The Drinker of Blood

Chapter Ten

My easiest option would have been to run away, but I was in no mood for that. Who did these people think they were? The manacles that bound me were far too strong and heavy for me to break during daylight, but with the coming of dark I shattered them like glass.

And, yes, men started shooting. But a moving target is remarkably hard to hit. Especially a target that moved as quickly as I did at that moment. I wasn't looking to do anything fancy, just to dispatch these men as swiftly and as efficiently as possible. If any of them survived that, I would wreak my cruelty on them at my leisure.

But who was I kidding? My blood was up. It had taken all of my resolve and determination to remain calm and to speak as I had to my captors. And the smell of the child beater's blood ... oh, heavens. When I was free, I ran riot over them, tearing, and ripping, and killing my way through them 'til not a one was left standing.

And I fed. It's not a thing of which I'm proud. My great vanity always has been in my self-discipline, my ability to stay calm, focused, and chaste. I lost all control for a short time, a thing that fills me with great shame.

That sense of loss and humiliation only made it harder to regain myself afterward. For a time, albeit brief, I did nothing but knock around lifeless corpses. When I did come to myself, it was to realize that I'd been shot several times. No matter that; none of the wounds were anything approaching serious.

I steadied myself and began looking around. My first task was to take a body count. All five of my original captors were dead, and I recovered my belongings from them, including my beloved notebook. It was none the worse for wear, and I set it aside with care so as not to get blood on it.

The accountant was missing his head entirely—well, pity that—and so too dead were the men who came with him. I hadn't had a good look at the group who came in last. The man with the sport coat was absent a throat, and two mangled bodies were piled near him. I do believe not a single one escaped my wrath.

Well, shit.

I should have spared at least one of them to answer a few questions. That was terribly, terribly sloppy of me. As a substitute, I rifled through their belongings. There was nothing within that told me much about the men. I pocketed some spare cash—yes, I know, I'm a skinflint. And I grabbed the phones of the boss and the man in the sport coat, who according to their drivers' licenses were named Jeff and Weaver, respectively. What sort of parent names their child Weaver? No wonder he became a Renfield.

I've become quite adept over time at cleaning up quickly. I found some dingy old coveralls in a cabinet, retired to the washroom, and came out some minutes later looking like a bag person, but totally blood free.

I bagged my bloody clothes, made sure that I had everything, and remembered to shut the lights out before I left.

Not long ago, as I recall, I was making great boasts to you about not leaving a trail of bodies. Well, this was not my finest hour.

I considered torching the place, but that would take too long. And besides, a fire would only guarantee the prompt arrival of emergency services. Hopefully the bodies would be some days stewing in the old warehouse before they were discovered.

I'd liberated a couple of sets of car keys, and I borrowed the high-end SUV that responded to the first key fob I pushed. It took a few minutes to get my bearings. I was somewhere on the West Side. I ran a few errands, picked up a change of clothes, tossed the old ones, and dumped the SUV near Lincoln Park. I soon was ensconced in an all-night joint called the Melrose Diner, in an area of Chicago affectionately known as Boys Town.

I ate, reviewed the phones I had pinched, and seethed.

On the good side, I had fed. My mind was focused and energized. I'd have to go through detox again, but that wasn't too bad. What I needed was answers. Weaver's phone was a blank, a burner of some sort. It appeared that he deleted numbers from the call registry as he'd called them. I had his driver's license and keys, so I might slip by and rifle through his place.