Only go so far, 'till you bury them… so deep and down we go! Touched by angels though, I fall OUT OF GRACE! I did it all so maybe, I'd live this every day!

"PICK UP THE PHONE! PICK UP THE PHONE, FUCKER!" Slamming the brake and crashing his body into the steering wheel, Gerard screamed into the small flip-phone he desperately clutched in his quivering hand.

There was no response.

Did she even miss him? Is she even trying to find him?

"HELENA. PICK. UP. THE. PHONE." Distraught and frustrated, he growled at the tiny object, dying to hear her voice. We could be in the park and dancing by a tree, kicking over blades we see! Angel, tell me, where are you?

Other than the suffocating silence, he heard nothing but distant phantoms wailing.

Outside, the vampire grinned at the large black sign hanging on the front door, existing as a way for him to keep his precious peace and quiet, and distance himself from whatever filths that lurked in the town at night. (After a while, it turned out that the wreckage-town did have some scavengers scurrying around, moving their bodies when the sunlight died. A small, violent nomadic group known as the Riot, who slept in empty pools and vacant alleyways, sometimes dared venture too close to Gerard's residence. Of course, if one ever had the wits, they would face an immediate death by a shower of bullets. The bodies of all those who tried surrounded the house as a second warning.) Sprawled out on the sign were the big block letters: "You better stay on that side of the street, motherfucker, or I'll knock you out!" He let out a chuckle of glee, before producing a powerful kick with his bloodstained right leg.

Once the door swung open, Gerard dragged a few more bodies in, carelessly throwing them onto the large pile in the corner of the living room. A plentiful pile of bodies already lay in the dark, dusty hiding place that Gerard had claimed for himself. The place wasn't decorated much, and some walls have long deteriorated, but he didn't mind. Here, he did not have the luxury of great food and games, but then, nor had he the lust for power and riches, so why should he care? All he wanted was a place to stay, and he had no intention of making it all fancy, since hopefully he would soon desert this wreckage and reunite with Helena.

The lights were turned on as he sighed, and bathed in the house's musty smell. After the bodies landed with a thud, he strode to the stone counter of what once seemed to be the house's kitchen. He kept his beloved weapons there; knives, needles (though a slight fear for them were still instilled in his mind), salvaged guns from dead BL/ind Draculoids, just to name a few. All the walls in the house had at least a few drops of blood on them, but frankly, the floors were the dirtiest.

Rolling his eyes at the sterile view outside from the gray stained windows, Gerard turned on the sink, and water came wildly spraying at his polluted hands. He grinned as blood drained down into the sink, then poked at the suds that gathered as he rubbed his hands with soap. Soon turning off the water, he wiped his hands on an old, somewhat stained towel, then stylishly strode to his collection of weapons.

Gerard selected a sharp knife from his wide, organized array of weaponry, picked up an unwashed, bloodstained wine glass and a new corpse from today, and headed for his bedroom. Turning the knob, the scarlet-stained door slowly creaked open, revealing a trail of blood leading up to a fella hanging from a steel bar that Gerard had installed to the wall. The former Draculoid, now with his mask taken off, had scars running all over his body, and a pool of blood dripping down from his red pants. Needles were stuck in his face and chest for intimidation, and a few times, Gerard even took his gun and shot the former Draculoid in his limbs. The man, no, animal, would scream in torment and agony, and when Gerard first held him captive, the drugs would kick in and quickly silence the disturbing noise, but since its effects have now faded with the lack of "medicine", the animal would, sometimes for up to hours, howl in anguish. Gerard loved that sound, the sound of pain and suffering and perhaps even a bit of hatred. With each torture session, the animal would become more human.

To Gerard, torturing the unlucky animal (or so he called him) could be considered a hobby; he'd almost killed Gerard in a battle once (of course, in Gerard's twisted mind, the shot was absolutely by luck), so Gerard dragged him to his hideout to teach him a deadly lesson. The former Draculoid was fed two meals a day and constantly in agony, although Gerard would most likely deny he enjoys torturing more than directly killing (of course, that doesn't mean torture brings absolutely no delight to him). Or, perhaps Gerard simply held him hostage as a means of passing the time; after all, he did consider the victim as an amusing companion.

