Virgin Soul of a Poet

It had been a very long time since Adam had last had a love affair. He’d almost given up hope of ever experiencing romance again.

Adam was suave, sophisticated, sensitive, and savvy. He was wise in the ways of the opposite sex. He could generally hunt down the heart of any woman he desired with such ease— and then he met Rachel!

He was frustrated that he hadn’t been able to read her mind yet. Until he read her mind, he couldn’t know if she was right for him.

Adam first signed online in 2010. He didn’t care much for new technology and only dabbled on the Internet at first, largely using it as a source for news. Then, in November, 2019, he found Rhythmic-Verse, where he eventually met Rachel. In addition to The Poet’s Pulpit, the website’s own chat room, Rhythmic-Verse had numerous message boards where authors could post poems on a variety of topics. Adam enjoyed amateur poetry. Most of it was drivel, of course, horrendous to the extreme, but every once in a blue moon, he found someone with the gift.

Occasionally he discovered someone who had the Soul of a Poet.

Adam believed Rachel was one of those special people.

Four months ago, after reading several dark poems she had posted, Adam went looking for Rachel in The Poet’s Pulpit. Six vigilant nights later, when he finally found her, they chatted at length, eventually taking their conversation private. He was honest about his appreciation of her poetry, and she responded enthusiastically to both his praise and his minor criticisms. They became fast friends. Since then, they had spent many nights together online, 'talking' for hours in little windows.

Rachel was twenty-seven-years-old, an attractive blond divorcee living in Muncie, Indiana, with her eight-year-old daughter, Deborah. Rachel had been three months pregnant when she wed her high school sweetheart, Jim Rutherford. They settled into a rat-hole apartment when Debbie was born. He worked at Walmart. She worked at Taco Bell. The bills mounted up, finances got tight, and Jimmy started hitting her to alleviate his stress. Rachel took his beatings twice, but when he did it a third time, she left him for good.

Rachel worked long days as a paralegal and then spent her evenings with Deborah. After her kid went to sleep, she often wrote poetry and published it online.

Adam wished that he could write poetry. He had no talent for it. He was cunning and highly intelligent, but he was not creative.

Destruction was his forte.

The only poems he had ever posted in Rhythmic-Verse were a select few stolen directly from the best authors on another website: Vocal.media.

It was just before midnight when he clicked his mouse and opened the software that connected him to the Internet. He typed in his password, and— thanks to his high-speed connection— he was instantly online as Edgar_Allan_Poem.

He smiled when he checked his buddy list and saw Rachel was also online. He pulled up an instant message and began their private chat by writing, How are you tonight, Gorgeous?

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Friday night. No work tomorrow. I’m great! You?
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Fantastic.

He waited a moment, then wrote…

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: So… no regrets about last night?
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Nope. 👱‍♀️
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Sweet! 😁 So you’re not going to disappear on me again?

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Nope.

Nearly a month ago, Adam and Rachel had discussed sex for the first time. The conversation was fairly raunchy, and Rachel became aroused. Then, for about a week after that, she didn’t talk to him at all. She either stayed offline or just blocked him so he couldn’t see her on his friend's list. Her defensive mechanisms had kicked in. When she eventually broke the silence and talked to him again, she was distant and cold.

He remained patient, waiting her out, and the thaw wasn’t long in coming. She finally apologized for being so standoffish and admitted she’d missed him.

Last night, the subject of sex came up again. When Rachel admitted she was horny, Adam vividly described making love to her, plagiarizing most of it from Vocal.media's Filthy Community. He helped her achieve an orgasm (and lied and said he had one, too.) This time, in the afterglow, Rachel exhibited no worry or guilt.

Adam realized he’d been ruminating and quickly typed…

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Cool! I just about went CRAZY the last time you gave me the silent treatment.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I’m sorry. You know I regret that.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: I know. And I understand why you did it. You were feeling vulnerable.

There was a lengthy wait for her next I.M.. Finally, she wrote, Yes.

Devilishly, he responded...

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: But last night wasn’t so scary, was it?

He never tired of the irony of telling a woman not to be afraid of him.

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: No. It was wonderful.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Thanks. I was inspired.

He waited a second before writing...

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: By you.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: ::blushes::

He couldn’t wait to see her blush in real life. Just the thought of the color rising in her cheeks caused pangs of longing. He shook his head, astonished at how she could write that single word and it affected him like a real blush would. He said to the computer screen (to her) “I want you, Rachel. And I will have you.”

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: I know you think all men are pigs and you’re absolutely right, but when we started having cybersex, I was SO nervous. I’d never want something silly like talking dirty to get in the way of our RELATIONSHIP.

