley, though—that had possibilities. The disappearance of such street trash wouldn't raise a ripple of interest from the police.

Hook thrust out a hand. "You got a deal. I'll need to scout around. But I should be able to deliver in a day or two."

In debating with his client Hook had dismissed the thought of his earlier fears of being followed. Now, as he headed home, it came to mind again. Was it merely a figment of his imagination? Possibly. Though the streets in the area were the realm of some dangerous characters. There were pickpockets aplenty as well as those who'd slit the throat of another for pennies. He'd need to be more careful in the future.

Hook had been procuring for the doctor for a little over a month and it had been profitable before the recent increase in security at the burial places. The idea of their new arrangement gave hope the profitability would increase once more. And with less risk.

The lure of increased money brought Hook out the following night. It was a chilly night made worse by a drizzling rain that soon soaked his clothing and soured his mood. Still, he kept on, though hours of hunting passed with no sign of quarry. He sighed. It was a dismal evening that kept even the worst of people indoors nursing toddies by warm fires. Hook was about to give up and seek his comfort when a dark figure moved out of the shadows and crossed his path.

He didn't need to have hurried. He was surprised to see the person halt and turn to await his approach. Fate was providing him with a willing victim. Hook smiled in anticipation. Such luck was unexpected. He slipped a hand into the pocket of his overcoat and gripped the handle of his sap, a lead ball enclosed in leather, a weapon capable of putting any target quickly out of action.

His fingers relaxed when he saw the person awaiting him was a young woman. A streetwalker who could be easily enticed to go the short distance to where the doctor awaited them. "Hello, sweetheart," he said, "Have you been waiting long for me? It's a nasty night, but I know a nice warm place nearby."

She was better-looking than he would have suspected. Her figure was concealed by a sodden cape, but she had a pretty face and the white teeth displayed by her smile were surprisingly even and without gaps. He seized her arm. "Shall we go along, then?"

The girl didn't resist, though she asked him to loosen his grip on her arm. "Your strong fingers are bruising my poor flesh," she told him.

"Very well then." He relaxed his hold, throwing his arm around her shoulders instead and hurrying her along to their destination. This was easier than anticipated.

The girl was quiet as they continued on and Hook was occupied with the thought of the easy money he was about to make. The doctor would be pleased with this lively specimen for those experiments of his, whatever they might entail.

He opened the gate and allowed her to precede him down the steps. He knocked at the door and the doctor flung it open. "What?" he stepped back in surprise. "Who is this?"

Hook laughed, shoving the girl ahead of him into the room. "You asked for fresh flesh and here it is. Look at her—a fine figure of a young woman. Isn't she better than some rotting corpse dug up from the ground?"

The girl staggered a bit as he released her. Hook noticed her forehead was dotted with perspiration and her face looked oddly white in the glow of the lamp on the wall beside her. He thought it must be fear of what lay ahead.

"What difference does it make?" Hook drew his sap from his pocket and held it aloft. "I can put her out of her misery soon enough." He grinned. "Do you have my money? If you don't want her I'll take my pleasure and dispose of her on the streets. It's up to you."

He caught a flash of movement beside him as the girl darted a hand out from under her cape and spun toward him. Hook felt a sharp pain before realizing she had stabbed him in the belly with a short dagger. Before he had a chance to react, she slashed the blade across his thigh. He screamed and dropped the sap as he felt his warm blood running down his leg.

The girl stepped back, the knife held before her. "Come on," she urged, "Come ahead and next time I'll slit your dirty throat."

The doctor was cowering at the back of the room, a table between him and the crazy woman. "I haven't done anything to you," he cried. "Go. Run away. I'll make sure he doesn't come after you."

"I'll go when I'm ready," she said, keeping her gaze fixed on Hook. "I'd like to stay and watch you both suffer. There isn't time. I'll be dead before the wages of your sin catch up to you. I'll need to be content with the horror I see on your faces when you hear what awaits you."

The girl smiled again. "You, you bastard," she said to Hook, "I watched you dig up my husband's body from his grave and bring it up here for this maniac who calls himself a doctor. I've been following you since then, waiting for a chance for my revenge. I wanted to stab you with my knife and laugh as you died. Then I discovered I'm suffering from the same pox whatever it may be that took my husband from my loving arms."

Hook glanced from her to the doctor. "Are you gonna help me before I bleed you death?"

The girl laughed. "You're not going to die from those little cuts. They were just a sample of the pain you're going to feel soon."

"You've both been exposed. First from my husband's corpse and now from me. We've gifted you death. May it take you slowly and painfully."

A retired newspaper editor, J. R. Lindermuth's short stories have appeared in a variety of magazines, including Mystery Magazine, Crime and Suspense, Mysterical-E, Mouth Full of Bullets, and others.

Cynthia Fawcett has been writing for fun or money since she was able to hold a pen. A Jersey Girl at heart, she got her journalism degree at Marquette University in Milwaukee and now writes mostly technical articles about hydraulics and an occasional short story or poem on any other subject.