Despite the chill of the September air, Portswain's nightlife buzzed with life and anticipation. The waxing moon glowed dimly from behind sparse clouds. Bars and clubs were filled with regulars and newcomers to the coastal town, each seeking to fulfill their own vice.

Just off the corner of a seedy bar stood Alice, leaning against a lamppost. She had done her best to catch the eye of passing men and had offered her services and the vacant backroom of the bar, but had yet to get any takers. It was going to be another night with little to no money, and she was not looking forward to the consequences.

As she contemplated what it would take to get out of town, the sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention.

Alice knew the soft click of custom made Italian shoes from a mile away. She could probably even identify the exact price and color. Her obsession with well-crafted shoes had helped her pick out high paying customers in the past, and this was her chance to turn her week around.

She pushed off from her lamp post and straightened her skirt in a practiced movement. She fluffed up her bosom before facing who she hoped would be her next client. Having expected a much older businessman, she was pleasantly surprised by a handsome thirty-something.

Her eyes ran across his black hair with light curls effortlessly arranged in a contained mess. His skin was exceptionally pale against his dark business suit, which screamed wealth and power. Altogether, he was tall, dark, and handsome. Money attached to good looks. As long as he wasn't looking to be rough, Alice would have an easy enough time making her living for the next few minutes or so. She smiled coquettishly at the approaching man, and he smiled back at her with vague interest.

"Lookin' for a good time?" Alice asked and sidled up next to him.

"Perhaps," he replied. He looked her over, his eyes lingering on her exposed neck.

She wilted minutely under his assessing stare. The man's smile did nothing to hide the judgment in his eyes. Sure, she was on the thin side and had stringy blond hair. The years hadn't been particularly kind to her, but she still had an underlying beauty that she occasionally caught in the mirror.

He gave her an amused smile and placed his hand at the small of her back. "Let's find somewhere more private," he said as he led her toward one of the back streets. "And perhaps you could introduce me to who you work for?"

She glanced up, ready to suggest the bar's private room, and was caught in the gaze of hazel eyes. Slowly, she became less aware of her surroundings, and she welcomed the reprieve. The world grew darker and more closed in, like the reassuring comfort of a warm and heavy blanket in winter. She barely noticed the hand leaving her back, and she sagged against the brick wall of a building. A bright flickering just out of sight caught her attention, and she lazily tilted her head to look.

Through the muddled waters of her mind, she recognized it as the light that hung over the backdoor of one of the bars. Her pimp's bar. The backroom was just down the hall from the door, but she'd have to pass by his office first.

The back entrance was for deposits, not escorting Johns to the dingy backroom for a quickie. He wouldn't be very happy to see her. They should take the front entrance.

The thought was there and gone in a moment. She wouldn't need to worry about him anymore. She watched the flickering light through blurring vision as her chin was tilted upward; images of fairies skittering about floated through her mind.

Her thoughts lingered on her sister. She should really call her. Blackmail only worked if the blackmailer was alive.

A body crashed through the back door of the bar.

Alice stirred. Her vision refocused, and she looked over as a drunken man staggered past the dumpster with a bottle of liquor in hand, narrowly avoiding ramming into the sharp corner.

Then, he vanished. A retching noise drifted from behind the dumpster, followed by some creative cursing. The young man reappeared, leaning on the dumpster for support.

"Last time I get drunk. Handsy asshole," he muttered before shoving himself forward to stumble toward the main street. He paused at the mouth of the alley.

Alice felt a sharp streak of annoyance. The thought of there not being enough plagues to clean up the riff raff floated through her mind, and she couldn't help but agree. How different would her life have been if her high school sweetheart had succumbed to his flu instead of dragging her into his drug-filled lifestyle?

She frowned at the invasive thought. Her high school sweetheart might have deserved to be taken out by sickness, but the drunk in the alley was a regular who kept to himself. The bartender liked him enough to slip him free drinks.

The drunkard appeared to remember that he still held a bottle of alcohol and took a swig before continuing on his way, oblivious to the eyes that watched him.

Alice turned her head and looked up at the man who held her. She blinked in confusion. She was supposed to be doing something. "So… What was it you wanted?" she managed to slur before her world clouded over once more. She thought she could hear herself responding to the man's question, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

She'd been meaning to call her sister. Her sister was a doctor. Her sister could get her into rehab. Off the street. Back into the life she had meant to live. She blinked sluggishly at the brick wall across the alley. She was alone. She should probably get home. Her roommate would be there already. She might be a hooker, but even hookers needed to take the night off. The streets could be dangerous at night.

