Allison was still asleep.
I could smell the barbeque cooking.
The smoking meat triggered a primal hunger in me, a hunger that I couldn't feed.
I hadn't brought any of my own nourishment with me. Allison had volunteered for the job. Fresh blood. Her blood. Smelling the meat now triggered a hunger in me.
A hunger for her.
Jesus.
I found myself pacing inside the small bungalow. The floorboard creaked beneath me. I always paced at this time of the day, medallion or no medallion. When the sun was about to set, that thing which was inside me awakened.
Awakened to the night.
I paused at the open window. The sky beyond was purplish - and filling up with low-hanging clouds. So much for the sunny skies. This was, after all, the Pacific Northwest.
And just like that, the first drops appeared against the big window, splattering, collecting, sliding.
I continued pacing.
As I paced, both a sadness and an excitement filled me. Excitement for the coming night. Sadness for what I was.
After all, just when I would think I was feeling normal, or feeling human, this would happen: the day would merge into night. And, when that happened, I would feel anything but normal. Anyone but myself.
I felt on edge, anxious, angry.
This would be when I would snap at Tammy and Anthony - and even more often at Danny - more than enough times for them to know to stay away from Mommy at this time of day. Of course, back in the day, my kids didn't know the reason why.
Now they did. Now they knew everything.
They knew Mommy was a freak. They also knew that they were pretty freaky themselves.
Not my fault, I thought, as I shook my hands and continued pacing. I didn't ask for this. I was only out jogging. Jogging as I had done many times before.
Hundreds of times before.
Had the bastard been watching me seven years ago? Or had I simply crossed paths with him unexpectedly? An unfortunate crossing of paths?
I didn't know...and perhaps would never know, unless...
Unless I talked to the vampire hunter who'd killed my own attacker. The vampire hunter named Rand.