"Would you like some fresh nutmeg on the cappuccino? Or some cinnamon?"
Amanda looked out the window of the coffee shop into the dark night. The City was bustling out there, throbbing and vibrant. She was sure what she needed would be out there somewhere.
"Ma'am?" the barista asked again. "Would you like some nutmeg or cinnamon?"
Amanda came back to attention.
"Oh," she said. "Yes- yes, I'll have both."
"Wonderful."
The barista first ground the nutmeg, then sprinkled the cinnamon onto the foamed milk of the cappuccino, then affixed the plastic lid. He handed the coffee drink to Amanda.
"It's cold out there," the barista said. "The spices will help to warm you up. That's what my grandmother always said."
Amanda smiled, accepting the cup.
"Your grandmother sounds like a smart woman."
She looked out into the dark and busy night of the City. She was about to go out into the cold, amidst the nighttime rush, amongst the early holiday shoppers, the drinkers, the hustlers and crooks. She was looking for something, something very specific, and she hoped she didn't have to look long for it.
Amanda was looking for as close to pure evil as she could find.
She took a sip of the hot coffee, and smiled at the man behind the counter. She looked into his eyes, looking for something in them.
Yes, she knew. His grandmother was still alive.
"Very good," she said. "Call your grandmother soon, OK? Tell her that you love her."
The barista nodded.
Amanda turned and opened the door, and stepped out into the cold night. She was looking for the person in all the City that had the blackest, deadest remnant of where a heart used to be. She was sure she would find it.
******************************
Amanda walked down the streets, the night cold and clear. She sipped at her coffee as she went, walking up and down a popular shopping district, the holiday decorations already starting to go up, earlier and earlier each year. She looked into the windows as she went, idly looking at the mannequins dressed up in finery. Fake people that real people looked up at and wished they could be more like.
She also looked into the people as she walked around, glancing over their thoughts and feelings, probing a little deeper into those that she thought might have something she needed.
But there was nothing all that interesting there, nothing really that couldn't be guessed at by anyone. There were some low levels of fear in some of the passerby, some anxiety, a woman Amanda passed by was fucking a guy that was not her husband. A man was stealing from work. Nothing that needed a second look.
Amanda kept walking.
After an hour, she stopped by a trash can, and put her now empty cup in. She pulled her phone out, and checked for messages.
She smiled. John had sent her one, hoping that she was warm, urging her to be cautious.
I know you can handle yourself
, the message read.
But there's more evil out there than you probably know. I don't know what I would do if you didn't come back to me. Be careful.
Silly, she thought. I'll come back to you, John.
She walked another couple of blocks, and came to the river. She stood there for a minute, looking at it gently flow by.
So peaceful, she thought.
She shivered. She was dressed lightly, despite the cold. She had dressed for appearance, wearing her boots with the highest heels, making her tall and statuesque. She was simply dressed in skin-tight black leggings, hugging her hips and accentuating every curve. Her blouse was start white and sheer silk, also tight across her breasts. Her nipples were erect in the cold, and free from any bra, pushing hard against the thin fabric. Her hair spilled loose and almost white in the moonlight across her shoulders.
She had dressed for attention. She had been getting it. There hadn't been very many men she'd passed who hadn't noticed her, hadn't considered fucking her on some level. She wanted them to think about it, to want her. She wanted one of them to make a move, to approach her, to hurt her. She needed one of them to want to rape her.
She took a turn at the river, and began walking down the streets toward Grimm Town. The streetlights grew dimmer, more sporadic, as she went. The sidewalks began to reveal fractures, bleeding into cracks, opening up into fissures as the blocks went on.
Amanda walked down a deserted street. She saw light dancing at her feet, and slowed down as a car pulled up next to her at the curb. She stopped, and watched as the passenger side window rolled down. She bent down, and looked into the car.
"How much," the man in the car said quietly, nervously, looking up and down the street.
"What?" she asked him.
"How much to suck my dick," he repeated, his voice tight and hoarse.
Amanda stood up to her full height, squinting down at the man. She looked inside him, and saw fear, and guilt, and felt his cock hard in his pants at the thought of her getting in his car and wrapping her lips around his cock. She could see an image in his mind of him holding her head down tightly on his ejaculating dick, forcing her to gulp down the jets of cum while he called her a bitch, and a whore, demanding that she drink it all. She felt his
need
, and knew that he was scared of getting robbed, and getting arrested. She knew that he was married, that he would drive home with his limp, spent dick to his family afterwards, as if he was the man they thought he was once again.
She reached out with her mental powers, and gave him a little crack.
He flinched from the pain that whipped across his mind, white hot pain, erupting from his behind his forehead and bursting across his psyche, receding as quickly as it came. His body tensed as if from grabbing a live wire, slumping down into his car seat after the jolt had passed.
His dick withered, softened.
"You don't want to be doing this," she said. "You want to turn your car around, and go home. Go home to your family, and don't come back here."
He nodded at her, his mouth slack and agape, as he fumbled at the keys in his ignition. His eyes never left hers as he cranked the engine to life, and sped off into the darkness.
Amanda watched him drive away, turn the corner.
She kept walking.
******************************
An hour or so later, she felt him. She didn't see him; she didn't know when he had seen her. That was a little surprising. But see her he had, and he was now following her.
She found him in the night with her mind, and looked inside. She was horrified at what she found here. John was right... there certainly was evil that she had never considered before, and this was it, behind her, and stalking her.
Whatever they had called him before was long gone, and what was left of him now was called Little Sammy. Little Sammy had a mind that was like a storm of fire, red slashes of pain and hate across the pure black of something that had long ago lost all ability to care about the hurt it caused.
And cause hurt Little Sammy did. She heard the screams of his victims still reverberating in what was left of his mind, she could feel his excitement at the sight of their blood, taste his mouth as he salivated at the fear and pain he caused them. She saw him take pieces of them, bits of bloodstained clothing and panties, and lengths of hair, and felt his almost sexual excitement as he put those in a secret box. She saw him look at his grotesque human trophies as he readied himself to stalk again.
Now he was somewhere behind her in the night, stalking her.
She kept walking, hearing only the click of her boots reverberating off the brick walls and broken windows. She took a quick left down an alley.
Behind her, Little Sammy reached into his jacket, fingering the cruel knife he had there. He crept along in the darkness, avoiding the few street lights that still worked, silently gliding over the broken pavement as he did most nights. He wasn't always so lucky, he didn't always see such attractive prey so alone and isolated.
Probably a whore, he thought. Although she didn't look quite like one. Little Sammy enjoyed whores, he liked to cut them, liked to leave them bleeding in the cold and the dark.
Little Sammy crept into the alley behind Amanda. He knelt behind a dumpster, and pulled his knife out of his jacket pocket.
