Oblivious to him being watched, Ivan continued his feat, taking great pleasure in the taste of the meat and not paying much attention at all to the memories the organ held. Only memories relevant to Francesca were worth seeing and paying heed to.
Grey juices and blood dripped from his mouth and chin, smearing away the foundation and revealing the true gangrene of dead human flesh. The sight made Francesca gag; she ran off for home before she could make too much noise and reveal her location. If Ivan was still hungry…she didn't ant to consider that.
Pleased with his handiwork, Ivan wiped off his face on the corpse's clothes, knowing she would never need them again. Eating someone didn't make them a zombie; you had to infect them with one's 'polluted' gene and let it spread. Otherwise, zombies would already be running rampant.
After a bit, he left the scene, ready to return to Francesca and come up with an excuse such as that he needed to get some things from home, supposing she asked. The rule of guarding against suspicion was that unless someone asked, you didn't explain yourself.
She was already home, pacing and debating what to do. She had allowed a zombie into her home as though he were a friend, thinking he was injured. Had the presumed chest pain been a fraud for trust, or had the pain truly been there? Either way, she needed to be on her guard. He would get quite the surprise when he came back. If he didn't give her answers—why was she so angry when she should be afraid?
When he returned to Francesca's house, he paused for a moment before stepping inside. Was there blood on him? Juices, maybe? Checking in the glass, he got positive feedback. Mercifully, the quick wipe had been sufficient enough in making him clean again.
Mustering up the necessary courage to open the door, he did such a thing, albeit more cautiously than he had ever done anything before. Disappearing and then coming back after so short a time…would it not seem shady? Or perhaps Francesca would see no need for alarm.
"Why did you come here?" Ivan heard Francesca's voice laced with fear, and he knew she had somehow found out. "Were you planning to devour my brain after we became somewhat close? Is that it?" She stepped toward him, arms crossed. "Who are you?"
"I told you. My name is Ivan."