The chat window didn’t allow italicized print, so he sometimes used capital letters for emphasis, even though typing in ‘caps’ was considered rude by most people. They had previously discussed his breech of Internet etiquette.

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: You know what I love about you, Adam?

Breathlessly, he said/wrote, “What?”

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: You’re a pig who doesn’t deny he’s a pig.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: LOL.

In reality, he smiled but didn’t actually Laugh Out Loud.

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Not every man will admit to that, you know.

He informed the computer screen, “I’m not precisely a man anymore.” What he typed was, I’m not your typical man.

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I’ve gathered that. 👱‍♀️
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: 😁
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: So are you *ever* going to have a picture taken that you can send me???
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: :::sighs::: How many times have we discussed this? You know I hate having my picture taken.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I'd guess we’ve discussed this at least a dozen times. And yes, I *do* know you hate having your picture taken. If memory serves, we’ve determined that, despite your claims to the contrary, you’re either fat, ugly, or both.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Or you’re married. Or…
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: A new theory here...
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: You’re one of America’s Most Wanted.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Close. I’m one of Columbia’s Most Wanted. I operate a combination drug cartel and brothel out of Bogotá.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Heh.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: So what *is* up with the picture thing?

Rachel chose to show emphasis by placing an asterisk before and after a word.

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: I TOLD you all you need to know about me. I’m tall, dark, and handsome.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: And rich.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Filthy rich people prefer to be called 'independently wealthy.'
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: And you’re modest too.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Do you think so?
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: I’ve never thought so myself... but I’m much too modest.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: And what’s the reason we can’t talk on the phone again?

One night not long ago, after Rachel had a particularly lousy day, she suddenly asked Adam if they could talk on the phone.

Unfortunately, he had to decline. Then, as now, he told her...

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Hearing your voice would be torture, Rachel. You truly don’t understand how much I want you— how much I long to be with you. I think about you all the time.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: I know you’ve been hurt, and I know you’re guarded. I’ve tried very hard to respect your feelings.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: But in this instance, I’d ask you to please respect MINE.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: If you want to know the truth...

He waits a excited second, grinning wickedly, then finally writes, NM, meaning “Never mind.”

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: What?
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Nothing.

He made her beg for it.

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Tell me.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: You don’t want to hear this.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: How do you know? Are you a mind-reader?

He answered aloud, “Yes, I am, but I can’t do it online.” His smile faded. “Which is why we need to get together, in real life.”

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Tell me.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: :::sighs::: Okay. But you asked for this...
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Yes, I did.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: I think I’m falling in love with you.

He expected a pause, and he got a long one. Again, he waited her out.

She finally wrote...

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I don’t know, Adam. Sometimes I think I’m falling in love with you too.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: So why not meet me? Let’s get together.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: You know you want to.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: 😁

Instead of denying that, she asked…

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: What? Me fly out to your place in Beverly Hills? No, wait. The Chicago mansion is closer, right?

While he hadn’t sent her photographs of himself, he had sent her pictures of three of his six homes. He had trouble convincing Rachel they were really his. She accused him of scarfing the photos off the Internet. Like many hard-working moms, she had difficulty believing anyone could become as wealthy as Adam without selling his soul to the devil.

He once told her, “I have no soul.”

She had rolled on the floor laughing (ROTFL) at that.

Adam knew Rachel wouldn’t be comfortable if their first date was at one of his estates. So he made a joke...

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Since I stole my houses off the Internet, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What if the REAL owners come home?
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: That could be a problem.

He hadn’t calculated on going this far tonight. He simply intended to tell her he thought he might love her. He planned to let her digest that tidbit for a couple of days before he went further. But he suddenly felt the time was right. His instincts told him to seize the moment and Adam always trusted his instincts.

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Yes, it could. That’s why we should get together at your place. That way I could meet both you AND Deborah.

Adam had no concerns about Deborah. He knew the brat would take one look at his handsome face and fall hopelessly in love.

Another quiet moment played out, while he waited for Rachel’s response. When it finally came, he was pleasantly surprised.

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: When?

He needed confirmation...

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Are you serious?!? We can get together? I can come there, no problem. I’ll fly into Indianapolis and then drive up to Muncie. If you’re not comfortable with me coming to your house, I can meet you somewhere for dinner.

He didn’t know why he was saying that. Dining out was always problematic for him, but he was barely aware of what he was speed-typing, he was so thrilled by her answer.

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Whatever you want to do, Rachel. Whenever. I’ll play by your rules.

He sighed, frustrated with himself for making such promises. He always played by his own rules.

He forced himself to stop after he wrote...

