When I blinked again, he was still there.
It's strange, the things your brain insists on questioning after you've seen a man's skull get squeezed like overripe fruit and then drowned in enough sewage to sterilize a city block. My nerves were frayed, my body screamed with every twitch, and still the thought that my brain latched onto was: that smile looks like it was polished in a mirror for practice.
He grinned down at me with all the self-satisfaction of a cat who'd just found the cream, the bird, and the crown jewels in the same cupboard. His teeth were a little too perfect, which only made them worse. My eyes stung with exhaustion, but apparently my mouth hadn't gotten the memo.
"You're… a sponsor?"
The words came out like I'd just accused him of being a waiter who'd forgotten my soup.
