Page 56 of My Mr. Vampire

I waited until Teresa was half a block away, moving north, before I slid out of the car. Following on foot was risky. Some vampires had heightened senses. Teresa was a young vampire. I didn’t think she had any special skills or heightened senses. I didn’t know much about her outside of the sex I wished I could take back.

The Chicago streets were too desolate for a moving car at these early morning hours. I had to go out on foot. I couldn’t risk losing her if she spotted me in a vehicle.

The night air hit me with a barrage of aromas. There was the thick humidity, the scent of the city, exhaust fumes, yesterday’s rain and the stench of wet garbage. I kept my distance, staying in the shadows where possible, using gangways as cover when needed. I pulled up the hood of my jacket, keeping my head down.

Teresa walked briskly, never looking back, but taking a route that seemed deliberately complex. She strolled down the sidestreets, through an alley and across a small park. Is she trying to lose a tail? Or does she just enjoy the complexity of this walk?

After fifteen minutes, the scenery changed. The buildings look better maintained. The streets were cleaner. We were approaching a college campus. It was the university district. Student housing and affordable apartments have replaced the liquor stores, fried chicken shacks and check-cashing joints of the previous neighborhood.

Teresa slowed her pace as we entered a well-lit area with manicured trees lining the sidewalk. Ahead stood a large brick building with a carved stone arch above the entrance. The tall building was a university dormitory.

This wasn’t where I expected her movements to lead me.

Teresa approached the entrance with confidence, pulling something from the pocket of her dress—a key card? She swiped it at the door. It opened, and she slipped inside.

I hung back, processing. Why would Teresa have access to a university dorm? She’s not a student, and she certainly wasn’t faculty. Unless she was using an alias? Or maybe she stole the card from someone.

I approach the building slowly, trying to look casual, like I belong. The lobby was visible through large windows—brightly lit, with a security desk that appeared unmanned. A group of three young women approached the entrance, laughing and talking animatedly, key cards already in hand. This was my chance.

I quickened my pace, timing my arrival to coincide with theirs. One swiped her card, and as they pushed through the door, I followed close behind, flashing a friendly smile that suggested I’m someone’s guest. They barely glanced at me, too absorbed in their conversation about an upcoming exam.

The lobby was clean and complete with the smell of floor cleaner. Flyers for campus events, tutoring services, androommate wanted ads were plastered a bulletin board. At the unmanned security desk, a sign reads “Be back soon.”

Lucky timing. I didn’t believe the sign. It was probably just there to make strangers believe there was some security. This early in the morning I doubted there was anyone working the desk.

I scanned the area quickly. Two hallways branched off the lobby, and a staircase rose to my left. An elevator stood opposite, its display showing it was currently on the third floor. I was sure it was Teresa inside the elevator.

I waited until the three students have moved down one hallway. I didn’t want to follow them, so I disappeared into the stairwell. I kept my footsteps as light as possible on the tiled steps. I held the metal handrails as I ascended upward. I moved cautiously, listening for sounds above me.

When I reached the third-floor landing, I paused and peered through the small rectangular window. After a few moments, I opened the door and moved through it. The hallway beyond was carpeted, lined with identical doors bearing room numbers and small whiteboards with messaged scrawled in colorful markers.

I couldn’t see Teresa. I believed she was somewhere inside one of the dorm rooms. But which one? I mulled about trying not to look like a creeper. My senses heightened as I examined the hallway for any other movement, any witnesses. It was quiet. Most students had to be out for the night or asleep behind their locked doors. I waited, giving Teresa time to do whatever she came here to do. I didn’t like the possibilities that sprung to mind.

Three minutes passed. Then five. I checked my watch, and I wondered how long I should wait before investigating. I wasn’t supposed to do anything but tail her. I parked myself around a corner and hoped she was in one of the rooms close to the elevator.

Just as I was debating my next move, I heard a door open. It had to be Teresa, but I couldn’t look around the corner. She would surely see me. I couldn’t have that happen here.

I pressed myself into the wall around the corner. I became still as stone, barely breathing. Instead of the elevator, I heard the door to the stairwell open. I peeked my head out just in time to see her disappear through the closing doorway.

I waited until I was certain she was gone. I walked down the hall near the elevator and noticed room 317 was slightly ajar. No light spilled from the crack in the doorway. No sound came from within.

My instincts were heightened. I placed my fingertips against the wood, feeling the grain as I push the door open wider. The smell hit my nostrils immediately, rich, metallic, unmistakable.

Blood.

Fresh blood.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HARLEN

The coppery scent of blood hit me like a physical punch to the gut. I pushed the door open wider. My fangs instinctively descended from my gums. It was a Pavlovian response I hated but couldn’t always control. I forced my fangs back with effort. The matchbox room was dark except for the glow of a small pink desk lamp. Before tonight, the room was a girly safe space for a college student. Now it was just another crime scene.

I took a step inside, careful not to touch anything. Lifting my foot, I kicked the door, listening as it clicked shut behind me. I was alone with death. A place I hadn’t seen in a long time.

Across her bed, a young Black girl lay sprawled out with one arm dangling over the edge. Her fingers were still curled around her cell phone. She was possibly trying to dial 911. The student’s neck was torn open. There were no neat punctures of a controlled feeding, but the savage ripping of flesh from someone who wanted her to suffer. Her wide, glassy eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, capturing an eternal moment of terror.

Blood soaked into the floral bedspread beneath her, darkening the cheerful pattern to something obscene. The crimson syrup dripped onto the floor, pooling on textbooks scattered there. Amongst the blood, I could read the book covers: psychology, sociology, mathematics.

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