Nothing bothered Tom more than the incessant howling of dogs. Lately, everywhere he went, he was followed by the lonesome sound of a dog either in need or in pain. When had this begun? Ah yes . . . it had been the night that the blonde entered his life and ripped it to shreds.
Genevieve had been right: he shouldn't have taken the job. If he had stayed home, he would have never seen the coffin hidden in Nicholas Blair's cellar. He had been willing to turn away from it and forget what he had seen, but Blair had insisted on giving some glib explanation as to why it was there. Tom accepted that explanation and left. But the more his mind dwelled on it, the stranger the coffin became. He believed that no one in the family would keep a coffin hidden away on one of their old properties. Tom knew that he had to tell the authorities.
Quite suddenly, he noticed the sound crumbling of leaves approaching him, and, in the distance, the fearful shrieking of hounds began to resonate. Tom looked up to see a blonde woman, ethereal in her gown but silent as the Sphinx. He asked her for her name, but she did not respond. He continued to demand for her answer; the woman refused to give one as she moved toward him. Tom tried to flee the scene, but he discovered that he was unable to move. The best he had been able to do was scream as she drained him, hoping that his cries would bring help. Unfortunately, his only reprieve came with his loss of consciousness.
Tom didn't remember most of his hospital stay. He could not recall any of his visitors until the last day, although occasionally he saw snapshot like images of a few close friends' faces hovering over his bed. But his only true memories were of those few hours before her return. He could still see the look on Joe's face as he told him about what he had seen; that look had been a mixture of terror and sympathy, a good sign that he understood what he was being told. Tom had not always gotten along with his cousin, but he had believed that he could trust Joe when times were tough. How much tougher could times get! When he asked Joe to go to the police, he immediately said that he would. Tom thought that this awful mess would finally be over; but then he watched his cousin open the window. He called Joe on it and was be fed some line about the room being too stuffy. 'This is a hospital,' Tom had thought. 'It's always cold!' But he decided to let it slide. He could trust Joe, couldn't he? Besides, the air would do him some good. And surprisingly enough, he had been able to steal a few moments of rest before he heard the fluttering wings outside his window. He looked up to see the blonde standing before him. What use was there in protesting? His struggles would lead to the same end that they had before: being emptied and left for dead by the beautiful mute.
How was he ever going to escape her and her dogs! Surely the blonde and her posse were again on his trail…or were they? Tom looked around to see a twilight kissed forest shading him from the sky. Forest? He couldn't remember leaving the hospital. How had he gotten to the woods if he had never left his bed? Tom wandered throughout the forest in the hopes of finding some clue as to how he ended up there. He eventually came to a sort of clearing. Tom stared for a moment out into the sea of stone, unwilling to believe that his search had brought him to a graveyard. Calmly, he glanced over the headstones and, on occasion, he would notice a name, be it from direct knowledge or hearsay. He thought nothing of them. One marker, however, made him stop. "'Thomas Jennings: 1944-1968.' But it can't be. I'm alive! I'm breathing, I'm walking, I'm . . . oh God." Suddenly, it made sense. Tom knew why he wasn't in the hospital. He knew where his day had gone. The dogs weren't howling for the blonde; they were howling for him.
Tom heard rustling in the distance. He couldn't be seen by anyone, at least not yet. He ran to the thickest grouping of trees and watched as Joe Haskell approached the tombstone. Tom could see that his cousin was thoroughly glass-eyed. "I can't believe I'm here," whispered Joe. Tom noticed how his voice had cracked, showing that his old adversary had wept for quite a while. "I . . . um . . . well, I hate that all this had to happen. I tried . . . I tried to stop her, but she . . . she stopped me! She had her way . . . she always does. I'm so sorry. I've betrayed you!"
'You're damn straight,' thought Tom angrily. He couldn't believe that old reliable Joe was involved with the blonde devil. That fool knew what she had done and now all he could do was apologize! Tom's life, a life that would have finally moved in a positive direction, had been destroyed. He knew of his own damnation, but what about Genevieve or Amy, who wasn't even old enough to take care of herself? People had been ruined; Cousin Joe would have to pay.
