Unbelievable didn't really mean jack shit to Richie anymore, all things considered. In the span of barely a few days, the line he drew between 'real' and 'not real' got all fucked and it wasn't as easy to deny things like that anymore. Didn't mean he was ready to believe all of the ghost stories preached both in and out of church. Richie had a hard time believing there was a God out there with all the things he saw in his less than thirty years. If he did exist he was a fucking asshole and if Richie ever died, he would want to have at least five seconds in His kingdom to punch him in the face.
"Close," Richie commented. With his transformation complete, he settled back against the wall, not needing to loom over her or really be intimidating. The threat hung pretty obviously in the air, and she seemed more interested in debating whether or not he could really be some kind of a blood-sucking demon than running for her life. "You want to keep guessing or do you give up?"
Of course, impatient as ever, Richie didn't really wait for an answer. "I guarantee you've never heard of it," and a quick pause for effect. "Culebra." If she asked for any kind of explanation (factoring in his willingness, or ability, to continue this conversation), Richie would have to make most of that shit up considering he didn't really know all the details and Santanico wasn't here or in his head to give him the cheatsheet.
Richie knew he wouldn't be able to really hold this conversation for much longer. Starvation was a unique kind of pain, one that started out like a dull ache but turned into something indescribable before you really knew what was happening. "You gonna run or is this your way of saying you want to volunteer?"