She pushed off the wall and stumbled, slowly regaining her balance. Even though she feared what would happen if she failed to get a client, something else lurked around the corner that promised a much worse fate if she didn't get off the streets.

In the morning, Alice would hear the news that her pimp's bar was a crime scene. Very little was said of what happened, but it had apparently been a dispute with another pimp and the gang he ran with. Absently, she picked up her phone and called her sister.

Jack Elster glanced around the library, making sure he wouldn't be bothered in his corner tucked away in the stacks. He readjusted the angle of his laptop and clicked on the waiting connect button in the center of his screen. After a short pause, a window popped up, showing another desktop. He maximized the window and leaned forward, resting on his elbows.

He watched as the cursor clicked through various police reports and photos. A couple mugshots and their accompanying reports quickly went by. He stiffened as a photo of his favorite bar popped up, followed by photos of the owner lying on the floor in a pool of blood. There were cuts running along every inch of exposed skin.

He quickly read over the coroner's report and description of the crime scene when they popped up. Apparently, Jay Cook had died from blood loss, but most of the cuts and stabs had been made after he had died. Jack rubbed at his wrists as he read over the rest of the report, detailing the knives used.

He licked his lips and reached for his phone. He tapped an icon of a pig and waited. The cursor paused in its exploration, leaving Jack's screen full of deep, ragged cuts. He managed to pull his eyes away to stare at his keyboard.

"Fairchild."

"I… Sam, can you go to a different picture?" Jack whispered.

"Who… Jack?! How many times do I have to—"

"Please? Just change it." He sighed in relief as his screen switched to a photo of a kitten in a bow. "Thanks."

"Why are you spying on me, Jack?" Sam asked.

"I'm bored," Jack said. "But that's not why I called. I uh… I think I was at The Charred Flamingo around the time Cook died."

"You what?! Did you see anything? Hear anything?"

"I-I… I remember going and… I left through the back door. I think. If you found vomit, it's probably mine, 'cuz there was some on my shirt in the morning and none on my floor."

"Jack…"

"It was a bad night," he said quietly. "Just tell me the police report's right, and it's gang related."

Sam was silent for a moment. "Officially, yes. But unofficially, everything's too convenient. Too clean for this to be one of their fights. Hell, we have a witness, but it's…" He broke off with a heavy sigh. "We know some sort of message is being sent. Just don't know who it's addressed to. However, I can say it's not connected to Farragut."

Jack nodded as he swallowed. "Okay."

"Jack. Promise me you'll stay home tonight. No bars. If you insist on self-medicating, then do it at home."

"Yeah. I can do that."

"The guest room is always available."

"No. I'm good," Jack said as he tugged his shirtsleeve up and down his wrist.

"Do yourself a favor, and stop hacking my computer. It's not helping you."

"But if I do that, then you won't have an excuse to arrest me later," Jack said, a desperate tremor leaking into his voice. "I don't do anything. I just watch."

"Jack, just tell me that you won't do it again."

"I won't do it again."

"Good. Now get some rest," Sam said, his voice quiet and reassuring. "You sound exhausted."

"Sure."

"I have to go over this report, so find something else to entertain yourself with, okay?"

"Okay."

"Thank you. Oh, and Candy wants you to stop making her draw Swords and Towers. Although, she's got a good feeling about the King of Pentacles, or something," Sam said.

Jack's screen changed back to the police report, and he was thankful that it was just a witness testimony. He disconnected from Sam's computer. "Tell her to just remove them from the deck and stop spying on me."

"Who's spying?"

Jack huffed a small laugh. "Point taken. I'll go do something else." He pulled up an adventure game as they said their goodbyes. Maybe he could get himself to relax with some friendly pixels solving puzzles.

A few hours in, he was regretting that he chose a darker genre to play.

Night was swiftly falling, and Jack was in need of an outlet and wifi. He wished there were 24-hour libraries, but quickly disregarded the thought as his imagination supplied him with a cast of questionable weirdos who wouldn't respect his personal space.

He made his way to his favorite internet cafe, planning on staying until they closed. In the window, he caught his reflection. And his haggard appearance. He swallowed and avoided his eyes as he looked past to see if he had a chance at a table.

