Sitting at the table and slicing the victim’s heart, the man the press had named the Heart Reaver drifted into his thoughts.

  Every time I offer a sacrifice to the Gods, I feel the anticipation. What gift will they grant me this time? Fragments of memory blended together – killings, devoured hearts, the voices of witnesses and journalists repeating the same name: Heart Reaver.

  In one of those memories, during a TV show, a popular singer once admitted with a laugh that she was a fan of the Heart Reaver and that if he turned out to be as handsome as in her fantasies, she would gladly give him her heart.

  The host asked, What do you mean by give him your heart? For him to eat?

  The singer laughed. That would be between me and him.

  Oh… this feeling. My blood boils and rushes to my head. I feel excitement. Sex, drugs, food, women – none of it compares, even if you mixed it into one perfect cocktail. The purest pleasure is power and strength. True power belongs only to those who can shape the fate of others and decide whether they live or die. If someone asked me why I do all this, I would kill him that very moment for such a stupid question. If you do not understand the importance of power over your own life, you become food for the strong.

  He placed the first piece into his mouth and felt a faint vibration spread through his body. With every bite the vibration grew stronger. By the time the meal was finished, the Heart Reaver could no longer control himself. He fell from the chair.

  On the floor his body convulsed. His bones ached. Foam gathered at the corner of his mouth.

  At some point the convulsions stopped and his mind drifted into a strange nirvana – like a drug addict after the perfect shot.

  And then he lost consciousness.

  Hours later the Heart Reaver woke. His gaze met the lifeless stare of the victim lying on the floor. The dead eyes were dull, still frozen with fear and pain. Rising slowly to his feet, he muttered, My head is splitting… and you with that judgmental look. Cut it out. He looked at the body as if addressing someone else. Hey… are you there? No answer came. I see. We’ll talk later. Right now I need to deal with this overdose. It’s been a long time since I felt this bad. Hopefully it was worth it.

  He staggered toward the refrigerator, dragging his feet across the floor. At one point he tripped over the victim’s leg, lost his balance and fell into the pool of blood. For a moment he simply lay there, then forced himself back up, reached the fridge, opened it, grabbed the carton of milk and began drinking greedily. The milk ran down his face and chest, mixing with the blood.

  A moment later he stepped into the shower. Under the water his body became visible – covered with scars. Around his arm was a strange device: a chain wrapped from wrist to elbow, smooth on the outside so it would not damage clothing, but pressed against the skin with inward spikes. Standing beneath the water, he loosened the chain. The reaction came immediately. Heat spread through his body and an erection followed. Unable to resist the urge, he grabbed himself and relieved the tension.

  After the shower he threw his filthy clothes into the washing machine and walked toward the bedroom. On the bed lay the body of a young woman with her throat cut. For a moment a memory surfaced – the girl opening her eyes, a shadow above her, and then a single sharp movement of the blade across her throat. He opened the wardrobe, took a white T-shirt and a pair of underwear, dressed, and sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for the washing to finish.

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  Later he stepped outside the building and noticed that the sun hung at almost the same height as when he had entered. Only then did he realize that the entire night had passed and morning had come. He still felt terrible, but hunger had returned – a familiar craving for something sweet and a strong coffee. The Heart Reaver began walking toward the avenue where the city food stalls stood, not knowing that he was moving straight toward Gobby and German, who were returning along the same street after visiting the kittens at Aunt Mary’s.

  German was shuffling behind Gobby, who seemed upset. Gobby walked slowly, his head lowered, sighing from time to time. German suddenly realized he was thinking, Why am I even following him? What do I want from him? Maybe I just want to thank him for saving me? No… he doesn’t need that. Then why?

  And then it struck him again – Subject No. 1: Gobby. Yesterday’s incident was the most extraordinary thing that had ever happened in his life. Images flickered through his mind – German studying historical events, reading about natural disasters and strange natural phenomena with fascination. Yet compared to everything he had ever studied, the chubby boy walking ahead of him was the most mysterious creature he had ever encountered. So why can’t I gather the courage to talk to him today? We need to become friends. I need him.

  With that realization German suddenly gathered his courage. He hurried forward, stopped Gobby, looked him straight in the eyes, stretched out his hand and said, almost shouting with excitement, Let’s be friends!

  Gobby paused for a moment. Not in the mood. Then he continued walking.

  German stood there, stunned. He stopped, confused and discouraged, staring after him. Then suddenly an idea flashed through his mind and he called out, Do you remember that pastry with jam?

  Gobby froze and slowly turned back toward him. So?

  German took a breath. What if I treat you to pastries today… and I’ll definitely buy the same one that ended up in the puddle because of me.

  For a moment the image returned – the lonely bitten pastry lying in the puddle.

  Gobby stood still. Silent. His face expressionless, and for a second it even seemed as if he might attack. Then suddenly he broke into a wide smile. You promise?

  I promise.

  Gobby instantly grabbed German by the hand and began pulling him toward the bakery where he had bought those incredible pastries earlier. As they walked, the stall owners greeted Gobby again, and German could only stare in surprise.

  From the opposite direction, the Heart Reaver was approaching.

  Gobby pulled German into the bakery just seconds before the Heart Reaver reached the entrance. Pushing past the customers, Gobby ran straight to the counter and began ordering pastries from the baker. The baker was about to scold him for cutting in line, but a kind old man who was next to order simply waved his hand and said, He needs it more than me. Gobby thanked him quickly and continued ordering while German could only stand there calculating the growing expenses in his head. Gobby was clearly excited, but he still kept glancing at German after each pastry, waiting for approval before ordering the next one, like a child checking if he’s allowed to buy something expensive.

  At that moment the Heart Reaver entered the bakery. A wave of nausea hit him and, ignoring the line, he moved straight toward the restroom.

  For a moment everything seemed to slow. The Heart Reaver continued toward the restroom. Gobby grabbed the bag of pastries. German pulled out his wallet.

  Above the Heart Reaver something stirred. From his body seemed to loom a massive blind essence with a human face, its skin old and worn. The creature slowly turned its head from side to side, as if catching a scent that already felt familiar.

  A memory surfaced. A hospital corridor. The Heart Reaver was being escorted by clinic staff past a young boy. At that moment the creature sensed the same smell coming from the child. The boy suddenly looked up, frightened, as if he felt something. The Heart Reaver stopped for a second and stared at him.

  One of the clinic staff pulled him forward and said, Drogo, don’t look around. Keep walking.

  Back in the bakery, the essence continued searching for the source of the smell.