A wallet on the small table in the room caught my eye and I walked over to it. When I opened it up, a teenage Marcus was staring at me from his driver’s license photo. It read Marcus Andrew Hart. Funny that I’d never asked his middle name. There was also a photo of us together that had come from one of those photo booths you sit in and it takes four pictures. Even the money was still there, a couple of twenties. The most distinguishing factor was the blood all over everything. It wasn’t fresh blood, but the smell reminded me of my hunger. Sickness washed over me and I ran through the door in the back of the room, assuming it was the bathroom. I hadn’t eaten in God knows how long, so I was mostly dry heaving. After flushing the toilet anyway and washing my hands, I took a good look at myself in the mirror. The lack of nourishment was making me look rough. My skin was paler than usual, I’d lost weight, and I couldn’t retract my fangs. If I didn’t feed soon, the effects would probably be irreversible. When I turned to face the door, Antonio was leaning against the entryway.
