Later that night, well after one A.M., I rode west on I-70 to Idaho Springs. As the elevation increased, I began to feel chilly which I supposed was normal even for me, given that it was still early March. It didn’t take long to figure out from all the shops that it was a tourist town and not to my liking. The same held true for Evergreen and Georgetown, which I visited the following night. I came to the conclusion that what I was looking for was a home like Justin’s, well off the beaten track, if there was such a thing.
There wasn’t, as I found out to my dismay. I suppose I could have taken over one of the abandoned cabins I came across as I drove along the narrow roads that led deep into the mountains. I wanted more than that, however. I wanted a place like Justin’s and I didn’t find one. Oh, there were several small towns where there were nice homes for sale, but small was the operative word. They were the kind of places where everyone would want to know all about me, and that couldn’t happen.
Eventually I realized if I was going to settle down in a place where I could remain anonymous, it had to be Denver. That meant finding somewhere to live where I’d be just another person in the city of over two million people, which put me back where I’d started; trying to decide which area of the city would work for me.
A large apartment or condo complex was one option. I’d had my heart set on a place of my own, though, which meant a house. There were two parts of the city that appealed to me, as much as any of them did. Both were a combination of business and residential, but then, what neighborhood isn’t, I suppose. More to the point, both had a sizable number of gays, as I’d found out when I’d stopped in at bars in each area. It had been well over a year since I’d had a chance to explore that side of me and I missed it. Sure, if I hooked up with anyone he’d be human, but for a night of halfway decent sex it would be worth it.
Going online, I brought up a realty site which connected buyers with sellers through various realty companies in the city. There were several homes available in both areas, but what made up my mind was the one that was for sale by the owner. It’s much easier to manipulate a single person than it would be to do that with both a realtor and the present owner.
Noting the man’s name and phone number, I closed out and went to look at the house. I sensed, literally, that the owner wasn’t home, so I decided to explore. Getting in was no problem since it was listed through a realtor and thus technically not a private residence anymore even though it was the owner who was selling it. At least that’s what I hoped. I went around to the back and misted, keeping my fingers crossed. I’d been right I found out as I slipped under the door and re-formed. It was nice inside, with modern appliances in the kitchen, not that I’d need them. There was a combined living-dining room, two bedrooms on the second floor, and a full basement. The last reminded me of what Justin had done in his basement—the panic room. I wondered if I should turn what was now a small rec room down there into one. A decision I’d make later, once I owned the place. A major selling point in my estimation was the fact the house was separated from the neighbors on three sides by a six-foot tall cedar fence. Having seen all I needed to, I misted out and re-formed in the alley, moments before a car pulled into the driveway, glad I’d parked the bike half a block down the street.
When I got back to the motel, I emailed the owner, telling him I was interested in the house. I would have called but it was almost eleven-fifteen and I didn’t want to alienate him if he’d gone straight to bed when he got home. To my surprise, I got an email back from him five minutes later. After a bit of back and forth, we set up a meeting at the house for eight the next evening, which was a Tuesday. It occurred to me when I got offline and shut down that I’d been on my own now for almost two weeks with nothing to show for it. That would change tomorrow.
* * * *
The meeting with Mr. Comstock, the owner of the house, went as planned. Well, as I’d planned. Comstock was an elderly man, very talkative, which I put up with, and eager to get rid of the house.
“I’m moving down in Arizona, to a retirement home,” he told me. “So the sooner I sell, the happier I’ll be.” He rambled on about how great it would be as he showed me around.
Then, we settled down to talk details.
“You pay cash, I’ll drop the price by ten thousand,” he said. “I’ve got all the papers you’ll need and I’ll sign them over to you. No need to give some shyster lawyer a ton of money to do the work. I was a realtor, way back when. I know the ropes. I’ll even file the sale with the city and county for you. Save you having to deal with those idiots.”
I laughed, telling him I was of the same mind, and we struck a deal. I promised I’d return the following evening with ten thousand in cash plus a cashier’s check for the remainder of purchase price.
Needless to say, I didn’t really have a check. As soon as he let me into the house Wednesday evening I handed him the cash and then enthralled him so that I could convince him I’d given him the check as well. I suggested he make a night deposit at his bank, because of the cash, and rode with him while he did. Of course he didn’t get a chance to make the deposit as I wasn’t about to lose that much money. Because I had him in my thrall, he thought he had, which is what counted. When we returned to the house, he got the title and signed it over to me.
“I’ll file everything first thing in the morning,” he promised. “As soon as it’s official I’ll let you know. I’ll also call a moving company, so I should be out of here by Monday at the latest. I’m going to leave some of the furniture. You can keep it or sell it, your choice. I for damned sure won’t need it.”
I thanked him for all he’d done, telling him I wouldn’t be able to answer my phone until after seven in the evening because of my job. “They don’t allow personal calls,” I grumbled, getting a commiserating look from him in reply.
Almost on the dot of seven Friday night Comstock called to tell me I was now officially the owner of the house as far as the ‘powers that be’ as he termed them were concerned. That’s all I needed to know. “If you’re up for it,” I said, “I’d like to take you out for a drink to celebrate.”
