Page 16 of The Phantom's Vice

I’m not sure what to make of what the Reaper told me tonight—then again, I suppose I should just be grateful I’m still alive.

R-57 is his name (well, the only one he would give me), and he works in “acquisitions” for the Sanctum. What that means, exactly, I don’t know (and he wouldn’t tell me, no matter how much I pried). I imagine it has something to do with trafficking, but for what (or whom), I’m not entirely sure. It has to be something truly horrible for him to want to turn against his organization, after all.

I have another meeting with him this weekend. I can only hope to come away with more answers than questions, unlike this time.

I wake in a daze,still hazy from the powerful sleeping agent coursing through my system. I hate the things, but I can’t get a wink of sleep without them—and I’ve triedeverything.Nothing but prescription medicine will keep the nightmares at bay. But when you can’t sleep, you can’t dream, making life a tad meaningless but bearable.

I’m so out of it this morning that it takes me a few moments to realize I can’tbreathe.

“Benom!” My muffled cry does nothing to make the chubby black cat move from his sleeping position. His belly is covering my mouth and nose, making it impossible for me to take a breath. If he doesn’t move soon, I fear I might?—

“Mew!” Realizing I’m awake—and, therefore, able to feed him—he jumps from my face and to the floor. I take in gasping lungfuls of precious oxygen, thanking the lord. Or rather, Venom’s love of food.

“You gotta stop doing that, Venom,” I cough, straining to sit up in bed.

A haughty glare is the only response I get. When he sees I’m not rising from the bed fast enough, he hits me with another angrymew,raking his claws against the old hardwood floors.

What a little asshole.

“I’m coming, your highness,” I mutter,throwing back the covers and stumbling toward the kitchen. I flick on the light, squinting as my eyes adjust to the change.

Venom lets out anothermewand rubs up against my leg, his skinny black tail flicking happily at the tip. I reach down, scratching gently between his shoulder blades and watching for any change in temperament. Venom is very particular about where and when he’s touched—something we both have in common.

The shelter I saved him from assumed that because he didn’t like to be touched, it meant he was a bad cat—a mean cat—and determined it was a reason to euthanize him. But all he needed was someone to respect his boundaries. It took several months, but I got him to come around.

Now, we’re the best of friends.When he doesn’t accidentally kill me in my sleep,I remind myself, sending a playful glare at my little fluff ball. I grab a can of food from the cabinet and empty half into his food bowl, an action which gains me another glare from my tiny-legged cat.

I sigh, emptying the rest of the can. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Venom mews happily, then attacks the patty like the ferocious puma he is, somehow getting the foodall over his muzzle and chest. I chuckle, fighting the urge to give him more scratches. One of the first things I learned about him: refrain from touching when food is in the room.

“Love you, Venom,” I murmur, waving goodbye before heading into the bedroom to get ready for work. I strip my pajamas off, tossing them into a corner before hurrying to the bathroom. I take my time, letting the water heat as I choose a song, my hips already swaying in anticipation.

I step under the stream, closing my eyes in bliss as it warms my skin—a part of me that remains achingly cold, even in the summertime. I take an extra long time washing my hair, running my hand over my skin, and pretending it’s someone else’s caressing me. I know it’s depressing as fuck, but no one has to know except for me, so it’s fine.

I’m shocked from my fantasy by the claws scraping against the bathroom door. I frown, shutting the water off so I can listen easier. Sure enough, there it is again.

Scritch… scritch… scritch…

“Venom?” I wonder, tracking water across the bathroom tile and wrenching open the door. Angry yellow eyes stare up at me, followed by amewfilled with urgency. “What’s wrong?”

I look around my bedroom, the sensation of being watched overwhelming me. Just as I’m about to chalk it up to paranoia, my eyes catch something gleaming on my nightstand.

Okay. That sure as hell wasn’t there before.

Wrapping a towel around my chest, I tiptoe into the bedroom before it occurs to me that this ismy damn house.I huff, pulling my shoulders back and walking over to the strange object like the fearless, badass FBI agent I am.

Venom hisses as I close the distance, and he darts between my legs, sending me off balance. “Venom! What the hell?”

He leaps onto the mattress, barely clearing it due to the unfortunate length of his legs. Then he uses his new position to swipe at the object, causing it to bounce off the carpet and under the bed frame.

“That was so uncalled for.”

Venom howls when I get down on my hands and knees, but this time, he can’t do much to stop me from getting my hands on these…Dog tags?

I reach into my dresser, pulling out my gun and flipping off the safety. I feel slightly ridiculous with nothing but my towel as I search my apartment, but the weight of the weapon in my hands quells the majority of my anxiety.

Someone was in my home—that is a fact. Whether they still are...I shudder, thinking about what would have happened if the intruder decided to enter the bathroom where I couldn’t protect myself.Damn sleeping pills. If I wasn’t so hazy right after waking up, I might have…

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