Eastwood was baking in the sun.
After so many rainy days, the air hung humid and hot, like a heavy blue sheet across the entire town. It made staying home insufferable. Going outside to garden or play golf even more. So, despite the tinkling promise an of the ice cream truck, most people packed up their things and got in their cars. The beach was only a hour away. Hordes of cars drove out of town, the combined noise and clatter of the highway carrying across the sky like the roar of a distant beast.
Smith street was a quiet place. The many shops went mostly unoccupied for the better part of the year, but all were open. None of them were air conditioned. And there were no trees.
The only shade came from man-made slits amongst brightly colored pastel shops and cafés, so thin that even a rat could not get through. These attracted small clusters of unfortunates that gathered around them like saints to a church, as if hoping to leech the cool through their skin. When this effort provid impossible, they would wander on, foreheads slick with sweat, until they disappeared around a sidewalk and were gone.
So the day went.
It was here, in between the unlikely paring of a Sushi restaurant and a flower shop, that Josh Greenbrier sat in a stained overcoat, fast asleep.
Josh Greenbier was not a man who got hot. He was not a man who got cold, ether, which was good, because many of his nights were spent in the outdoors. You had to be a solid wall when you were like Josh. Weather could not mow you down, and when the snow came and buried you for the winter, you had to be impenetrable enough that you were unscathed when spring came again. Strong enough to fight off the Lingering.
People did not bother Josh. They barely noticed him. Spare for the quick, uneasy glances before they hurried on, they did not bother him. And but for the dollars that they dropped in his old Yankees cap, they did not help him. Josh did not care. In his eyes, as long as he was well rested, his bowels were clear, and the ache in his bones was small, he could do just fine without them.
So imagine his surprise when he was awakened from his slumber with a kick that landed rather harshly on his bad leg.
"Wha...?" Josh snorted, blinking upwards. His assaulters face and body was completely shadow, so he could not make out who his assaulter was. "Damn bastard... ain't got nothin' here... go away, eh?"
And Josh Greenbier turned to go back to sleep.
This got him another kick in the leg.
This time Josh sat up like a rocket. He was ready to hit him, hit something, but something dropped into his lap without a word.
He looked down in disbelief.
It was a pristine white paper bag with a tell-tale yellow M on the front, extrodinarily greasy. In it, his nose told him, was a double bacon cheese burger and fries. And, he thought glutinously, a hash brown.
He looked up at the shadowy figure suspiciously. "What'da ya want?" He asked.
The shadow moved, slightly, and Josh Greenbier caught a whif of expensive bodyspray. His hands clutched the takeout bag close to his chest, as if it might evaporate.
"I need a favor." The figures voice was deep, and it tumbled like distant thunder. Instantly, Josh knew who it was. He almost cried out, almost whimpered like a dog, but he held his tongue.
"I-I... do I know you sir?"
The figure chuckled, but there was no mirth in IT's voice. IT's suit was crisp and light grey, with a purple tie. IT's breath smelled like milk. "Don't play this game with me, you old mink."
Josh spat, a white glob that landed a meer foot away. His expression remained blank.
"I know you." The figure continued. Smoke curled from IT's right hand, all though it was holding no cigarette. "I have money. Power. I can get you things." IT's voice was a low, velvety hiss. "I have a job. A favor. She is almost 16. The storm approaches, mink. We need her."
"So's? What have you to offer for the skin off my back?" Josh snarled. "Nothin. Nothin!"
The figure paused for a moment. "You're the best at what you do." IT said. Josh Greenbier blinked.
"Ack, flattery will get ya no where." He said, though his eyes gleamed like a fat cat who's spotted a cage of canaries. "Good or not, I can't do it." In finality he reached into the bag and took out his burger, taking a huge chomp out of it so his mouth was full.
The figure above him fell silent. Then, suddenly, IT crouched, proding a long narrow finger an inch away from Josh Greenbier yellow eye. With a twitch of it's forefinger and thumb, a silver coin fell into it's palm.
Josh's eyes bulged. Crumbs flew out of his mouth. In one painful gulp he swallowed his food, his throat pulsing as if it could not deside wether to tear or to choke.
"I'm offering the ultimate price." The thing in the grey suit purred. IT had him now. And IT was right.
A ache had started to arise in Josh Greenbier's belly, funny and painful. It spread though his limbs like poison. An old ache. One he knew well, one he had fought against for so long...
Its not my fault. Josh thought, shifting uncomfortably.
But that did not stop his eyes, and his heart. Wanting, waiting, hungry for the metallic thing between his teeth, to slide into his hallow ribs and shimmer like a second moon.
IT did not answer. He held the coin less then a centimeter away from Josh's nose, so the man had to go cross eyed.
"I own you, mink." The thing in the grey suit pulled out a silver coin, flicking it between it's fingers in a flashes. "I need bones to carve. Mine aren't good enough, and frankly, I don't want yours. I want hers."
Josh almost deflated with relief. "All right." He said, finally. "I'll do it."
The thing in the grey suit might have smiled, if IT had a mouth to smile with. "Good."
And, just like that, IT was gone.
And Josh Greenbier was left alone, burger in lap, with the sent of blood on his dry tongue.
And half way across the country, Renesme Swan woke in a cold sweat.