Tom started to creep out of the woods, but stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps. He fled back to his tree and watched as three forms moved closer. Tom was shocked to see the eccentric Collins surrounded by his manservant and the doctor who lived in the Great House. Tom remembered seeing her wander around during the days and had heard rumors of how she gave sedatives out like Halloween candy. Although he had a sinking feeling about this trio, they didn't immediately strike him to be grave groupies. He watched in silence as the woman went up to Joe and led him away from the grave. Once they were out of sight, Collins and his manservant took their places. This was the first time that Tom noticed their shovels. 'So they're going to dig it up!' He could just imagine their shock when they discovered the empty coffin. He snickered softly at them until hunger burst in his stomach and spread throughout his body. The pain sent Tom to his knees. Out of habit, he bit down on his bottom lip to find that fangs had already descended into his mouth. No doubt about it: he needed to hunt.
Tom had two options: he could attack the grave robbers or search elsewhere for a victim. He didn't believe that he would be able to take on both men by himself. Although he knew that he would have to leave the forest, he didn't know where he would go. Besides, how would he leave without them hearing him? He crouched lower to the ground and concentrated on leaving the area. Slowly, he felt his body rise from the ground, buffered by the air as he ascended above the trees. Although Tom was pleasantly surprised by his new ability, he didn't see it as a solution. Wouldn't the men see him zooming through the sky and become suspicious? He glanced down at them to see that they were thoroughly consumed with their task. He could leave undetected, and he took ample advantage to do so.
Tom found enchantment in flying. Part of him could still remember the whispers of his decrepit grandfather as he warned his mother before she flew to Santa Fe to meet an old friend from school: "If God had meant for you to fly, he woulda gave you wings. There ain't no need to do it, and there ain't no reason to want to." Well, Tom had always thought his grandfather mad. Now was the perfect time to believe it. He couldn't imagine how anyone could find fault with flying. He had never felt freer than he did right then with his arms extended out and his body gleefully being battered by the cold night sky. Maybe death wasn't going to be so bad after all?
After much hesitation, Tom fell back to earth. He scanned the grounds to find himself in a familiar place. One rarely forgets what home looks like. Of course, it looked a little shabbier than when he last saw it but that was to be expected. No one was around now to mow the lawn or sweep the porch. If something broke, it was liable to remain that way until someone bought the place and fixed it up. Genevieve was probably at the house, but she would be in no condition to keep it livable. The week before she had packed all their things away so that they could leave the state. Tom was pretty sure that she hadn't touched it in all that time.
A light burned dimly from the kitchen. Tom crept up to the house to inspect, although he knew well whom he would find. He peaked through the window to see Genevieve scrounging through her purse. She had dragged the old black telephone in from the living room, letting the cable stretch tight like a trip cord for any unexpected visitors. Tom noticed that she was still wearing the customary black dress. He remembered that Genevieve hated wearing black; she must have borrowed that atrocity from a friend because she didn't own a stitch of black clothes.
After a few minutes of searching, Genevieve pulled a crumbled piece of paper from her purse. Tom wouldn't have realized what she was about to do had he not recognized the handwriting. Her fingers trembled as they searched out the necessary slots, but she eventually dialed the number. "Hello," she whispered unsurely, "can I speak with Chris Jennings. This is most urgent." There was a minute or two of strained silence, a time in which Tom noticed his lover's tired face morph into a vision of frustration. "Listen! This is not THAT kind of call. So why don't you get off your lazy ass and tell Chris that his could've been sister in law has called to tell him about his brother's funeral! Uh-huh, that's right. Now go tell him before I hurt you, okay?"
