I would’ve sounded like an ungrateful clod had I done anything more than just thank her and be on my way, so that’s what I did. Plus, far be it for me to cause her any extra work. That wouldn’t be very kind at all.
After stopping for a cup of coffee—something I was quickly becoming addicted to—along with a muffin, I turned toward the interstate ramp. By lunch time, I was well into the middle of Ohio. I pulled over on the highway to check the atlas once more before proceeding to Weston, the town where Byron Allsley practiced law.
It wasn’t hard to find and it was just before five o’clock when I turned in to park in front of the brick building that boasted a huge LEWIS, LEWIS & SCHMIDT sign.
I was a little confused by the empty lot. I got out and walked to the door, looking as I went for an employee parking lot that I might’ve missed. When I reached the door, the sign that was taped to the glass told me all I needed to know. CLOSED FOR CHRISTMAS, it read in large, bold print. Then, below it, in smaller letters, WILL REOPEN MONDAY, DEC 27. I realized then that my plan had a couple of fatal flaws. I had been so upset and desperate to get away the previous morning that I hadn’t even considered the weekend, let alone the holiday. It was Thursday, two days before Christmas, and apparently Mr. Allsley had given his employees a nice long holiday break.
Frustrated, I stomped back to the Camaro. I pulled my bag into the front seat and rifled through it, looking for the papers from Mr. Allsley. When I found them, I pulled out the cell phone I’d purchased at a gas station in Charleston, West Virginia and punched Mr. Allsley’s mobile number into it.
It rang and rang until a voice message began to play, informing me that I’d missed Mr. Allsley, but that if I left a message, he would surely return my call by the end of the day.
I left my name and new cell phone number, asking for Mr. Allsley to give me a call as soon as he could, then I hung up and sat back to consider my options. First of all, I had to find something to eat and a place to stay for the immediate future. I’d have plenty of time to think after that.
On my way north toward Toledo, I found a Marriott that looked suitable enough for what I hoped would be a fairly short stay. Across the street were Starbuck’s and McDonald’s, two establishments I’d recently learned were staples in my simple existence.
Later, as I walked back from McDonald’s, I noticed that the street I was on was heavily trafficked, but not by foot traffic. I had the sidewalk all to myself but for the man I saw up ahead jogging toward me. Though he was looking right at me, it was more like he looked right through me. His eyes were focused on something off in the distance. It was obvious he was totally preoccupied.
He was tallish and lean and, despite the cold temperatures, he was dressed in blue shorts and a sweatshirt, which indicated to me that he was a seasoned runner. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short and neat and, though I’d put his age in the mid forties, he was very handsome with his olive skin and aristocratic features. Something about his carriage made me think he was both highly educated and highly successful.
I watched a strong wind whip his short hair and sweatshirt, but, strangely enough, I didn’t feel the slightest breeze ruffling my hair or nipping at my cheeks.
When he was within twenty feet of me, he still didn’t acknowledge that he saw me, that faraway look still in his eyes. Then suddenly, he looked to his right. An expression of sheer panic flitted across his face. He had no more than raised his arms defensively when his body flew across the pavement as if he’d been hit by a car.
I was stunned into immobility, confused by what I’d seen. We were on the sidewalk and no cars had even come close to us. I looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, no passersby seemed even to have seen the accident, if that’s what it really was.
When the initial shock wore off, I ran to the man’s side and knelt on the ground by his head. The whole right side of his body was mutilated. His white sweatshirt was liberally stained with blood and I could see unnatural lumps beneath it, presumably displaced bone and tissue. His bare legs were riddled with cuts and contusions, pieces of bone sticking out in numerous places. His head was crushed beyond recognition. Had I not just seen him, healthy and hale only moments before, I would never have guessed this was the same man.
His body twitched and shook, a gurgling sound bubbling up from his throat. I didn’t know what to do. His injuries were so extensive, I was afraid to touch him. Then, a few short seconds later, he went absolutely still. I watched him carefully for signs of life—for movement, sound, anything—but there were none.
I stood up, knowing I should do something, but not sure what that something was. Internally, I went over what I could’ve done differently, wondering if there was some way I could’ve helped him.
As I stood there, staring down at the man, I suddenly felt a cold, tickling sensation ripple through my entire body.
And then I saw her appear in front of me.
Her back was to me and she was nearly transparent, but I could still make out who she was. Her red hair glistened like fire in the sun. I watched as she stepped over the lifeless body of the runner then turned toward me. She knelt beside his broken and bloodied body then looked up.
Pleasure was evident in her hollow, black eyes. She inhaled deeply, as if savoring her favorite smell. She ran her finger over the indention that used to be the man’s cheekbone then down to his neck where a small trickle of blood still flowed. She brought her finger to her mouth and her tongue flickered out to lick it. Her eyes closed in ecstasy. “It’s what we do,” she said.
I stood helplessly by, paralyzed by fear and revulsion, and watched as her lips curled back, bearing a multitude of long, sharp teeth that she drove into the man’s neck.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For a minute, I actually doubted my eyes. I squeezed them shut and prayed that the runner and the girl would disappear. But when I opened my eyes again, she was still bent over the man, feeding on him. Above her soft mewling sounds, I could hear wet slurps and sucking noises. My stomach growled sickeningly and my throat burned, hot and dry, like I’d swallowed fiery ash.
And then they were gone. They disappeared right before my eyes. I looked at the empty ground where the runner had lain only seconds before. There was no blood, no flattened grass, no disturbed dirt, no nothing. It was as if I’d imagined the whole thing.
Only I knew that I hadn’t. I had actually seen that man get killed and then fed upon. It was real. I was certain of it. I could feel it. But where was he? Who was he?