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Out of Nowhere by Patrick LeClerc.
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In Her Eyes

by Michael Bishop


The case should have been straightforward for the police to solve. After all just one look at the stone body of the young male and you knew who or rather what the perpetrator was. A gorgon.

In fact it was not that easy at all. For one, whilst the recording from a CCTV camera in the corridor showed the victim plus a rather attractive if scantly dressed girl entering the room and about two hours later her leaving, that was it. For the rest of the night no one appeared between her departure and the cleaner arriving at dawn to find the eh statue.

For another, the gorgon was not considerate enough to leave a trail of unfortunates turned to stone. In fact, apart from the victim no one seemed to have seen it. Well, seen it side on of course because if they had caught its glare on there would have been two victims not one.

Obviously the no ones included the girl. Moreover, she was quickly eliminated as the perp; as if posing for the shot, the couple looked into each other’s eyes then passionately kissed before the victim opened the door. Whilst she was an obvious knock out, she was not the sort the police were looking for, professionally that is.

So, although a gorgon must have done, it no gorgon could have.

If that mystery was not bad enough, there was another difficulty. Some member of the hotel staff went and tipped off the press. Consequently a pack of paparazzi appeared in the lobby baying their demands for every lurid detail.

The case should have been straightforward for the police to solve. It wasn’t. They didn’t

                                                             * * *

The bad days started when Perseus slew Medusa. After that foul deed, it became the rite of passage into manhood for his lineage to kill one of us. Only when they have done so do they call themselves men.

Fortunately, the family runs to a propensity of girls whilst many a budding hero makes a mistake and so winds up as a garden ornament. On the other hand, many of us have died to feed their vanity.

We tried changing our form so only our eyes not our entire face strike down our foes. We also fled to far off lands. Both to no avail. The Perseides learned to penetrate our disguise and will go to the ends of the world if that was what it takes for them to complete their ritual.

Do you know what it is like to have the instinct to fly, to wish to soar through the heavens yet be forever earthbound? Have you ever lived knowing that when the sun rises in the east you may not be alive to see it set in the west?

You do? Well, maybe you then understand why my wrath matches that of bold Achilles when he heard Hector had slain fair Patroclus.

                                                              * * *

Snaring the Perseide was laughably easy. Naturally he is drawn to me; after three thousands years the predator has evolved to detect the prey whatever their appearance. In spite of this because I resemble the other girls sitting there in the bar nursing a drink and studying the guys he disregards the signals. Well, that is a man for you.

Still, I suppose he has a point. If I am what I am then the room should be filled with statues and it most definitely is not.

Whatever, on seeing me he moves for the kill if you know what I mean.

Seeing no point making it easy I play hard to get. But not too hard. The touch of the Olympians may have thinned over the years, but he still has it so other eyes wait for an opportunity to steal him from me.

On the other hand I too have the same touch in me so soon have him eating out of my hand whilst his blue eyes stare into my dark brown ones, at least when they are not trying to look down my top.

Eventually, I permit him to whisk me back to his hotel. With no idea where the CCTV cameras might be, a few carefully orchestrated poses in the lobby and corridor seen to be the best way to establish my alibi.

Once inside the darkened room lust takes its course. After the act is consummated and he lies there sated it seems a perfect time to strike. So I do.

A hand reaches over and flicks on the table lamp, a kiss draws him to my green eyes and it is all over. One moment the scumbag is literally flesh next to flesh, the next hard granite lying on silk.

After quickly dressing I rummage through his clothes for his mobile. I will ring the press later to tip them off, but right now I must leave the hotel before the crap hits the fan.

And it will. Journalists love a titillating story and this one is about as titillating as they come. Thus you can guarantee that it will end up on the Web where it will go viral and so every Perseide get the message.

Yes, the message that out there is a gorgon who moves with immunity in the world of men. One who can not be traced by a trail of statues. One who is hunting them just as they hunt her sisters.

That is for the future. For now I adjust my top then pop my contacts back in before I leave the room.




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