“We have some breaking news,” the talking head on TV said “The two student sisters that went missing weeks ago were found slain in a dumpster behind an Arby’s this morning…”
Lucy turned the volume down while swearing to herself. “Damn you, you blood sucking freaks. And God damn you too, Monroe!” She turned the volume back up.
“And in other news, a local professor was arrested last night for public intoxication, drug possession, and lewd acts. He was apprehended after a local Starbucks employee reported to police that 'a deranged, half nude, gibbering lunatic had entered the store. Bail was set at…” Lucy turned off the tv.
“Oh, snap!” muttered Sam in front of the television.
Meanwhile, the distraught Lucy paced about the room, muttering to herself, “Mother wanted me to go into the Bloomingdale’s Junior Executive Program. no, I said, the University was SO much more important, crap, I’d be a Bloomingdale’s Regional Manager by now…” She stopped, the glow from the street lights outside illuminated her face, she had a sudden epiphany, Bloomingdale’s be damned, she had to do SOMETHING, Monroe would not go down for crimes he did not commit, OK, maybe a 12 step program would be a good idea to address the nose candy issue, but she was going to swoop into action…
Stoker put down his pen, read through the last five pages he’d scribbled and decided his brain was too scrambled to continue writing for the night. Bram, where the righteous fuck are you going with this story? he said aloud. There was no answer, save for the ticking of the clock on the mantel.
Florence was snoring softly as he climbed into bed. He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, an ancient urge suddenly creeping into his loins, when she rolled over and–still asleep–clipped him on the chin, hard enough to cause him to see stars in the darkened bedroom. He collapsed onto his side of the mattress and was oblivious to the world in seconds. There would be no staking tonight.