Bloodlust

chapter twelve

-12-

I wake up on the couch and I feel like shit. I’m achy, my head is fuzzy and pounding and I wish I could just go back to sleep.

“You’re awake,” James says, astonished, and I groan.

“What happened?” I ask groggily as I sit up, realizing I’m still wearing my suit from yesterday.

“You passed out. Again.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” James says and I notice just how distant he is. “Probably exhaustion.”

“I’ve been sleeping every night!”

James looks at me for a few seconds like he’s studying me. I could swear that he wants to tell me something but he stays silent. He sighs. “Get something to eat. Drink something and for god’s sake, rest.”

“Where are you going?” I demand.

“Out,” he says, “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave,”

“We both know you’re going to lock me in here anyway,” I say as James leaves and I hear the telltale click of the lock.

I get up and head to the kitchen. I’m a fucking prisoner here. I can’t believe it. Is it a family trait I inherited from my mom, the urge to come back to my captor? I grab a box of cereal from the top of the fridge and eat it in silence. Why the hell am I even staying here? For all I know James is the murderer and if he is…he killed Christopher. I finish my cereal and get in the shower, turning the heat up as high as it’ll go to get rid of the cold clinging to me as the thought embeds itself in my head. I find some more clothes in the closet, none of which are mine, but all my size, and I get dressed. I sit in front of the TV and turn on the news.

“Thank you for joining us. This is Luxford News at Noon. Our breaking story today is another murder in the Luxford Murders, taking the body count up to five in the past week. Let’s go to Karen Sands with the story.” I straighten and look at the TV a little more intently. As much as I don’t want to watch and see who’s been killed now, I can’t look away.

“It was a peaceful morning in the west side,” the news caster narrates as nice houses and parks flash on the screen, “The peace was shattered though, when early this morning an unidentified male body was found, dead in a park near the illustrious Luxford Academy. His neck was broken and his death was said to be instantaneous. What worries most people, however, is not the horror of the scene, but the lack thereof. The victim appeared to be asleep when he was found, no evidence of any foul play.”

A policeman appears, speaking into a microphone, “The lack of evidence seems to be telling us that we’re probably dealing with the same killer. The deaths are all similar, broken necks or deaths where the victims are killed while they’re in a semi-conscious state.”

The female narrator continues. “It’s believed that Christopher Locke, age 17, was shoved in front of a moving bus and only in a semi-conscious state late Wednesday night. Police have speculated he was drugged, although no identifiable drugs were found. The search evidence and a hunt for a killer both turned up empty, making the police suspect the person that killed Christopher, killed the previous victims too, among them, 16 year old Amy Kirk, a young student from Luxford Academy.”

I’m shocked as I see Amy’s face on screen. She was alive yesterday. Now she’s gone. The news story continues in front of my eyes.

“Police officials say that Luxford is dealing with a serial killer and are advising people to stay indoors and among groups whenever possible.”