CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EIGHTEEN
Matt dropped me at my house. On the way
we agreed that he would contact Joe Eason to get the
private detective involved in the case.
“Joe wouldn’t be my first choice but why
not?” said Matt. “I guess that interview left lingering
doubt?”
“My doubts about Detective Swiecki and his
abilities are more than lingering, Matt. They are
pressing. I want Danny’s killer caught. Danny was
a friend and colleague. He was on the verge of the
best years of his career. He was directing my show.
Whoever killed him not only ended his life, that
action also impacted my production. I want justice.”

I stopped short of saying I intend to drain the
murderer to the very last drop. That is my intention,
though.
I would have liked to bask in the warmth of
Elaine’s tonight. It would have been comforting and
relaxing. However, it would be inappropriate to make
an appearance there so soon after what happened to
Danny. Even I know that. What I do not know is how
long this self-imposed restraint should last.
I will have to consult with Patti on that. She has
an innate sense for these things, not that we’ve ever
had the murder of a co-worker come crashing into our
existence during our time together. A thought entered my mind followed by an immediate frisson of fear, an emotion seldom within the lexicon of my feelings. What if the murderer strikes again? What if he kills someone else in the show? What if he kills Patti? What if the murderer is out to destroy me, my business, my production? I thought about those insane hacker messages. What if the killer was another vampire?
I knew such morbid thoughts would not help anything. I went upstairs, opened the safe and took out a nine millimeter Beretta. I tossed it to the center of the bed, took off my suit and tie and sunglasses, and slipped into a black turtleneck and black jeans. I secured the gun to my side. It was time to feed.
I went up to the roof and launched myself into the night on a sharp angle westward. I bulleted higher and higher into the night sky. At about sixty thousand feet, I began my descent at an angle. Twenty minutes from Manhattan, I was over eastern Ohio. I saw a small dark village below. There was a house with lots of lights on half a mile out of town. I landed in the back yard and noticed the natural gas tank there. Convenient.
I scanned the house mentally. There were three main areas of activity – two young men playing video games in the living room, someone was having some kind of sexual experience upstairs, and several people were cooking and packaging a batch of meth in the basement. Lights late at night in the middle of nowhere in Middle America are always a good sign. I decided to start with the cellar and work my way up.
It was a two story house. I went up to the door, twisted the knob hard and felt the lock give way to my strength. The door opened into a combination laundry room – mud room that was attached to the kitchen. I spotted what looked like the door to the cellar across the room, next to the stove, and started toward it when a young man in his early twenties walked into the kitchen and turned on the light.
He saw me and said, “Who the fuck are you?”
So much for my plan of action. I froze him with a deep stare. He was hypnotized and slack jawed.
I heard another man call from the living room, “Who are you talking to in there?”
I walked down a short hallway and went into the living room. The guy was high. That much was obvious. It meant that even if my gaze put him under a spell, it would not last long. Why bother? In an instant I was at his throat, feeding. The metallic taste that comes with feeding on any powder addict passed rapidly. Due to the methamphetamine coursing through his veins, I drained him almost dead to make sure he could not raise an alarm. I left him crumpled on the floor, a faint moan escaping his lips.
I went back into the kitchen. The stove was a newer model with an electric spark rather than a constant pilot flame. I opened the oven door and turned on all the gas burners without lighting them.
My hypnotized young man started to twitch. Another speed freak I thought as I drained him until he was near death, too. The speed would keep him alive long enough for my purposes. When he began to collapse, I grabbed him by the belt with one hand and carried him buckled at the middle back into the living room and arranged him sitting on the sofa. I did the same with his video game competitor and left them side by side.
Then I went upstairs, listened for a very brief moment and opened the door to a bedroom. A fat, bearded biker was standing in a corner leaning back against the wall while a young girl on her knees in front of him pumped her head back and forth. The biker’s eyes were closed and when he opened them I was standing right behind his sex partner. I stared into the biker’s eyes full bore and he was under my power. The girl kept her head pumping for another thirty seconds or so. Then she realized something was wrong. She looked up and said, “Daddy?”