There in the cemetary lay hundreds of musty, grey headstones. The one which Doyle would see; Sarah Lemár Ellens, 1866-1881. That was his beloved sister, who died at the tender age of fifteen. He had stopped off at a flower shop before-hand to pick up some assorted roses. He rest these atop the small headstone, bending down in front of it.
"Well, Sarah...here you are...well, here you lay, at least," Doyle said softly, tracing the out-line of the letters with his index finger. "Sorry I couldn't make it last week....I had to help Mum'n Dad, ya know? So, sorry..." He looked up at the sky for a moment, feeling glad that the sun wasn't up yet. That was when the vampires came out, and a hood of them had been tracking Doyle for awhile now.
You see, Doyle had been gambling with the vamps again. He was supposedly "feeling lucky", and bet two-thousand smackers (not to mention his own pair of leather pants, which, by the way, he got back). So, Doyle owed them money, and so far, had not made any to pay the vampires back. So here he was, at the cemetary, the sun about to go down in an hour or so, and he only had twenty bucks on him. Not nearly enough, he reminded himself.
"Well, Sarah...how ya been?" Of course, there was no response. "I hope you're happy up there in heaven. Mum and Dad are bugging me again about my hair. Ya know how they always used to hassle me for having weird hair? Well, I went out and got it cut, God dammit! Did they like it? Of course not! I got a beating again." He wiped his sweaty brow, as it was getting quite warm outside. "Sorry, Sarah. I have to get home before the vampires come out. I promise to come back soon, though. May you be at peace."