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his mind. The bloody images tortured him as he mentally watched Lenora die her painful death. Sterling fought to stay focused and managed to drive over to the community college. He cruised down the two main streets of the campus until he found the antidote for his curse.
    She stood in front of a bookstore watching him as he drove up to the curb. Her long blond hair reflected in the sun and she was pure beauty bound in a size six, twenty–year–old body. She smiled at Sterling and revealed the flatness of her non–vampire teeth, which always reminded Sterling that he was settling. The thought saddened him, but he took a deep breath and smiled back, careful to hide his fangs.
    “I love the car,” she said as she approached his convertible.
    Of course she did. That’s why he drove such a decadent gas–guzzler. It was a snare to trap women, and it worked well. “You want a ride?” he asked.
    She leaned into the car and showed him her cleavage, obviously her choice of lures. “Where to?”
    He wasn’t interested in what she had, only in how she could cure him. “My apartment is nearby.”

CHAPTER THREE
     
    Sterling arrived on time at the penitentiary so the warden could show him into the interrogation cell. The two walked down a hallway filled with ‘hats and bats’, which is what the prisoners referred to as fully protected guards. The cells in this section were the highest security, and it had the locked doors and the cameras to prove it.
    Standing in the doorway to one of the cells, Sterling watched as two federal agents were questioning a third man in the room. The two seemed standard–issue, from the suits they wore, to the coffee cups they held – right down to the haircuts they sported. They were in the middle of the classic ‘good cop, bad cop’ scenario and it wasn’t working. But, it rarely did work when interrogating a serial killer.
    The prisoner sat across from the agents. He looked indifferent as he stared past the detectives, not making eye contact as they spoke to him, as if he were too important to care about their questions and idle threats. The man was well above average height and size, with greasy hair and a foul human body odor. He looked like any other thug that had sat at this table, with the one exception of a scar that ran down his face. He swore at the detectives and refused to talk about the new crimes that were now being linked back to him.
    Sterling had played out this scene so many times over the past decades, each prisoner the same as the last. They were all arrogant, disrespectful lowlifes who were the worst humanity had to offer. Sterling hated spending any time with them, but the information he gathered from the lowlifes were vital in the cases he worked.
    He entered the room, leaving the warden in the hallway. The two detectives stopped their song and dance routine, which obviously wasn’t getting them anywhere, and asked who Sterling was. Noting the cell camera was recording every move in the room, and every word, he simply said, “Detectives, leave.” The humans’ eyes grew dim and their skin paled. They both got up and retreated from the room, leaving Sterling alone with the uncooperative man.
    Sterling closed the door and stared at the man who sat in the metal chair wearing handcuffs, leg irons and waist chains, plus security boxes to cover the restraints’ keyholes. The man tested the restraints as Sterling took a seat across from him. Sterling made sure not to face the camera full on.
    The case file with the name Max Watson sat on the table. Sterling held it up and coldly said, “You’re going for a stainless steel ride, my man.”
    The man looked past Sterling. “Unless you’re here to release me, get the fuck out.”
    “You murdered six women. And we know of at least five more.” When the man glanced up and made brief eye contact, Sterling added, “Oh yes. We found where you hid the …,” he opened the file and read, “… hammer, shovel … even a