Genevieve withdrew the receiver from her mouth and mumbled, "Stupid twit. I don't have time for her bruised ego." In an instant, she rammed the phone back to her ear and sighed. "God Chris, it's so good to hear your voice. Please tell me you're just living with this girl because you have no other choices. The jealous child wouldn't let me talk to you until I mentioned the funeral. What do you mean you didn't know about the funeral? You do know that Tom's dead? Did you know he was attacked? ARGH! Joe was supposed to handle all of this, he told me so. Then again, Joe has not been himself for quite awhile.
"Everything is screwed up down here. Tom was attacked on a Collins property leased to a Mr. Nicholas Blair. He was in a coma for a little less than a week, but he started to recover a few days ago. I was with him yesterday and he was doing fine. He kept saying that he needed to tell Joe something. No, he didn't tell me what that something was. He said that he didn't want to worry me. Anyway, I wake up to hear he died last night. Joe told me he had it all covered, though. We had the funeral a few hours later and now it's all done." Genevieve hesitated a beat before screaming, "Of course the pieces don't fit! That's why I'm calling you. I'd like it if you came back to Collinsport to help me get some answers. No, the police aren't helping. Their idea of helping was taking Amy out of my care and putting her in Windcliff. No, I don't want to talk about it. Listen, I've just had the worst day of my life. I'll fill you in on the particulars when you get here, okay . . . "
Tom eased away from the window and moved back into the overgrown lawn. As much as he wanted to go to her, he knew that it was out of the question. Genevieve Reeves was a part of another life, a life that had ended much too suddenly. She would never be his again, be it as a lover or as a victim. Tom knew it was best to steal this one last glimpse of his love as she attempted to sort out the events of the last few days. "Do me proud, Gene. Make him pay." Tom looked back to the sky and rose, convinced that he would never see this house again.
Of course this realization hadn't eased his hunger. If anything, it worsened it, making his physical pain almost unbearable. Without thinking of where he went, he landed back on the ground. A quick look around told him that he was on Collins property. What luck? He had gotten in trouble here; why not cause a little of his own? He began to walk toward the Great House, but stopped short of doing so. He couldn't take a bite out of any of them, at least not yet. No one had knowingly sent him into danger. They wouldn't suffer for this . . . that is, for the time being. He turned around and headed toward the Old House.
The lights from the Old House shown brightly, seeming especially bright when one factored in the fact that it didn't have electricity. Tom wasn't really worried about that, though. If the house was illuminated, then there had to be someone there. He snuck up to the window and peaked inside. No one seemed to be home. Yet a moment later, a man walked out the door. Tom looked over to see that it was Jeff Clark, and he seemed irritated. Every time he had seen him, he seemed to be piqued over something. For a moment, he thought about attacking Clark, but he quickly decided against it. There was no need for Tom's first feeding to be on bitter blood.
Tom walked up to the door and checked the knob. Just as he had suspected, it was unlocked. He had been around the Collinses long enough to know that they never locked their doors. When he had worked for them, he had done his best to curb this habit. In his present state, Tom found it to be a blessing that these people never seemed to learn. The moment he stepped inside, Tom could sense that a living being was somewhere within the house. He would search the premises if he had to; the pain was becoming too much to bear. Fortunately, he noticed the odd metal door in the drawing room. As he walked toward it, the smell of warm blood greeted him with open arms. Cautiously, he opened the door and slipped down the dank steps, ready to take on whatever he happened to meet at the bottom.
Tom was almost surprised to see the good doctor in the basement. Tom sat at the steps a moment, attempting to assess if someone was with her. He neither saw nor felt anyone else in the room. So he made his move and walked into the light. She turned around with a start and asked who he was. All Tom could do was offer a smile. The doctor caught the hint very fast, be it because her friend had told her all about his finding or because the fangs were already on their marks. She begged Tom to stay back; he didn't see what was stopping him. He made his way to her and took her into his arms. Her protests strengthened as he held her. Maybe she knew exactly what was coming. Tom knew her fear and he knew the pain that would come with the first drink. He didn't bother to warn her as he plunged his fangs into her pale neck. His attack was met by her screams, but Tom didn't care. This was his first taste of blood as one of the living dead. He couldn't believe it was this unbelievable.