Vassago wouldn’t have thought that saying cliché, because as handsome as he was, and as charming as he could make himself be, underneath there dwelt a monster, a killer with a hunger for the loss of life and the smell of death. The beast never slept, not when the body lapsed into unconsciousness and not when it walked around, dreary and uninterested in the world. He had taken life away from many, had torn it out of them, had felt it leave the body cold and unresponsive, but so beautiful and inspiring until the maggots left it a dry husk on his floor.
He felt such an amplified desire to start another collection of dead bodies that his hunting instincts were intensified. Vassago hadn’t come upon the right one, the one that would inspire him to kill and create a display in whatever way he thought becoming of the victim and her life. Rachel could have been the start of his spree of terror, could have been his first casualty. She could have been but she wasn’t. The aura that she gave to him was different from the ones that his former victims had given. It wasn’t what he wanted. Maybe she was a predator too.
“That’s a good point. I would have to say doctors mostly, for an answer that wouldn’t include the shady occupations that I’m sure exists everywhere.” He knew all about doctors and their unreliable schedules. His father was one of them, and as a child, the man had been away on calls so often that Jeremy never knew when he was going to be home or when he was going to be doing his job, again.
He had no respect for doctors, and that wasn’t his father’s fault.
“I wouldn’t guess that you were a doctor, though. You look much too young.”