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: You tell me when.

He waited anxiously for her response. When it came, he slapped his hands together with glee before returning them to the keyboard.

• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: How about a week from tomorrow? Next Saturday night?
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: That sounds wonderful!
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I eventually want you to meet Deborah, of course. But I think the first time we get together should just be you and me.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: I like the way you think!
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: And I don’t need to meet you someplace. You can come here.
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Marvelous! I really didn’t want to do dinner anyway. I’m going to be entirely too nervous to eat.
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: *You’re* going to be nervous? *I’m* already a nervous wreck! LOL
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: I still can’t believe you just invited me into your home. You did just invite me into your home, didn’t you?
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Yes. Deborah can stay with my mom. We’ll have the whole weekend to ourselves.

Adam laughed aloud, barely able to contain his impish glee. “The brat’s out of the way and she is not ruling out the possibility we’ll have sex! Perfect!”

• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: That sounds perfect!
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Okay. I’ll email you directions to my house. Let’s say next Saturday night at 8:00? Is that okay with you?
• >Edgar_Allan_Poem: Let’s make it 9:00. 😁
• >Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: 9:00 it is. 👱‍♀️

When Rachel signed offline not long after that, Adam rushed downstairs, looking for Byron. He found his manservant in the living room, kicked back in his La-Z-Boy, watching Fox News on their giant plasma TV.

The moment Byron saw Adam, he sat up, picking up the remote to mute Murdoch’s mouthpieces.

“Pack our bags, Byron,” Adam commanded. “We’re going to Indiana!”

⚡⚡________________⚡⚡

They flew out to the Circle City four nights later. It took Byron that long to make the arrangements. Never one for hotels, Adam purchased a condominium on the north side of Indianapolis.

Adam and Rachel continued to talk nightly on the Internet. They couldn’t wait to be together.

Finally, Saturday night arrived.

Adam could easily fly to Muncie under his own power. Not knowing how the evening would go, however, not knowing if they might want to go out later, he decided instead to have Byron drive him to Rachel’s home, in a newly purchased limousine. He arrived at her house at precisely 9 p.m..

Adam asked his faithful butler, “How do I look?”

Since Byron couldn’t use the rearview mirror, he turned around to gaze at his boss. With his slight English accent, he said, “Smashing, sir, as always.”

Picking up the two small gift bags that he’d brought Rachel, Adam got out of the limousine. As he walked up to her modest little home, he muttered, “You won’t be living in squalor much longer, my dear. Not if you’re a virgin.”

He wasn’t referring to celibacy, of course. With a seven-year-old child, that issue was obviously settled years ago. Adam couldn’t care less about her carnal history. He was wondering if she was a virgin in another way.

And he couldn’t imagine she wasn’t!

Instead of ringing the doorbell, Adam lightly knocked on Rachel’s front door. He licked his lips, running his tongue over his teeth. He was so hopeful, he was almost giddy. It took conscious effort just to remain still, he was so full of hyper energy.

Finally, the door opened. He beamed at her, and she smiled back.

Rachel stepped across the threshold, taking him into her arms. He concentrated on reflecting her own soft heat back at her, so she didn’t feel how hard and cold he really was. He was thrilled to finally touch her, to smell her, to hear her rapid heartbeat.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he responded, breaking the embrace. He stared intensely at her face, his dark eyes blazing. “Your photographs don’t do you justice. You’re stunning.”

Adam almost lost control when Rachel blushed. His dark heart swelled with an unholy ardor.

Batting her long lashes at him, she said, “Well, you are certainly tall, dark, and handsome, exactly as promised. Incredibly handsome!”

“I have something for you.” He held out the two gift bags.

“Adam! I told you no presents!”

“It’s just a small token of my affection.”

She opened the heavier bag first, pulling out the book. She squealed when she saw it was Poems Before Congress, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

He told her, “It’s a first edition."

“I don’t believe it!” She clutched the book like it was already dear to her. “This is so sweet of you! It must have cost a fortune!”

He shrugged. “Not really. It’s certainly not as expensive as the diamond necklace I would have liked to have bought you.”

She looked at him with awe. “You really are rich, aren’t you?”

He shrugged.

She shook her head. “This is unbelievable! Things like this never happen to me!”

“Look in the other bag.”

When she saw what was inside, she laughed. “Brownies! I should have known!”

“Do I know you or do I know you?”

“You certainly know what I like!” She peered up at him with open gratitude. “Did you make these yourself?”

“Of course,” he lied. In truth, Byron made them. Adam had never created anything in a kitchen except bloody disasters.

“Come on in,” she invited.

