Sunlight glared off the windows of the higher buildings. It tended to blind someone when they looked up. Golden rays beamed through the offices and apartment buildings, shining on the paved roads. In the park, people were starting to leave. The threat of evening falling was weighing heavily on their minds, and it wasn’t safe to stay out after night. In a gazebo, someone sat bent over on one of the wooden benches. It was warm out, a little higher than seventy degrees, but the figure wore a beat up hoody with the hood pulled up and over their head. Black hair fell from the shadowy hole where his face would be, stringing down to not quite reach the floor of the gazebo. His steel-toed boots tapped out a rhythm on the hollow wooden floor.

The sun was down and in the perfect position to hit him right in the eyes even from his position. The domed, old roof above didn’t do much to protect his sensitive skin and eyes from the harsh light dipping below the ocean’s horizon behind the grouped city streets and loud vehicles of every color and size. Double-decker busses beeped their way along, shaggy beasts known under the best description of ‘horse’ carried police in groups of three and four, and the same animals pulled carriages for the lucky ones who splurged a bit for a safe evening of privileged sightseeing. Every now and then a siren burst through the noise, and the rustling of leaves above the park grounds hissed in the breezes.

Calvin took his name with a grain of salt. No one really suspected vile or shocking acts from the likes of someone named Calvin. More realistically, they suspected monotonous office worker or a wannabe novelist, or a cross-eyed cartoon character. When the sun shifted a fraction to hide behind a particularly hefty apartment building, Calvin took the hoodie off and shook his black shirt out. Few people were around him, and those who were didn’t particularly like authority figures. He could pull a switchblade out without worrying about a snitch, and as he leaned back, shaking his long hair out of his face, he tested the blade’s sharpness. It was almost as sharp as his own teeth, which easily cut through fabric and flesh alike. Carefully, his red eyes looked around the immediate area. They were half-hidden by the strings of hair that wouldn’t obey him, but it wouldn’t hide his target. Only one tonight, he was promised. One target, killed and disposed of, then he’d get paid.

But he’d heard that before. There always seemed to be delays in his payments. And like the fool he knew he was, he accepted that and went on about his business. As the sky dimmed a bit more, its clarity fogged by storm clouds that rolled in beyond the ocean’s reaches, Calvin’s gaze fell upon a man. He was tall, lanky, much like Calvin himself, but unlike Calvin, he seemed disproportionate. with a big head and hands, one eye a bit smaller than the other, unevenly-cut hair that seemed filthy, as though he’d slept in an alley for a month. Calvin shook his head. This changeling hadn’t consumed his catch very well. He didn’t look right, and it was obvious. The one he’d styled his form after had been especially important in an underground facility, something Calvin didn’t know of or wish to know of. All he wanted was the target’s head.

Calvin failed to notice someone else nearby. He wouldn’t have cared if he had, however, he’d been able to avoid the law until now. Standing at the steps of the gazebo, he flipped out his blade, and when the gangly man meandered by, Calvin stepped onto the cobblestone path while tying the arms of his sweater around his thin waist, then got to the smoothly-paved road, and followed for a few moments.

Luckily his target stopped near a shadowy area. He grabbed the scrawny neck of his target and wrenched his head back and into the alley, taking his knife and raking it up his back, up the spine, paralyzing the man at once. Lying him face-first on the ground, Calvin ripped the rest of his shirt off his back and jammed the knife into his neck, making a small hole that still allowed the other man to breathe. Brushing back the dark brown hair, Calvin latched his teeth around the wound and drew the blood from the man’s body, pausing every now and then for the heart to continue beating before weakening too much.

The vampiric aspect of Calvin allowed him to survive off blood when he couldn’t afford or find food otherwise. His targets were basically free meals as long as he got their head. Sticking the blade of his knife into the man’s neck, he twisted it around and down, across the man’s neck and back up, twisting a bit to break the bones holding his head to the rest of his body. Untying his shirt from around his waist, he stowed the staring, gaping head inside the fabric and balled it up, setting it aside for a moment.

Calvin undressed the body the rest of the way, tossing the clothes into the nearest metal trash can after checking the pockets, and grabbed the headless body. No one could see him behind the two dumpsters crowding the alley, and he opened the door to the run-down apartment, a door that would lead to a small lobby and storage area. Luckily the apartment was rather old, and only the homeless or drug-addled dared call the place home. He stowed the headless body in the janitor’s storage closet. Brushing off his shirt and pants, all Calvin had to do was grab his trophy and head back to his employer’s den.

He had almost been caught. Calvin found himself lucky that either the person had lost him or they realized what they were chasing. With the gaping head under one arm, he stepped out of the closet and nearly ran into the one that had tried chasing him. He gasped, hissing as though he were a cat and biting down on a mouthful of the head’s hair. As though without a moment’s thought he kicked his shoes off and jumped onto the wall, imitating a spider as he made it up to the ceiling, out of the reach of the newcomer.

Over the head in his mouth, Calvin realized this was a young woman. Perhaps a cop? She didn’t seem like one, her clothes seemed worn when he studied them. When the initial shock ebbed away, Calvin became annoyed. He took the severed head from his mouth with one hand and spat out the hair that had ripped away from the scalp. “What the hell did you follow me for?” He demanded. “If I weren’t who I am you would’ve gotten killed. Who are you, some vigilante justice or undercover officer?” He laughed from his perch on the ceiling. “I don’t think it’s the latter, you wouldn’t have stopped chasing.”

He narrowed his eyes. In the dark he could see her well, if the scene was a bit on the washed-out grayish side. “C’mon, what’s your name? I’ll give you mine in turn, a favor for a favor, eh?”

Calvin’s backpack had fallen into the crook of one arm. He opened the main flap and shoved the severed head into it, releasing the ceiling with his other hand so he could stand specifically by his feet on the ceiling in front of the girl. The soles of his feet, and the palms of his hands, were thick, like the paws of a dog, and secreted a very sticky liquid that helped him grip the walls and ceiling without worry of falling.

He snickered at the girl’s stuttering voice. “Yes, your... name. What would I do with it, steal your identity? Stalk you?” He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “Eh, I wouldn’t waste my time on you. And by the looks, it’s not like you’ve got much to steal.” He brushed his fallen hair back and rubbed his hands together. “How about this: They call me Calvin. Don’t bother telling a cop, they wouldn’t be able to look me up specifically. Sad, isn’t it? The likes of me roaming the streets?”

Calvin released his hold on the ceiling and fell onto the floor, straightening himself. Still, the woman was silent. “Bah, I don’t care.” He waved her off and turned. “Don’t know why I’m even wasting my time.” Truly, he didn’t. He had to get back to his boss. And he didn’t care what the girl’s name was. But his boss cared about the head in Calvin’s possession. That was more urgent.