The Bohemian Method
When Amelia woke, she knew she was not alone in her room. She sat up too fast, felt lightheaded for a moment. She tasted blood in her mouth and felt a slight trickle from her nose. The room felt dry, warm. The air smelled like fresh tobacco.
"I like it when you bleed," a voice said from the corner of the room.
She turned and saw the man, lounging in the chair by the vanity, cigarette in hand, the glow reflected in the mirror behind. He grinned. His teeth were very white, very even, even in the darkness of the room. Her heart was hammering.
"You," she said, struggling against the quaver in her voice.
"Me," he responded. "Always me."
He stood and approached her bed. With his free hand, he pulled a tissue from the pocket of his suit coat and offered it to her. She averted her eyes and took the tissue, dabbing at the blood.
He was incredibly tall, and his features, while attractive, were almost unremarkable. Almost, were it not for his eyes, which, even in the di