Man of Mystery
By:  Doug Doughtie
© 1997 by Doug Doughtie

She walked out the door and into the alley, hearing the upbeat, happy dance music invade the silence of the outside world. Even the shadows shirked away from the sudden change in environment. Then the door closed behind her, muffling the sounds. The alley quieted, the shadows returned, and the outside world became once again the gray, quiet place she was used to. What an extreme difference between the party inside and the cold, gloomy city streets. She didn’t know which she preferred, but the alley was quiet, and that’s what she needed now.

She reached into the pocket of her coat (which looked rather out of place over the long, flowing white dress she had worn for the party), and pulled out a package of cigarettes. She lit one with a lighter she had pulled from another pocket, and inhaled the warm smoke. She felt it slide down her throat and into her chest, warming her better than her coat could. She breathed out, and watched the exhaled smoke curl away into the dark night. The city air was dry and cold, and provided an abrupt contrast to the stuffy heat of all the people inside, dancing the night away to the beat of the band. Dancing happily, delighted by the company of so many other party-goers. Dancing with a friend, or in the arms of a lover. Dancing without her.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t tried. She had been offered dances by several men, but not by the one she wanted to dance with. So, she had waltzed with fat men, tangoed with young men, and fox-trotted with wealthy men, but all the time she had kept her eyes on the young, mysterious, dark-haired man across the room. Several times during the course of the evening, she had caught his gaze on her as well, but he had quickly glanced away when he realized she was looking at him. Now, here in the darkness of the alley, she could think of nothing else. She looked into the deepest shadows of the night, and could see his face. It was haunting the way it possessed her and percolated into her every thought. She’d never met him, never spoken with him, and yet he fascinated her to no end.

His smooth dancing had seemed almost hypnotic and beautiful. His tall, well-built frame showed no signs of clumsiness or uncertainty. He seemed confident, and calculated as he glided across the dance floor with various important people that he had been introduced to. But always his eyes floated about the room, taking everything in, forgetting nothing. No one knew who he was, and no one had bothered to ask. He seemed so regal and majestic that he needed no introduction, but at the same time he was dark and mysterious so that you always wanted to keep your eye on him just in case. His face was long, but not melancholy. He radiated a sense of wonder that she had noticed on everyone he had spoken to that night, and even some that he hadn’t. His black hair was slicked back over his head, and his eyes gave a look that could almost be interpreted as a glare, but not quite. It was an observant expression that seemed to penetrate deep into the very soul of the person who was receiving it. His dark eyes held such a steady gaze that it was impossible to look away. It was almost as it they possessed some sort of bizarre hypnotic power, and held you in their gaze until he was finished.

She felt almost frightened of this strange wonder and fascination that had aroused inside her. This man, whom no one knew, but no one questioned. This man than seemed completely unnatural, and yet amazingly enthralling. This man who had the entire crowd wondering, but too timid to ask. Who was this man? Where did he come from? She turned toward the door to go back inside, resolute on finding out.

He stood between her and the doorway. He stood about six foot four inches tall, and his black suit made him almost completely blend in with the night, almost as if it were a natural home to him. The only thing that stood out was his white face. He was amazingly pale. Strange that she hadn’t noticed before. His eyes gazed at hers with the same burning intensity that made her want to run away screaming, but at the same time wouldn’t allow her to leave.

“Miss Seragon? I noticed you earlier this evening, and when I saw you were out her alone, I had to come have a word with you.”

He spoke with a slight foreign accent, almost Russian but not quite. It was more eerie and strangely familiar really, as if she felt she should recognize its origin, but couldn’t remember where she’d heard it before. She found herself almost captured by the voice, which was just as commanding and hypnotic as his eyes, and it demanded an answer. She didn’t realize she was talking, but her mouth was moving as if in instant response to the powerful voice.

“Yes, I came out for a breath of fresh air.”

“I noticed you watching me.”

She was aghast. Even if she had been being obvious, and she knew she hadn’t been, this man was quite bold to say such an accusing statement right off. Her mouth again struggled to answer, but it had little to say.

“Well, I...uh...”

“I was watching you too, Miss Seragon.”

Suddenly he was moving towards her. His snake-like eyes keeping her completely still as he approached. She no longer found him fascinating, or attractive. He was a frightening apparition that she wished would end with a startling awakening. She tried to scream, but she was paralyzed with the hypnotic power in his eyes, which now seemed almost to glow with an unholy light.

“Please... I need to go...”

He seemed not to notice her effort to speak as he slipped his arms around her waist. She wanted to fight, she wanted to run, she wanted to die, but all she could do was gaze into those entrancing eyes. He moved his face close to hers, then went to kiss her neck. It was only then, as she felt to two little pricks on her throat, that she realized.

-o-o-o-

The next morning, Katherine Seragon was found dead in the alley behind the Foundling Hotel. There was no obvious cause of death, but her skin was cold, clammy, and white. Her face was calm and peaceful, and there were no signs of a struggle save two small drops of blood on the bosom of her white dress.