He had to hand it to the frail, grown men had been known to piss themselves when he stretched out to his full height.
She'd merely blinked and swallowed slightly. Although, he was trying to tone down the intimidation factor, he didn't want this lady running off into the woods shrieking about mutants and muggers. He needed her. Or rather, her house.
She'd opened the door with only a slight rattle and held it for him as he dipped his head to walk through. He was glad to see the ceilings where high, those damn Victorians knew how to build a house. She'd stepped gingerly across the large rugs on the floor and disappeared into what smelled like the kitchen.
He stood in the entry way. There was a clock ticking somewhere. He turned in a half circle, looking at the stairs that wound up and to the left. He could smell dust and sweet potatoes and something…medicinal. After a few moments he realized what he didn't smell. Fear. Apprehension yes slightly, and there was curiosity, but no fear. He supposed that was beneficial, but it irritated him.
The frail appeared in the kitchen doorway, sans the bags she'd had in tow earlier.
"Right, I'll show you the room. It is just up the stairs, it has its own entry, another stairway from the back of the house." She spoke over her shoulder to him as they moved up the stairs. He noticed her tentative way of walking and her hand gripping the rail.
"It has its own bathroom and even a small refrigerator." She continued as they reached the landing and opened a tall wooden door to a spacious room with an east facing window.
"Feel free to use the kitchen whenever you wish just…" she paused, looking down, he followed her gaze to where his hand rested on the doorknob, wicked claws luminescent in the dim light. He tensed, ready to shut her up if she started screaming, but she just blinked and continued, moving her gaze to someplace near the window.
"Just, clean up after yourself please. Rent will be due the first of each month." She nodded at the last, her eyes flicking up to him then to the door. She began to walk off then turned.
"By the way, have you seen a d-
"Under the porch." He turned in the doorway, looking her square in the face, and grinned, knowing she could see the canines. "I think she was trying to guard your house but she was a bit, nervous."
The woman was doing her damndest not to gawk but it wasn't working.
"I need to go to work now." She mumbled after a moment. Taking a breath she continued.
"We'll settle up when I get back in the morning." With that she turned on her heel and disappeared down the stairs.
After her car had left the driveway he wasted no time finding and emptying the refrigerator. Granted, she didn't have very much food but he found every bit of protein he could and inhaled it. He chuckled into the silence as he wandered around the house. The frail actually left him in her home, completely unhampered. How stupid.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
"Stupid, stupid!" She squeezed the steering wheel as she sped down the streets. He could take everything, he could wreck the place and now there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She couldn't call the police since he hadn't actually done a thing and she had invited him in. It was either stay or lose her job and she couldn't do that.
Taking three deep breaths she forced herself to be calm, to remember reason. And not to judge.
She blinked, recalling the way those…claws, had looked wrapped around the doorknob. And the teeth. She supposed he must be a mutant. She'd never actually met one but heard about them from other people often enough.
It really was immensely foolish, with a great possibility for disaster to leave a stranger in her home. But her options were rather miniscule.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
It was just after dawn when she pulled into the driveway. Work had been tiring, as it always was these days. She sat in the rapidly cooling car for a while, watching the quiet, grey front of her house. It was where she grew up, and she hated that she'd let it fall in to disrepair. It had been such a beautiful thing once.
Everything would be fine. Mr. Creed would give her $700 dollars and then $500 each month, she could pay off her bills far sooner than she could have before. Perhaps he would even help her with a few repairs if she paid him. He seemed capable, certainly broad enough. She blinked and stared at the steering wheel.
Sadie was still cowering under the porch when she called her, but with a bit of coaxing she came out, every hackle raised and trembling. Had he hurt her? She ran her hands through the dog's coat and checked for wounds. There were none.
It was the first time she'd ever entered her own home with a bit of trepidation. Knowing someone else was there was just so…odd. She'd always been alone here. She wandered from room to room. Everything was quiet and intact. She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
It was almost entirely empty.
She yanked open the freezer. All the steaks and the frozen chicken were gone. She stood there, shaking her head as the cold wafted around her. Slamming it shut and turning around she paused when something on the table caught her eye.
There were nine one hundred dollar bills sitting in a neat stack on the dark wood. She picked them up gingerly and was instantly ashamed of her assumption that her new renter was a greedy pig who ate other people's food and then ran off.
And so it went for several days. She never saw Mr. Creed. She could hear him though, stomping around up there, the floor boards protesting under his weight. It sounded as though he was pacing. Even in the night he wasn't quiet. She would lie awake and listen to the muffled growls and shouts, the sound of nightmares.
On the fourth night of no sleep she made her way up the stairs, the moonlight shafting through the windows and paused outside his door, hand hovering above the doorknob. She almost opened it when the noise suddenly stopped. Then she heard breathing, deep and ragged almost like it was right in her ear, and a shadow crossed under the door. She moved back, and retreated down the stairs. She sat awake on her own bed for hours, feeling as though she should do something. But how could you save someone from their nightmares?
In the morning she shuffled into the kitchen, eyes still bleary, and started fumbling with the coffee maker. It took her almost three minutes to realize he was sitting at the table. She managed not to gasp when she turned around but it was an effort.
"Good Morning." She said, opening the refrigerator to grab some oranges.
"Is it?" His voice startled her, she had forgotten the timber of it, rough and rich.
She turned again and set the oranges on the cutting board. She also realized she's never seen him in proper light.
His hair was short and dark, it would be wavy if it were longer. His face was framed by overgrown sideburns that ran down along his jaw. His eyes were dark as well but in the early morning light there was a blue shade glinting in them somewhere. The lips were slender and sculpted. His hands were nowhere to be seen, shoved someplace deep into the same dark coat he'd wore on that night on the porch.
"It is. Any morning that I get to eat oranges is a good morning." She stated simply. Something about this man told her it wouldn't be beneficial to be anything other than honest.
"Thank you by the way." She continued.
His eyebrows went up in twin archs.
"For the money. It was appreciated."
He let out a sound that was someplace between a snort and a growl, and sneered. His lip pulled up to expose a startling, jutting canine. She was stunned by the force of the contempt suddenly in his eyes.
"Thought I wouldn't pay my way, huh?"
"Some people wouldn't." She replied, meeting his gaze even though it was nearly a physical blow to do so.
"I'm not some people, frail." His hands appeared, folding casually in front of him on the table. A clear statement. She didn't even try not to stare. He wanted her to look. Where nails would be on a person there were thick tapered claws jutting from large fingers.
"Obviously. And its Beth." She turned, a deliberate show of her back and began slicing the oranges. It felt like turning your back on a tiger. But fear hadn't been in her vocabulary for a year; there was no point in it.