Following her inside, he couldn’t truthfully say he liked her pedestrian house, but he could say, “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks.” She beamed again at him, then gushed, “I can’t get over it.”

“What?”

“You said you were handsome but wow!” She laughed. “You’re gorgeous!”

He held up his hands as if to say, I told you so.

“I want to put these brownies away. Can I get you anything? I know you don’t drink alcohol, but I’ve got sodas, sweet tea, bottled water.”

“No, thank you.” He knew from talking to her online that she enjoyed red wine. “But feel free to have a glass of Merlot if you want.”

She gave him an uncertain look. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

"Okay. Make yourself at home." She clutched both gift bags to her bountiful chest. "And thank you again for the presents!"

“You’re most welcome.”

When she left him alone, he scrutinized his surroundings. The living room was exactly as he imagined it would be: sweet, feminine, tiny. On an end table, in addition to a stack of Good Housekeeping magazines, there was a Nancy Drew book that surely belonged to the brat. He loved that Rachel was cultivating a love for reading in her daughter. One wall behind the banal couch was devoted entirely to pictures of Deborah. Adam walked over and looked at the little girl’s life, from her nearly nude baby picture, to grinning photographs where she was missing teeth, right up through a picture of her laughing at her last (seventh) birthday party.

“Pretty eyes,” he muttered. “Like her mother’s.”

With his preternatural senses, Adam could hear Rachel in the kitchen. He smiled when she said to herself, “Oh my God, girl! I think you just hit the jackpot!” He could smell the wine the moment she uncorked the bottle. He could also smell her perspiration, despite her Secret deodorant and Red Giorgio perfume.

Knowing she was nervous took the edge off his nervousness. Now that he was with her, now that he was inside her home, Adam felt completely in command of the situation. And yet there remained a wound-up spring of tension that wouldn’t be released until he read her mind.

He was extremely eager to uncover her deepest secrets.

He smiled, knowing her worst transgressions would be trivial. She lied to someone, maybe hurt someone she loved (probably Deborah). Maybe she stole something during a time of desperation. Maybe she liked kinky sex. Whatever it was she felt most guilty about, he would know it soon. And once he did— once he knew she was virgin in the only sense that mattered to him— only then would he be free to love her completely.

Only then would he be free to corrupt her.

He reminded himself, “These things take time.” He had promised himself he would go slow. They needed to talk first, probably for hours. He would charm her. He would dazzle her. He would be vigilant for that look in her eyes when she regarded him with affection and/or lust.

Only after he had seen that look of desire would he take her into his clutches.

He heard her returning to the living room, but pretended he didn’t, giving her time to check out his butt. After a minute, she told him, “Okay. I’m back.”

Turning around, he clasped his hands in front of him.

She sat her glass of wine on an end table, nearly knocking it over in the process.

He smiled. “There’s no need to be nervous, darling.”

She avoided eye contact. “I can’t help it.”

“I promise I won’t bite.” His smile broadened. “Not yet, anyway.”

She looked at him suddenly and said, “So, would you like the grand tour?”

“Please.”

“This will take all of about two minutes.” Rachel led him down a short hallway, showing him first the bathroom, then Deborah’s room, then her bedroom. In her boudoir, he shot her an sensual gaze and she blushed again. And once again, he nearly lost his mind.

Breathless, Rachel quickly led him back down the hallway.

Following her, he stared at the back of her neck, struggling to restrain his wantonness.

When they entered the kitchen, they were both utterly unprepared for what happened next.

Adam looked up from her neck and saw the sign above the stove that read…

GOD BLESS THIS KITCHEN,

AND GOD HELP THE COOK!

Beneath the sign was a silver crucifix.

Rachel told Adam that she was raised a Catholic, but she’d also told him she hadn’t been to church in more than a decade. He never dreamed she would have a religious icon in her home! He knew the sign was meant as a joke. But in this moment, he also knew that Rachel did believe in the power of the cross.

Eyes flaring bright red, Adam recoiled, howling an inhuman cry— a wail like that of a wounded wolf. Turning away from the repellent talisman, he shuddered uncontrollably, all his fingernails becoming three-inch talons in an instant.

That was when Rachel screamed.

Eyes closed, he located her by her shriek. Seizing her by the arm, he dragged her from the kitchen, back into the safety of the living room, away from that accursed crucifix.

When Adam finally looked at her again, he saw exactly what he hoped he wouldn’t: Rachel was terrified of him. Everything had been going so smoothly! Now it was all going to hell!

“Nooo,” he moaned, terribly disappointed. “It’s too early for that! You're supposed to look at me with love first, then fear!”

Rachel tried desperately to pull free of him, couldn’t even budge him, and screamed again.

