It was three o'clock in the morning when he returned from the streets and slipped silently back into the headquarters. After he left the girl, he returned to the hunt – this time not to feed, but to kill… as many of them as he could. He hunted in places that the patrols neglected, and at the same time keeping himself out of sight of the soldiers.
As he walked quietly through the darkness of the old warehouse, a voice greeted him from across the room.
"Merry Christmas"
He turned around to see Doctor Ephraim Goodweather sitting on the old and torn couch, alone in the dark, with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
"Did you know it's Christmas?" the doctor asked, taking a swig from the bottle. His tone was both jovial and sarcastic at the same time, and quite clearly under the influence of alcohol.
"I have not been keeping track of the days," he replied impassively, as if to avoid conversation.
"Ha," the doctor laughed. "Trust me, when you have kids, you'll always know when it's Christmas." The smile on his face and distant look in his eyes spoke of reminiscence of a past happiness. But it quickly faded and turned into a look of anguish and despair. He brought the bottle to his lips again, and drank with a heavy conscience, grimacing as he swallowed the strong liquor. Then, a moment later, a lighter mood returned. "Tell me Quin, have you…"
"Quinlan," he corrected with a cold stare.
"Tell me Quinlan, have you ever seen New York back in the day? I mean, before all this shit happened?"
"Yes, I have," Quinlan replied, approaching the doctor and carefully observing his state.
Ephraim took no notice of Quinlan's reply and continued, "Back in those days, you'd know when it was Christmas. I mean, you couldn't miss it – the lights, the decorations, and all the people…" he waved his arms around as he spoke, still holding the bottle of whiskey and somehow managing not to spill any of it. "Oh and Christmas carols playing every goddamn shop you walk into! God I hated those songs!" he continued his rant. "But Zach and Kelly… they loved them; they loved the whole Christmas thing. But for me, it was always a distraction from work…" His voice faded.
Quinlan could see the doctor's eyes growing distant once again, as his mind wandered into past memories and regrets. He quickly interrupted the doctor's dark thoughts, "Speaking of work, how is the research coming along, Doctor?"
His attention snapped back to the present. "Ha," he chuckled. "There's no point. It doesn't work." His words were slurred.
Quinlan grew concerned. "I thought you said you tested the formula and it was successful."
"Oh, the formula works; kills every Strigoi infected by it within a couple of days. But so what? It doesn't make any difference." He was not usually this pessimistic and dispirited, especially when it came to his work. He took another gulp of whiskey and then continued, "In the time it takes to kill one of them, a hundred of us become infected." He hung his head down and closed his tired eyes, rubbing them as if trying to clear his blurred vision. "What's the point anyway? The whole world's going to turn, and then what? I just kill everyone with some biological weapon?"
Even though this temporary pessimism was only brought about by alcohol, Quinlan knew the doctor was right. "Perhaps your efforts should have been towards looking for a vaccine, not a weapon."
"A vaccine?" Ephraim laughed. "That's impossible!"
"Not according to a certain Doctor Graeme Price…"
The mention of this name caused Ephraim to suddenly look up with full attention. "Wait, how do you know Graeme Price?"
Quinlan didn't answer.
"Is he here in the city? Did you speak to him?" Ephraim asked eagerly.
"I might know someone who's in contact with him."
The doctor's eyes lit up as he sprung to his feet and stumbled clumsily towards Quinlan. "W…we gotta go talk to him!" With a combination of excitement and drunkenness, he was hardly able to get his words out. "He's like, the best guy in the field!"
"So I've heard…" Quinlan remarked quietly.
Enthusiasm had returned to Doctor Goodweather, almost as if he was a different person to the man that had just been sitting defeated in the dark, ready to give up. "And you said he's researching a vaccine? We gotta speak to him… Find out what he knows."
Quinlan was somewhat amused to witness the doctor go through a whole plethora of emotions within just five minutes. The intoxication from alcohol was something he could never experience for himself, but throughout the times, he had seen it change men, even the most obstinate men – even kings.
"Come see me in the morning… when you're less inebriated." Quinlan turned and started walking away. "Good night, Doctor Goodweather."
Ephraim was left standing there, in a drunken daze, before finally retorting, "But it is the morning..." By then, Quinlan had already left the room.