He followed the little girl's sound to her room. He heard the sound of water behind the closed door and the faint humming. It was in that moment, as he kept staring at the door, that he saw the face of Sara. The little girl was Sara. He felt warm. His heart was raging. His blood was surging. His eyes were aglow. And his lips were parted in a grin.
Then he turned toward the kitchen. The sound of cooking. The scent of food. Sara loved cooking. He never had the opportunity to taste her delicacies. Would today be it? Wings sprung out of his back, carrying him over the floor soundlessly. He stopped at the doorway, dazzled by the sight of Sara's back hiding underneath the long hair.
"Sara," he whispered. His voice so very soft, and yet so very clear in her ears. She turned around, wide eyed and pale faced. He leaped before she could do anything. Grabbed her. Ripped the apron off of her and stuffed it into her mouth. Tore a sleeve, fashioned it into a rope and tied her hands behind her. And then, he sat on her, waiting.
This was the sight that greeted Meng when she walked into the kitchen dressed in her pjs. Her mother on the ground and a strange man sitting on her. It was almost too much to comprehend.
"Hello Sara," he said. He was smiling but looked like he was twisting his face into something terrible. "You kept us waiting. You really didn't see, did you? I was right there. On the street. With Sara. You walked past us, from so close. Is your phone so much more interesting? You make me so unhappy. But that's okay. Really. I was so happy to be spending the night with just one. But now, there's two more of you. Feels like my birthday. I promise, you'll be just as happy too."
As he spoke, he rose to his feet and slowly walked over toward the frozen Meng. He stopped in front of her, reaching for her delicate face, feeling her lips with his fingers.
"You really are the best," he said, smiling at the unmoving little girl. "Sara. The prettiest. The softest. The tastiest, I'm sure. Really the best Sara."
He was so absorbed in appreciating the delicate beauty, he was completely blind to the shadow behind him rising from the ground. He didn't even see the shadow reflecting in the eyes so close to his. He didn't even hear the tearing sound as the shadow's hands came free, nor the spitting. He didn't even feel the rapidly dropping temperature as if invisible ice tainted the air. So lost was he in the pleasure that already felt so very real. But then he froze, for he couldn't possibly be deaf to the question in the bone chilling voice.
"Sweetheart, do you know what he is talking about?"
Meng shook her head at her mother, feeling calm. She smiled as her mother nodded. And slipped back.
He felt nothing even though he knew for absolute certain that something had happened. Something about him had changed. He looked down at himself, searching, taking a whole minute before he saw it finally. The red line around his arm, the arm that had been feeling the prettiest Sara, the arm that he couldn't feel anymore. As if waiting for precisely this moment, the unbearable pain erupted. The scream hadn't yet reached his throat, when he felt something slam into it with such great force that it collapsed, and he with it. From the ground he looked up and saw the indifferent woman stepping over him and embracing her daughter. She couldn't be bothered about him. Fear was no stranger, it was once a dear friend. A long time forgotten, fear returned with familiarity. He recognized her now. She was no Sara. She was the old devil. The devil he escaped from when he was little. The devil who promised to get him one day. The devil he ran to all by himself. He was smiling through tears and snot. He needed no mirror to tell him how ugly a sight he was. While the devil remained uncaring, he crawled away, out the house. He got to his feet in the hallway and began running with the support of the cold wall. He had to get away as far as possible, as fast as possible. He knew there was no escaping if he got caught. And he wasn't ready to meet his end.