"Life, although it may be only an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it."

-Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus

The salon had been empty all day. I sat at my station, idly spinning in my chair, alternatively staring out the glass front windows at the non-stop downpour outside, to the row of empty stations across from me, to Kas sitting at their station, then at my own bored reflection in the mirror before repeating the cycle.

“This sucks.” I tilted my head back towards Kas who, best as I could tell, was trimming their own split ends. “Do you want me to do that?”

“Cole, If I wanted you to do it, I would have asked.”

“Bite me.”

We caught each other’s eyes and began snickering.

“Do we have to stay open?” I whined, kicking at the ground to start another round of spinning.

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to, dumbass?” I just caught the tail end of an eye-roll as a spun around.

“We have no appointments, and no one is going to walk in to get their hair done in this rain. Let’s just close up for the day, go home, and watch a movie.”

“Do you want to explain to Antonia why we closed if she finds out?”

I huffed. “Fine, then I’m going out back for a smoke.”

“Ugh,” Kas groaned, “you need to quit, Cole.”

“I like having a death wish,” I stood from my station chair, “makes me feel alive. And besides, you smoke too.”

“I vape.” Kas rolled their eyes at me again, pulling a small rectangular pink box from their pocket.

“Because that’s so much better.”

“At least I don’t smell like an ashtray when I’m shampooing the customers.”

“What customers?” I gestured to the empty salon.

Kas narrowed their eyes, then brought the vape box to their lips and took a long drag. “Go take your smoke break, dumbass.” They blew a cloud of smoke at me as they spoke.

“You’re not supposed to do that in the store.” I narrowed my eyes back. “You’ll offend the customers.”

“What customers?” Kas gestured to the salon, in a mocking tone.

“Fuck off.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

I headed towards the back of the salon, but I caught Kas’ reflection in one of the mirrors and they were smiling just like I was.

I kicked open the door in the back of the breakroom that led to the alley we shared with the restaurant and antique shop on either side of us. I sat down on the first step of the wooden stoop that jutted from the door under a rusted metal awning and pulled my pack of cigarettes and lighter out of my pocket. I lit one and took a drag, then reached down and picked up the small clay flowerpot that lived on the second step and set it next to me.

As I sat and smoked, I glanced down at the old flower pot. It was a faded blue color, and filled with dirt, ashes, and the upturned butts of all the cigarettes I had smoked on this stoop. I called it my little garden of bad decisions. Kas called it my garden of mistakes.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket with my free hand and swiped over to the news updates. The first headline made my stomach go a bit hollow.

ANOTHER VICTIM OF THE SEATTLE SAWBONES FOUND DISMEMBERED.

I didn’t need to read the article. I knew just fine what was in it. Another body found mutilated and dismembered with surgical precision, possibly female but most likely a male somewhere between twenty and forty years of age, and missing skin or some vital organ or appendage. It had been a constant of the news cycle for the last eight months. I knew the stories well, and I knew first-hand how gruesome the Sawbones’ handiwork was.

“Shit!” I hissed as flake of hot ash fell onto my hand. I flicked the cigarette toward the old flower pot then took a long drag. “What’s for dinner tonight?” I wondered as I exhaled slowly.

“Hey! Get the hell out my trash, you bum!”

I recognized Mr. Sorrel’s voice coming from his restaurant’s back door further down the alley. His shout was followed by a sudden, loud crash of overturned metal.

“Get out of here! Get out!” Mr. Sorrel was shouting.

I leaned forward just enough so I could see the past the dumpster that lay between the salon’s awning and the restaurant’s.

But just as I did, I caught sight of a hulking, giant figure dashing through the alley toward me. I jerked myself back as it sped past and a large, boot-clad foot stomped into a deep puddle at the foot of the stairs in front me. The muddy water splashed over me and I shot straight up.

“What the fuck, are you kidding me?” I cursed at the retreating figure.

It came to an abrupt stop at the end of the alley. Through the rain, I could see that it was clearly huge, despite being hunched over, and wearing a black full-length trench coat with a hood pulled up to hide the wearer’s face. I could make out thick, matted chunks of jet-black hair sticking out of the hood’s shadows.

I stared at the splasher, and it stared back at me for a long second, before tilting even further forward, then turning and running away.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I huffed, looking down at the mud covering my clothes and shoes. I had dropped my cigarette in surprise when I had been splashed, and I cursed that too. I was barely half-done with it. I turned and stomped into the salon.

“Hey, what was all the shouting?” Kas called as I skulked into the main room. They looked up from their phone just enough to catch sight of me and then raised an eyebrow. “What happened to you?”

“Some homeless person was digging in Sorrel’s trash, I guess. Sorrel chased ‘em off down the alley and they ran through a puddle right in front of me.”

“That blows,” Kas smirked. “Go home, I can close up here alone.”

“You sure?” I frowned, “I don’t want to make you walk home alone at night.”

“Please, I have pepper spray, self-defense training, and a piss-poor attitude. I’ll be fine.” Kas waved a dismissive hand towards me as they returned to their phone.

“Thanks, I owe you.”

“You bet that lily-white ass you do, sweetheart.”

“I’ll see you at home.”

I crossed to the break area in the back of the salon and grabbed my bag and umbrella, shouted a goodbye to Kas, and headed out the back door.

It wasn’t a long walk to the house. Down a few side streets and through a minuscule community park. As I finally reached the house, I pulled out my house-key and fought with the finicky lock for about two minutes before it finally opened.

The house was old and had been in Kas’ family for generations. Technically it belonged to their great aunt, Elena, who graciously allowed Kas and I to live in it as long as we paid all the utilities and Kas had a weekly dinner with her. If we kept up our end, then Auntie Elena payed the property taxes and any other major bills we starving artists could not afford.

I loved the house. It was pure luck that I lived here. I moved to Seattle to be an artist. I reminisced for a quick moment over my various failures to really accomplish anything artistically. After an incident in Seattle, I had moved here, to Bainbridge Island, to get out of the city. Kas was a photographer, and a damn good one at that. They had moved to town a few years back, intending to say with their great aunt Elena, but she offered them the utilities and dinner deal and Kas took it in a heartbeat. I had been staying with a friend until I could find a place of my own when I got the job at the salon. It turned out Kas and I had a lot in common; namely we both believed ourselves to be true artists who also went to cosmetology school because god knows art doesn’t pay off. We were immediate best friends, and Kas insisted I move in with them permanently.

I kicked off my shoes in the entrance, dropped my umbrella and bag on the floor, and hopped up the stairs, my room was on the second floor and overlooked the backyard. I stripped out of my mud-stained clothes and pulled on the first things that weren’t in the dirty laundry pile.

I had intended to be productive with the rest of the day, but I ended up making myself a cup of tea and lazing on the couch until Kas came home with, bless their cold heart, burgers.

After dinner, I sluggishly stomped upstairs and flopped onto my bed. I considered having a bedtime cigarette, but I’d have to hang my hand out the window—I wasn’t allowed to smoke inside—and it was cold and still raining, so I pouted to myself for a moment, before slowly drifting off to sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night to a loud crash of thunder. It was only a few minutes before it was followed by a flash of lightening that lit up my entire room. The rain was pounding against the roof of the old house like it was desperate to break in. I glanced at my phone, sitting on the nightstand. It was three in the morning. Great. Another roll of thunder shook the windows. I hated thunderstorms. I turned on my side and squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to see the horrific faces the lightning illuminated behind my eyelids.