It’s all for my sweet one.
“I assume you can fix that,” I say, nodding toward the divots in grave walls. “And you’ll collect the tools.”
“Absolutely, sir,” the groundskeeper says. “Whatever you need, we’re ready. I’ll be forever in your debt for how you’ve helped my sister.”
Those words bring a sinister smile to my face, which has nothing to do with helping him and everything to do with the knowledge that his gratitude comes at a price. With my help, the groundskeeper’s sister has finally been released from my asylum. The poor bastard doesn’t realize it’s only temporary. Soon, she’ll return to my favorite department, and once again, he’ll be groveling for my assistance. He ought to know letting a man dig up a grave will ultimately lead him down a horrifying path.
“You love your sister?” I ask.
He bows his head. “Yes, sir. With all of my heart.”
My nostrils flare, curiosity blooming in my chest. I’ve suspected their relationship for a while now, and his avoidance to my eye contact only furthers it. Perhaps there is something more between the two siblings, something sexual in nature. An aspect I can explore more with his sister’s return to the Ambrose Asylum. Maybe she can eventually become a trained doll to be sold as well.
However, right now, both the groundskeeper and his sister are unimportant to me. My entire focus is on the only object worthy of my attention.
Violet, my sweet one.
“It would be unfortunate if a visitor found this grave and came to you with questions,” I say.
I don’t clarify who the visitor may be; the groundskeeper can make his own assumption about the grave and the potential connections. I have no doubt he’s seen the woman visit his cemetery before. I lift my nose. “Unfortunately, you will be unavailable to any mourners until I’ve concluded my business. I’ll give you a call.”
“Yes, sir.” The groundskeeper bobs his head. “My sister and I were just talking about taking a vacation.”
“Enjoy yourselves, then,” I say with a wink. I can’t help it; he has no idea what his future holds. My business won’t take that long, and it may be the last time he indulges in leisurely freedom with his sister.
On my way out of the cemetery, I step over decaying bouquets and pass through black spiked gates. Then I settle into the driver’s seat of my sedan and remove a vial of blood from the glove box. I had Violet’s current boyfriend take her to the clinic in town to have a sample drawn for preliminary testing to confirm her perverse condition was not due to a physical ailment. The dumb son-of-a-bitch is so invested in her safety and stupidly trusting in my care, he truly thinks I ordered blood tests. In reality, I collected it from the clinic myself. My reputation stretches beyond the asylum; no one dares question my needs.
I’ve been saving her blood for a special occasion, and now is precisely the right time.
I shake the vial and watch the separated parts mix back together. I twist it open before bringing it to my lips and tossing my head back. The blood drips into my mouth, the metallic essence coursing over my tongue. My dick engorges, the taste of her blood already driving me toward another full erection. I groan deeply. There’s nothing like drinking a woman’s blood, especially when she has absolutely no idea it’s technically been stolen from her.
Usually, when I drink a woman’s blood, I barely know her name; it’s a passing situation, a way to dangle my power over my victim until I grow bored with the game and drink it.
But Violet isn’t a passing interest like the others. I know her name. Her background. Her interests. I know everything about her. She’s my obsession. I can admit that. I’ve been thinking about today’s appointment non-stop since I scheduled it with her boyfriend, and she is completely unaware of how much I’ve been investing in her life.
I must save my next orgasm for her. Violet thinks she’s agreed to a short appointment at the asylum, but she will be staying with me for a very, very long time.
She’ll be under my care permanently.
Chapter 2
Violet
A pair of uniformed guards roll open the gates manually, and my stomach sinks to my feet. They remind me of masked executioners waiting on a scaffold for the next beheading.
The car creeps forward slowly, and I reach for my boyfriend’s knee. My stomach twists. There aren’t many parking options for us that aren’t overgrown with dead weeds or in ruins, as if the asylum staff don’t care about their visitors or outpatients, as if they only have permanent residents here.
Eventually, we find a spot near the entrance.
Even though we have the heater on in the car, my fingers are blocks of ice. I pull the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands, protecting myself from the cold, and…maybe the asylum too. My boyfriend, Benji, sighs deeply and runs a hand through his wavy brown hair. His nose is angled with a large bump, and it gives him this innocent demeanor, like he could be a schoolteacher, the kind of selfless person who deserves deep love.
I can’t give him that. Not until I do this.
I shift in my seat and face the asylum. I’ve driven past this place more times than I can count, but I’ve never been this close to it before. For a long time, it was like a ghost waiting at the edges of my mind, always out of reach. Now, I’ll embrace its full weight.
This is where my mother died. It’s up to me to make things right for her.
As I stare up at the asylum, my intestines tangle into screwed-up knots. I clutch my stomach and try to ignore the pain. There are several buildings to the property, each with barred windows and chain-link fences topped with barbed wire. The fences are higher than the first floor, as if the designer knew the patients would try to escape. As if they would never allow them to leave.
