Heathcliff pulls up to a familiar stretch of Sacramento where women walk the streets in clothes...okay, clothes is an exaggeration. Mostly they wear bright neon bikini tops and micro-skirts, and they entreat cars and pedestrians going by to use them, have their way with them, for... for not much money at all, really. Certainly not the most desirable of women, most have the hollow eyes of hard drug use, some bear noticeable scars from violent pimps and Johns.

The Nosferatu looks around for cops and sees none. He never sees any over here. A too-thin blonde in a blindingly bright pink halter top and super-short white skirt walks over to his dark blue sedan and leans in the open passenger window. "Lookin' for a date, mister?"

"Get in," he says with a smile. He sounds like the 'before' Nyquil guy on the commercials, part of his clan's curse. "What's your name?"

"You're not a cop, are you?" She reaches over to fondle him.

"No," he smiles. She removes her hand, satisfied.

"Debbie," she finally answers before she directs him to an alley several blocks away. They park next to a dumpster. A yellow light from the building beside it provides little illumination.

"So what did you want, sweetie? Everything will cost you a hundred." Like any good saleswoman, there's a strong hint of flirtation in the negotiations.

Heathcliff reaches into his pocket and removes a single hundred. Like I said, he's familiar. She examines it by the poor lighting available before deciding it's close enough for her drug dealer, anyway, and puts it in her purse. She pulls her top down and asks, "How do you want me?"

Mister Staley reaches over, caresses her face with his hand, and she starts to bend towards his lap, but he suddenly meets her halfway, fangs extended, piercing the oh-so-fragile flesh protecting her jugular and extracting what he's paid for...her blood. At first she seems alarmed, but quickly succumbs to the romance of the Kiss, and she shudders and moans like some fevered dream on some Hollywood movie screen. That's almost as good as the blood itself.

The Beast wants to take it all, but the Man knows better. He stops well short, then licks her Wound away with his cursed tongue. Debbie's still in a daze as Heathcliff brings her back to her alley and smiles at her. "That was great," he croaks. "But you don't look so good. You should eat something." He opens the compartment next to his seat and hands her a pack of Oreos.

"Mmmhmmm," she says, taking the package and exiting the car out of habit, rather than any cognitive decision. The civil servant watches her walk away until he's content she's not going to fall over, then drives off into the night, sated and ashamed.