“Damn.” Adam pulled her close, grabbing her by the sides of her head. She screeched even louder, and he did enjoy the sound and scent of her terror. “Don’t worry,” he assured both himself and her. “We may have gotten off to a bad start, but it’s not too late to salvage this.”

He opened his mouth and caused his fangs to grow. As he did, all his zeal, all his desire for her, all his bloodlust was set free. And then he did lose control, surrendering to the terrible hunger.

Adam plunged his fangs into Rachel’s neck.

The blood brought euphoria. Her scarlet juices didn’t just sate his physical appetite; her life-liquid also nurtured his sinister soul. It instilled in him a blasphemous ecstasy undreamt of by mortals.

It also allowed him to read her mind. Adam plunged into her memories and sucked them up. He was shocked to his core by what he discovered!

Yes, Rachel’s husband beat her, but she lied about how often! It wasn’t three times; it was more like thirty! She finally reached her breaking point when Deborah was three, after Jimmy smacked her around and cracked one of her ribs while raping her.

When he passed out, Rachel went and loaded Jimmy's gun, a 9mm pistol. Then she woke him up. Still inebriated, he became immediately angry at her when he saw she had his Beretta. He tried to take the pistol away from her.

That’s when she shot him in the face.

Later, she claimed he threatened her. She said she believed he was going to kill her and, without thinking, she acted in self-defense. Her broken rib lent credence to her story.

Adam couldn’t believe it! Rachel— sweet, domestic, innocent Rachel— she had gotten away with murder!

No wonder her poetry was so dark!

Adam had only barely begun to drain her, he hadn’t even consumed a half pint of blood yet, but he suddenly yanked his fangs out of her neck.

Holding her head in his hands, he looked at her like she was a traitor. He couldn’t believe this!

This was disaster!

He couldn’t corrupt her! He couldn’t turn her into a killer! She had already taken human life!

He raged, “YOU’RE NOT A VIRGIN!”

Tears spilled down her face. Blood oozed down her neck. Looking up at him with terrified eyes, she muttered, “You’re a vampire.”

That was how the Drink worked. The Nosferatu and his victim shared minds.

Rachel knew Adam had no picture to offer online because he couldn’t be photographed (just like he had no reflection in a mirror). She knew he couldn’t talk to her on the phone because his supernatural voice couldn’t be electronically reproduced. She knew he couldn’t be here, right now, if she hadn’t willingly invited him (repeatedly) into her home. His infernal kind had limitations.

Rachel also learned that Adam hadn't had a mate in nearly two hundred years. He meant to make Rachel his consort, to bring her into the Blood, to make her a vampire if he found her deserving.

But he judged her now to be unworthy, because of her unforgiveable sin.

Her head still in his hands, Rachel glowered at him. Knowing she was going to die made her furious. She screamed, “DO IT!”

Adam’s rage exploded. Roaring like the feral monster he was, he acted without thinking, squeezing his hands together.

Rachel’s head shattered between his crashing palms like an overripe gourd. Blood, brains, and bone flew in every direction, drenching him, spraying the walls, splattering the ceiling, raining to the floor. A chunk of blonde’s scalp dangled from one of Adam’s talons.

The vampire plopped some of the bitch’s brains into his mouth, sucked the blood off them, and then spat them out. He then picked up Rachel’s corpse and drank from the top, flipping her body upside down, the way a man would turn up a beer bottle.

When his fury was spent and his thirst was slaked, he cast her remains aside.

Adam wept.

He wandered into the living room, where he stopped to gaze at the pictures of Rachel’s little girl. Thinking about the grief he had just caused the child brightened his mood a little. He wiped away his blood tears.

Looking at Deborah’s birthday picture, seeing the child laughing, he wondered how much she was like her mother.

He wondered if Deborah had the soul of a poet.

If so, and if she could maintain her innocence, perhaps Adam would visit her in twenty or thirty years.

Despite that hope for the future, he still felt very much alone.

When he left the dead woman’s house and slipped into his limousine, he was covered with gore. Byron looked back at him and said, “I’m so sorry it didn’t go well.”

Looking down at his drenched clothes, Adam sighed.

Byron asked, “Shall we hit the streets, sir? Ball State University is in this town, you know. It’s where David Letterman went to school.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “You and your late-night TV.”

Byron cheerfully suggested, “Stalking some college girls might do you some good.”

“No.” Adam slipped off his shoes and kicked back, sucking some of Rachel’s blood off the cuff of his sleeve. “I think I’ll just head home and see who's online."

I hope you enjoyed the horror show!

Thank you kindly for your support!

_____________Bolt ⚡