“You better believe I am,” he replied, laughing heartily.
I arrived at the house fifteen minutes later, parking my bike next to the garage. The first thing Comstock did after letting me inside was to hand me the keys. “It’s a second set,” he explained. “I’ll leave the others on the kitchen counter after I’m moved out.”
I pocketed them, and then asked where he wanted to go for our celebratory drink. He replied he didn’t care. “As long as there’s beer and pretzels, I’m fine.”
There was a bar not far from my motel, so I suggested we go there. Of course I didn’t intend on us doing more than driving over. Once we arrived and parked in the lot behind it, I would enthrall him and we’d walk to an alley a couple of blocks away that I’d scoped out when I first moved into the motel. It was where I found most of my donors as there was a sizable homeless population in the area. I’d fed on one of the women before going to see Comstock, but only enough to ease my hunger pangs.
“Not the best area,” he commented after parking in the lot behind the bar.
“I’ve seen worse, back where I came from,” I replied when we got out of the car.
“Which would be where?” he asked, looking right at me in question.
I took over his mind, and then with one hand on his elbow, and a murmured, “Come with me,” I steered him down to the alley. When we got to the middle I searched it, visibly and mentally, to be certain there was no one around to see what happened next. There wasn’t, so I shoved him against the wall between two Dumpsters, bit into his throat, and drank deeply until my hunger was appeased.
Then, I elongated my nails until they became claws, another perk of being a vampire, and attacked his body the way a feral dog would, biting and scratching. A feeling of elation washed over me as I felt him die. This was what I’d been reborn to do—to cull the herd, one human at a time. It wo
uldn’t be easy, I knew that. But damn it would be satisfying.
Did he deserve to be my first kill? Probably not. He’d been nice enough I suppose, for a human. That’s what he was, though…human. If he’d known what I was, he’d have murdered me without a second thought. All of them would. I was merely making certain that didn’t happen to me, or to any of my kind, if I could help it.
When I stepped back from his remains, intending to toss his body into one of the Dumpsters, I saw that I was spattered with his blood. Kneeling, I took the car keys from his pocket. Then, to make things more difficult if he was found, I removed his wallet as well. Finally, I opened the lid and dumped him into the Dumpster, burying him under some of the trash.
Dusting off my hands, I closed the lid and returned to the car. A few minutes later I was in my room after going invisible before entering the motel by the rear door. I shed my clothes, putting everything in a plastic bag, and went to shower, to remove the remaining traces of what I’d done. As I washed away the blood on my arms and face, I realized I should have left his body where it fell. No animal would have put it in the Dumpster. I considered going back to rectify my mistake and decided it really didn’t matter. “It’ll give the cops a nice puzzle to try to unravel,” I said under my breath, and laughed.
I got out, dried off, and redressed in clean jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Then I packed up everything I’d brought with me when I arrived in the city and left the way I’d come in, by the rear door, although this time I was visible. I took Comstock’s car to a slum area at the outskirts of downtown and left it with the keys in the ignition. I had the feeling one of the less reputable humans who hung out there would steal it, probably to take it to a chop-shop where it would be dismantled for its parts.
From there, I walked to a bus stop where I could catch one that would drop me off close to my new house. When I got home, I unpacked, putting my family photos and the books on the built-in bookshelves in the living room. Then I turned on my laptop, went online, and settled down to stream a late-night talk show, followed by a couple of movies. That killed the time until I had to go to bed.
The only thing left to do was call a moving company the way Comstock had planned. It wouldn’t do for the neighbors to wonder why he’d sold the house but hadn’t taken anything with him when he moved to Arizona.
I did that Saturday evening as soon as I returned from feeding. It took a bit of cajoling and the promise of paying half again for them to work after hours, but in the end it was arranged for the van to arrive at seven Monday evening. As far as things like the utilities, I could see no reason to change the name on the billing. I did find the file in his desk where he kept the bills, as well as his banking information, which gave me an idea. I took five thousand from my money belt, filled out a deposit form, and set everything aside for the moment while I went online to set up automatic withdrawals from his bank account to pay his bills. I wouldn’t have been able to access his account if he hadn’t been stupid enough to write down the password information, which I found on a card in the file.
When I was a productive member of the human race, I’d had an account at a national bank. I still had it, as I found out when I checked online, so I took another five thousand from my stash, which left me with a little over seven thousand in cash since I’d spent some of the twenty thousand I’d left New Orleans with on the bike and the motel room. After writing down the numbers of my checking account, I took off to Comstock’s bank to use the night depositary to deposit the cash. Then I went on to the local branch of my bank, misted inside to get a deposit slip, and after filling it out, put it and the money in an envelope they provided, and dropped it in the box.
Feeling a sense of accomplishment, I decided to visit the bar a few blocks from the house.
Chapter 5
The bar was small, dimly lit—and packed. Not terribly surprising for a Saturday night. I managed to squeeze in at the end of the bar although I had to stand. The lady bartender eventually realized she had a new customer and came over.
“What’s your pleasure?” she asked, blatantly looking me over.
