"Uhm.. Sir? Can I help you?" I mumble while staring at him.
He breaks out into a huge grin, the kind of grin you see on little kids when they get their favorite toy.
He reaches out to me, and I start to fall backwards trying to move away. He latch...
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On the way to find a victim, I make a quick pit stop at my vehicle to grab my gun and wallet. I take a moment to glance up at the room where Layla is. Part of me craves to see her, but the biggest part of me that tries to be rational knows I cannot see her when I have blood lust. Ideally she would be with me, helping me pick and kill a victim. We would be excited, elated. We would kill our prey, then covered in blood we would fuck until her body went weak. But, we aren't there yet. I thought we were, but again, I was proved wrong.
I need to stop thinking about Layla. The thought of her is increasing the rage, and the rage makes me impulsive. Which is never good as impulse is what gets you caught.
I need to clear my head again, therefore when I see the liquor store on the corner, I decide to make one more pit stop. I grab my wallet, take out my cash and fake ID, then purchase the bottle of vodka along with a pack of cigarettes.
Making my way back outside, I light the cigarette, then I pop the lid of the bottle, pouring the burning contents down my throat. The familiar burn brings a small sense of calm.
I usually don't smoke as it is rude and disgusting but I can make small exceptions when needed.
Exhaling the smoke, I keep my eyes trained to the people around me. I sigh deeply, noticing not only that it is busy, but that most everyone is in groups.
This is why I prefer smaller towns.
People take their safety for granted in smaller towns. They walk alone, keep their doors unlocked, and mind their business.
I have my mind set though. I will find a victim tonight. I will not give up.
I tip the bottle back down my throat, chugging half of the contents.
I decide to go with my usual plan.
A bar.
Bars always have desperate women, looking for a man like me to give them attention.
Walking six more blocks I see the neon sign.
Dante's.
Finishing off the bottle, I toss it into the trash bin, then check my reflection before making my way inside.
Sitting at the bar stool, I knock on the wood, gaining the bartender's attention I order a glass of whiskey.
Drink in hand, I scope the bar. Only to further sigh when I see everyone in pairs of two or more. This is going to be a hassle.
