Cleaner

"You're saying that your body does not react in a typical way to Rohypnol; you don't get nauseous, dizzy, sleepy, or pass out?" Porter asked (to clarify). "Correct," she responded. "And yet you instantly know when Rohypnol has been added to your drink?" he continued. "Correct," she responded again. "There's a mouth feel to the drug - a bitterness followed by numbness. It's never so bad that I can't talk, but that's when I start acting compromised and force myself to stumble over my words." Porter took a deep breath and looked out of the window; partly, he needed a moment to start putting the logical pieces of the puzzle together and, partly, because she was stunningly beautiful - distractingly so. "Once you've registered this "mouth feel", you act as if the drug is taking hold, allow the person to steer you outside, and ...?" "Call the snakes with parseltongue and speak words of gratitude over his screams," she added, looking wistful. Porter said nothing, but she could sense his next question; she could read them like books. She turned her eyes to meet his and smiled; as he opened his mouth to speak, she let her eyes yellow and slit for a moment, sliding the tip of her forked tongue along her lower lip for a second. "I do not consider myself a vigilante," she whispered, "but this is our world and I am honor bound to take out the trash and keep it clean."