“Your best red wine.”
She snorted and then rattled off my options, adding, “Honestly, none of them’s anything to write home about.”
I ordered a dry red and she took off, returning several minutes later to set a glass in front of me while saying, “You new here?”
“In the bar or the neighborhood?” I replied.
“Both.”
“Yes. I just bought a house a few blocks from here.”
“Nice. You’ll like the area.”
I laughed. “I hope so, since I’m sort of stuck here, now.”
With a smile, she wandered away to take care of other customers. I sipped my wine, which was passable at best. As I did, I checked out the people. Most of them were couples, male-female, male-male, and at the far end of the bar two females who obviously belonged together from the way they were looking at each other. There were several single men as well, most of them intent on their drinks and what was playing on the TVs high on the walls in two corners of the room.
I’d barely set my empty glass down and was trying to get the bartender’s attention when a man said from behind me, “You’re new here.”
I turned to look at him, nodding. “First time in here.”
He lifted his beer bottle, saying, “Welcome.”
“Thanks.” I tried flagging the woman down, again, with no luck.
“Milly,” the man shouted, “My friend here needs a refill.”
She rolled her eyes and came over, grumbling, “You don’t have to shout, Dex. I’m not blind, just overworked.”
“Billy needs to hire more help,” Dex said.
“No shit.” She picked up my glass, returning a couple of minutes later with a new, full one.
“So what brings you here?” Dex asked, leaning against the wall next to me.
“I moved into the neighborhood and decided to see what’s what.”
He grinned. “This is what. The best bar in the area unless you’re into college-aged kids and sports bars. In that case, there’s the one about six blocks that way.” He pointed toward Eighth Avenue.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I replied, taking a sip of my wine. As I did, I probed to find out if he was merely being friendly or if there was more to his chatting me up. I smiled to myself when I picked up on his interest in me as a man. He wasn’t, to use Milly’s words, anything to write home about, but he wasn’t bad-looking either if you like the rugged sort. “I take it you’re a regular,” I said.
He waggled a hand. “I’m not a barfly, but I come in pretty often on the weekends to kill time and see who’s around.”
I took a stab in the dark, well sort of, having read his thoughts. “To go home with?”
“You’re jumping to conclusions,” he retorted.
“But I’m right, yes?”
He raked his gaze over me, took a long drink, and then answered my question. “You are. That bother you?”
“Why would it?”
“You never know.” Again he looked me over, as if wondering if he should make a move.
I solved his problem by asking, “Do you live near here?” with a knowing look.
“Yeah. A couple of blocks down. The place is pretty nice. You want to see it?”
“Sure, after we finish our drinks.” I picked up my wine. It wouldn’t do to seem too eager. The last time I had been I’d ended up with a new and very different life.
He tipped back his bottle, emptying it with one long pull, and set it down on the bar. Taking my cue from him, I gulped down my wine, tossed some cash on the bar to pay for it, and we took off.
I paused when we got to the door to his apartment.
“Having second thoughts?” he asked. When I smiled and shook my head, he said, “Then come on in.” The invitation was what I needed in order to enter.
His place was a lot nicer than I’d expected, and I told him so as we un
dressed. It had been way too long since I’d had sex so my staying power wasn’t what it should have been. In the end it didn’t seem to matter to him. Despite his rugged looks, it turned out he was a bottom. That worked for me, being a natural top, or so I’d been told in the distant past.
When we were finished, I began to get dressed.
“You can stay, if you like,” he said, watching me.
“Thanks for the offer, but no. I have to be up at the crack of dawn.” Not the truth, obviously, because when dawn came I’d be dead to the world until sunset. I couldn’t say that, of course. “Maybe next time?”
He nodded. “Next weekend?”
“Sure.” It wouldn’t happen. Coming home with him again, that is. The next time we met would be over supper, with him being the main course.
He walked me to the door, we said our goodnights, and I left.
* * * *
I, to use detective parlance, staked out his place for the next few nights—invisibly of course. He seemed to be a homebody because it wasn’t until Thursday night that he left after arriving home. He was surprised to see me when I approached, apparently happily so from his expression. “I’m heading out for supper, if you want to join me,” he said, telling me there was a restaurant he liked a couple of miles down Colorado Boulevard, so he was driving. “There’s exercise, and then there’s ‘exercise’,” he added with a grin. “A two-mile hike? Umm, no way.”
I hesitated before replying, “Sounds good to me.”
He tried to quiz me about what I did for a living as we drove. I fended off his question by asking the same thing of him. It turned out he worked construction, which didn’t particularly surprise me. He looked the type.
We were almost to the restaurant when I put my hand on his leg. He looked at me, grinning, and I enthralled him. Then, I told him where to go—to a spot in the mountains well out of the city that I’d discovered during my earlier explorations. When we got there, I walked him deep into the trees at the side of the two-lane highway, fed well, and then used my fangs and claws to shred what was, I’ll be the first to admit, a very impressive torso. Not that I gave a damn. He was a human, he’d fallen into my clutches, and now he was dead. That was all that mattered.
I Hunt by Night Page 4
