Free One of Them (Vigil #2) by Arvin Loudermilk Page B

reports provided by the Detail, but maybe I was too quick to believe the crap I was being sold. I badly wanted to do something of importance, and capturing Jessup would’ve allowed me to make a mark in the department. I just went along with their bullshit and never questioned a thing when they horned their way into my life and put me into danger, even going as far as trying lull me into a fake relationship with a handsome cop who all of a sudden was madly in love with me. I mean they used every distraction technique in the book. I was a sucker, a fool. A gullible fucking fool. The Detail had to be the ones behind this. I was sure of it. There was no one else it could be.
    Patience, patience.
    The Detail and its machinations were not even my most pressing concern. I was. How did I not die after such unspeakable trauma? I felt like I was going crazy. The hows and whys were just sitting there in front of me waiting to be acknowledged. Two plus two equals four, and the facts were the facts. Jessup had been so specific with me. With Beth and his first victim he’d behaved like a rampaging monster, chewing one up and bleeding the other out in a matter of seconds. With me, the things he did came off as ceremonial, like his actions were precious and important—maybe even sacred. Had he turned me? Had he made me like him? I had ingested his blood, a whole lot of it. And then, suddenly, for no logical reason, I was able to see in the dark—and I’d survived crippling injuries, yet I felt fine. Hell, I felt energized. I felt like kicking in those goddamned blank walls. I felt like kicking someone’s ass.
    In my mind, I’m about the furthest thing from an irrational person. I did not normally think such insane thoughts. I was taught to look at evidence rationally, and then analyze it. It was a practice my father had drilled into me from an early age. I was a born pragmatist, just like he was. So whenever my mind started to go astray, I considered what Daddy’s reaction would have been, and then co-opted his cold-bloodedness as best as I could. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what his response would have been to all of this shit. He’d have told me to distance myself. What one personally thought had zero relevance. What one could prove did. I may not have had complete control, but my captors most definitely wanted something from me, otherwise I wouldn’t have been among the living. That gave me an edge from which I could apply pressure. And applying pressure was something I was pretty damn good at—and I would not stop doing it until I knew. I had to know what the fuck I’d become.
    I collapsed forward, balling up and attempting to think of anything else. But it was hopeless at that point. The word had set root. An utterance so ridiculous I had trouble saying it out loud.
    Vampire. Vampire. Vampire.

From Above
    The second time I awoke, it was to the smell of decay.
    My stomach was grumbling as my eyes scanned desperately for the odor’s source. But sprawled out on the floor the way I was, I had no real angle on the room. I jerked up into a crouch and began to crawl around the floor on my hands and knees. In the midst of a rather furious turn around the bed, I skidded to a halt. In front of me was a white container, a plain old plastic bucket. I stared down at the liquid redness inside, breathing in the aroma, pungent and dank. The smell was overwhelming.
    I dipped my finger in, gathered up a thickened dollop on the tip and raised it toward my mouth, drawing it inward and licking it clean. The blood wriggled its way down my throat, warm and tasteless, and ultimately unsatisfying. I wanted more of it, a whole lot more. I used my cupped hand to scoop out an even larger helping. As I gulped it down, the leavings dripped everywhere—on my thighs, my chest, and all over my face. But it still was not enough. I wanted the damn stuff to taste like something. I wanted more. Three additional handfuls went inside of me