CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Polidori sat on his basement step, staring at but unwilling to approach Master Aldridge’s body. This was the first on his slab he had known by name, by life, by shared cigar, port, and tête-à-tête. Without even touching the cadaver, he knew there would be not a single drop of blood within its heart, within its veins. His heart; his veins. Attacked by a beast of vile creation. My own creation, he could not help thinking.
The sucking and consumption of blood. Gross exsanguination. Loss of blood adequate to cause death. But this was much more. The total and utter depletion of blood from a body dying in its attacker’s arms as he drained it. Polidori attempted to imagine the stance, the tight grip to keep the victim from collapse, the sensuality of mouth and tongue upon fl
