745 Coolidge Avenue, Apartment #654. Dom stood on the sidewalk across the street and stared at the block with trepidation in his heart like it was an old haunted mansion or The Munsters’ getaway. It was dark, grimy, barely a light burning. He checked his watch: it was two am. He sucked in a nervy breath of cold air. The journey over from the basement he’d just escaped from was a mishmash of déjà vu, anxious uncertainties, and a whole bunch of loneliness. He took the bus, using the few dollars he had in his wallet. He sat near the back, turning that driver’s license over and over in his hands like it was some ancient relic that held clues to who he presently was and who he’d been. It told him where he’d been living before he ended up the victim of a vampire, and that was about all. It was all still a haze. As the bus cut through the streets of Chicago, and he watched the Windy City buzz by, thoughts and feelings began to stir inside him; old memories, places he’d been, seen, places he’s always wanted to see.