He was in luck; it was a goth crowd night. He entered the cafe and made his way to a table in the corner, giving a small wave to the woman behind the register. He set up shop at the tiny table, thankful that the goth kids tended to stick together and didn't take over every flat surface available.

The waitress came by and dropped off a drink in front of him. "Made special, just for you, Jack," she said with a wink. "No charge."

Jack grinned up at her and plugged in his laptop. "Thanks, Missy."

She eyed Jack's laptop as it loaded. "You've never been caught, right?" she asked.

"I have no idea what you mean," he replied innocently.

"Of course you don't," she said with a smirk. "Now answer the question."

"Only once," he admitted. "And that was on purpose, so it doesn't count."

Missy shook her head and left Jack to his devices.

Jack tried to give his laptop his undivided attention, but it wasn't easy as he had the distinct feeling of being watched. He thought better to ignore it. It never ended well when he confronted people staring at him. He did, however, catalogue his clothing choices for the day, wondering if he managed to stand out.

Scuffed black Chucks, faded jeans, a plain forest green shirt, and a black hoodie two sizes too big for him. No, he was perfectly boring aside from the pair of small heart-shaped rainbow earrings, but even those were covered by his hair reaching just past his ears. Maybe he stood out because he wasn't part of the goth brigade. Or because he was sitting alone. Did he look like some loser working on a screenplay?

He frowned at his laptop. It didn't matter. He was fine. He looked normal, and a loser working on a screenplay was normal. His scripts just happened to be more aligned with programming. He steadied his breathing and made an attempt to concentrate on said scripts. He was already behind on the coding he'd written that morning before getting thrown off by the police report. He needed to get over himself and stay focused.

He startled as the other chair at his table was pulled back and someone sat down. He glanced up and blinked owlishly at the man who sat across from him. Pale skin stood out in stark contrast next to black, lightly curled hair. He could feel his cheeks heating up and quickly ducked his head. He was too sober to deal with handsome men being so close to him.

"Hello," greeted the man.

Jack swallowed and nodded. "Um, hi?" He looked up and gave the man an uneasy smile. He almost regretted it. Pretty hazel eyes greeted him. He quickly shifted his gaze to the man's nose. Straight, pale… Just above a set of light pink lips. He dropped his eyes and stared at his keyboard. Stranger danger, screamed his mind. Keep him talking, screamed his ears.

"May I inquire as to what you're doing?" the handsome stranger asked. His accent had a lovely Irish lilt to it that had Jack's stomach squirming.

"Nothing important," Jack said as he pulled his laptop closer. "Nothing interesting."

The man leaned in, and Jack's eyes darted up. This time, he couldn't bring himself to look away. The man smiled at him. It was a charming smile that held promises of comfort.

"You'd be surprised at what interests me," the man said silkily.

Jack licked his lips. Something was wearing at his barriers, telling him to give up his will. Everything would be okay. He didn't actually have anything to hide. A browser extension for flagging local gruesome news stories was hardly worth the effort of lying. And if this mystery man had any sort of interest in computers or literature, then Jack would have someone to share his project with.

An instinct embedded deep within his memory stopped his hopeful thoughts.

The man was too close for comfort, and then there was the look in his eyes that said he had ulterior motives. "I have to go now," Jack said as he looked away. He quickly unplugged and closed his laptop. His heart beat too fast, and he shook as he quickly tucked his laptop in his bag.

He needed to get away. He couldn't move fast enough. At least he wasn't being stopped. That was better than being yelled at for freaking out. He glanced at the man as he stood and only saw confusion. He forced an apologetic smile as he edged away. "Sorry."

When Jack finally made it back to his studio apartment, he quickly checked that all the windows were locked and had their backup sticks securely in place. If anyone wanted to break in, they'd have to break a window.

He rubbed his arms as he looked from window to window. Everything was where it was supposed to be. His pile of computer parts was as he'd left it. His bed, a cheap mattress shoved in a corner, was covered in a couple blankets and discarded clothing from that morning. Even the empty liquor bottles still sat on his counter, arranged by color. His CD cases were exactly where he left them: carefully arranged along the floorboards, some at angles, but each in their own specific spot.

He shouldn't be this paranoid. No one was out to get him. That guy wasn't out to get him. Jack was okay. He was safe.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, he grabbed a chair and wedged it under the door handle. He tightened the window blinds before grabbing a couple beers and hurrying to his bed.

Maybe he could get a good buzz going and get some sleep before the nightmares kicked in.