Episode 1 - Elisa

Just Another Bloody Night

Just another bloody night.  She got used to wearing black on working nights; blood or wine, it’s just harder to stain. Or easier to hide, hard to remember how it goes. Elisa cleaned off whatever was left of the struggle and looked at the time. Barely past midnight. Two bodies down, one more contract to go. The hunt was the easy part of the job. Souls who ran out of time have a particular stench that reminded her of rotten fruits; sickly sweet. The smell led her to a nightclub. Nothing like the one she used to own. Yet, the lingering scent of cigarettes at the entrance brought her home. She could imagine Evie behind the bar shouting orders, doing most of the work while she enjoyed her wednesday drink; ice cold paper plane. Evie always did the best paper planes with just the right amount of aperol and judgeful side eye.

The stench became stronger as she approached the door. As usual, one smile to the bouncer and she was in. Demonic charms or not, that trick never gets old.  As Elisa went up the stairs, she felt the creaking under every step, it’s high pitched whine drowned out by the blasting music. The live band seemed to be shouting some shitty version of “Maneater”, but the lead obviously had played one too many nights in a row.

“How fucking fitting,” she spat under her breath. Flashes of her bloody hands tearing limbs apart clawed at her mind, she shrugged them out of her thoughts as she took place by the bar. Elisa could not decide what she hated more; the poor lighting, the try hard 80s rock band, or the fact that they used smoke machines as if to add insult to injury.

“Something you don’t like?” asks the man next to her, “maybe it’s the smell” he added with a smirk before finishing his drink. She couldn’t help but stare at him;  he didn’t seem to mind. Something about him reminded her of Mikhail. He was a perfect marble sculpture someone had gaffited over in the hope to forget its nature. That’d be the best way to describe him. His leather jacket was worn out, but not ripped. His silver hair was styled in a way that wanted itself to be messy and rugged but couldn’t really break away from its inner preppiness.. Elisa’s eyes lingered on the scars that ornated his face, right above the eyebrow. They reminded her of constellations.

“Pretty scars,” she finally said.

He chuckled before answering: “yours’ not bad either”.

She leaned into the bar to sign the bartender, “two of whatever he’s having”.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Does it matter?”

The air became heavy again; The rotting scent of her target now smelled like week old peaches under the sun. It could be a lot worse. Its sweetness tainted the very authentic smell of sweat, smoke, and vomit this place was going for. It couldn’t be the silver head; he mostly smelled like regret. Her target was slowing trailing off to the back exit. Her mind was already reliving the details of her last kill, details she wished she did not enjoy so deeply.

“You’d think people would listen to strangers in a bar,” he uttered as she snapped out of it. The trail was fading out. Her eyes stayed fixed on the red Exit sign. “Hold that thought for me, would you?” she said as she slowly got up her chair. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own as it followed the rotten peach smell. She wasn’t worried, she knew what came next would only take a second. Elisa let her hand rest on the freezing handle for a second, her mind wondered about the contract. What would they look like, how old would they be, if their bones would break easily?

She finally opened the door, only to be met by the wind’s frozen bite. Ironically, it barely hid the rotten stench coming from the frail silhouette a few steps away. The poor girl was trying to light a cigarette, but the wind kept killing the flame. She was trembling. Elisa would have felt pity if she was not wearing that god awful band’s shirt. Looking at the way she was dressed, one could only assume she was a groupie or even the girlfriend of one of the band members. Elisa offered her a light and asked:

“Anxious?”

“I guess… I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Makes two of us.”

Elisa grabbed the contract’s arm to pull her closer. She didn’t have time for her to run, there was a drink on the line. As she reached for her neck, the poor girl screeched

“Don’t you want to know why?”

“Why what?”

“Why I sold my soul?”

Elisa stared at her for a few seconds, and replied “Not really, ” before ripping her throat out. She hated how much she relished in that moment; how tender the flesh felt in her hand, how warm the blood was in her mouth. There always was that awkward moment; when she came back to her senses. She was again alone in a parking lot, still holding a lifeless body by its crushed trachea. That situation was becoming more common than expected. She licked the blood of her fingers, pensive. Her eyes wandered to the dumpster nearby. The t-shirt belonged there anyway.

The sweetness in the air had vanished by the time she came back to the bar. Before even saying a word, she sat down next to the same stranger and downed the drink in front of her. She took it like a shot, throwing her head back like the 20 year old she used to be, hoping the burn would chase away the metallic aftertaste of her last job. But this one was so much worse, nothing compared to the taste of cheap vodka. She couldn’t help but let out a groan.

“You were right, this was a mistake” she managed to say as she turned to the pretty face next to her, “but you seem to know enough about those”.

He cackled, showing his perfectly white fangs. She couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, she found a friend. “I’m serious,” she continued, “who hurt you!”.

He snarled, “Where to start… this might turn into a very long night”. The air was cleanish, the night was young, and she was in no rush to go back to Mikhail.

“Give me the prologue and I’ll pick the next round!” She pointed to the bottle of Patron and gave the bartender her brightest smile.