Whispers of a Killer

Her first litter

"Do you know who her mate was?" Jeff asks, sitting down by me and looking at the puppies. As if he is not covered in someone's blood. As if smelling like death is the most normal thing in the world. I forget, to him it must be.

"Because they're all different colors."

I have wondered this before, but I haven't thought about it for awhile. I actually have no idea who her mate was.

"No.. Actually. I don't have any idea who her mate was," I shrug, placing the tiny runt by Courage, to nurse with the others. "I found her not too long ago..." I stop to think; I'm not good with time or judging how long ago something was. "Ah..sorry. I should probably say that I found Courage not long before..Well, before I came here." I tilt my head, looking over at Jeff in slight curiosity. From my side vision, I can see that Smile Dog seems to have taken great interest in Courage and her puppies.

"So..how did it go?"

"Hm?"

"How did it go?" I ask again, pointing to his freshly bloodied hoodie. "I mean..ah..whatever you were..um..doing.." I tilt my head, not sure how to word it. He seems to be amused by this, because now he's smirking at me lightly.  I guess I would be too, if I was a killer and the person I'd kidnapped was asking how it went when I went out to do such unspeakable things to people.

"Fine. Don't think you'll want me to give you too many more details though.. Pretty sure you might hate me more if I tell ya what all I did." He crosses his arms, still smirking at me. "So how do you feel now?"

Even though he's feeling my forehead and my cheek, and looks like he wants to know, I'm pretty certain that he doesn't actually give a crap - he just wants me to think he does.

"I think I'm okay." I shrug, trying to ignore the fact that there's blood being smeared on my face.

"You have a fever."

He frowns at me and shakes his head. For a moment I am wondering if he's going to kill me too, just so that he can have his bed back. Surprisingly, instead of killing me, he turns and picks me up. Even though I still feel fat, Jeff picks me up with relatively no difficulty whatsoever. Carrying me over to the side of the bed that I normally sleep on, he lays me down and very sternly orders me to stay put. There is a brief flash of the shiny part of his knife before he leaves, so I know that I'm likely going to regret doing anything other than staying right where I am.

He is gone for a few minutes, before he comes back with what I assume to be a cold, wet rag. All I know is that it looks wet and is a rag, I don't know how cold it actually is until I feel it.

"That's cold..." I protest, in a bit more of a whiny tone than I mean to.

"Yeah, well you have a fever." Jeff answers, mocking my tone in almost an annoyingly perfect way. "So shut the fuck up and deal with it. "

"Rude." My response it sort of pouty, though turns to silence when I again see all the blood on his hoodie.

"No, really? And I thought I was the picture of politeness." Jeff rolls his eyes at me, not seeming to notice that I'm staring until a few minutes later. "What?" He asks, seeming sort of annoyed.

For a moment, I don't say anything. I almost don't want to. Finally, I mutter something I'm not sure he can even hear the first time. "Blood, Jeff.." I clear my throat. "...you're covered in blood.." I'm quiet about it, mostly because despite the feigned acts of kindness he's been doing to help me get better, I'm still sure he'll try to kill me at any time.