The throng of dancers and spectators grew uncomfortably thick around Gavin, so he lowered his camera and backed away from the dance floor, taking a seat near the bar. He spent a few minutes rearranging lenses in his bag before noticing the groom’s teenage brother wobbling drunkenly into a chair at the end of the table. He’ll puke before the night’s over, Gavin thought to himself. He aimed the camera at the boy, zoomed in tight, and snapped a picture. The kid sweated from his eyes and had a dead-carp expression on his pale face. Hell, he’s not going to make it another five minutes.

Then it came again: “Picture Boy!”

Gavin flinched as the voice, loud and close, came from behind him. He turned in his seat to see her leaning against the bar. She was no beauty queen, but she had the kind of teasing vibe that had surely made her popular on the beaches of spring break.

“Whoo!” She lifted a fresh cup into the air.

It was as if she couldn’t stop herself from poking him, certain that a dog like him would have no bite—but Gavin did have a bite. It had been two years since an ill moon brought that side of him out to play. Two years of waiting, his hunger building, his appetite once again aching to be satisfied.

Gavin started to raise his camera, but then he lowered it. He shouldn’t engage her. Look at them from afar was the rule. Study them, but remain invisible—forgettable. To attract attention meant to attract suspicion. But this one had been pushing it all night, tacky and impolite. Her condescension demanded a response—so he went off script.

“I have a name,” he said.

“Of course you have a name.” She spoke as though bothered that this extra in the movie of her life dared to address her at all. “All God’s creatures have a name.”

Now he was a creature. She was failing a test that she didn’t even know she was taking.

“So what is it, this name of yours?”

He smiled at the benevolence he felt in that moment. He would give her a chance he hadn’t given the others, a chance to save herself. If she would treat him with decency, he would let her be. All she had to do was be nice.

“My name is Gavin.”

He studied her face as he said the word is because that word exposed his speech impediment, thick and damp like air seeping from a wet tire. A squishy lisp from a squishy man. She would hear: “My name isch Gavin.”

She giggled, of course, and covered her mouth with her free hand. He could feel the heat of judgment as her eyes moved from his uncombed hair down to his doughy midriff. He found himself sucking in his gut as if he cared what she thought. But why should he care? She was just like the others, ready to dismiss him.

“Kevin?” she said.