After Gerard walked in, he flung the corpse to the side, then turned on some music for company. It was that kind of music that he fancied: earsplittingly loud guitar and drums, combined with quite violent lyrics from an aggressive, blaring voice.

Another knife in my hands, a stain that never comes off the sheets, clean me off, I'M SO DIRTY, BABE! It ain't the money and it sure as hell ain't just for the fame; it's for the bodies I claim and lose…

With the lights off, the only luminescence in the dark room came from the warm yellow glow of several scented candles. Across from the location of the victim was a properly functioning bathtub, where Gerard would lather his hands and body if he ever felt like it.

Now standing next to the metal beam, Gerard ran the blade along the face of the victim, who stared at the ground, almost as if he were unconscious. Seeing no response of fear from his "pet", Gerard pulled back the knife, then harshly shoved it into the victim's right shoulder. With his wine glass, Gerard collected the blood seeping out from the painful wound, and grinned with joy. The victim, unable to continue acting, moaned in anguish and recoiled in horror as Gerard snickered at his filling wine glass and the sound of metal digging into flesh.

Gerard twisted the knife around in the victim's shoulder. Looking away, the victim let out a deafening shriek, then groaned weakly, "I… will… not… give… u-"

"SILENCE!" Gerard barked, his crimson eyes suddenly ablaze with fury. With one hand, he slapped the animal in the face, while still holding the wineglass under the wound with his other hand. Glaring the victim in the eye, he murmured with a voice bitter and low: "A drink, for the horror that you're in…"

Soon enough, the glass was full. Gerard tugged the knife out of the victim's shoulder, and the victim let out a small hiss of pain, which was silenced as Gerard gracefully pressed a pointer finger to the its lips. "Hush, my lovely," he whispered, quite romantically. "Look at me."

He gradually knelt onto the floor, staring into the one remaining eye of the tortured victim and admiring the remaining, exposed eye socket from where his other eye formerly was. Cocking his head, he beamed in enchantment, almost like how an artist pridefully smiles at his perfect work. After a few moments, he swiftly turned around, seeming to have recalled something as he jolted up with excitement. "Oh, I almost forgot!" He exclaimed as he dragged the limp corpse from earlier to the bathtub, then switched the music to a mellow, sweet and dreamy violin.

After he gently placed the blood-filled wineglass on the rough carpet, he twisted the bathtub knob and warm water started to flow in. As the bathtub filled, Gerard (facing away from the animal) unbuttoned his black suit and slid off his black pants, revealing his back to the victim. After running his hands down his thighs in some sort of twisted self-admiration, he carefully stepped into the bathtub, slumping into the lukewarm water. He moaned in glee as the water surrounded him, relaxing his tense, tired muscles, with the light from the candles gently casting onto his head and neck, adding some shade to his pale, almost colorless face. "Sometimes I see flames, and sometimes I see people that I love dying and, it's always-" His voice unexpectedly cracked; he cut himself off as he tried to choke back the tears. For a few seconds, the two in the room remained in silence, until Gerard decided to suddenly sit up and reach out from the bathtub to grab the corpse's wrist. Ever so delicately, he gradually sank his fangs into the skin, penetrating it in an almost dreamy way. Bloody daggers slid out as he then dripped the flowing liquid from the wrist and into the bathtub, contaminating the clear water with red.

Soon, Gerard removed the wrist from its position over the bathtub, then let go, to watch it lifelessly fall to the ground with a soft thump. Subsequently, he, almost as if he were acting, bent down and raised the wineglass at his prey while giving a delighted and exaggerated wink, then took a leisured sip.

While flashing his perfect vampire teeth at his victim, from the vampire came a quiet whisper, "For you, my friend… three cheers, for sweet revenge."