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empty mirror and that terrible, deadly hunger.
     
    #
     
    Terrill waited until nightfall before venturing out and reached the bank by 5:45. He made sure that his accounts were at a bank that was open until six every day, though he did most of his banking online. At the bank, he withdrew $500,000 as a cashier’s check, causing a bit of stir. The manager tried to act like it was all in a day’s business, but the young clerks stared at Terrill with interest.
    It couldn’t be helped.
    Terrill had all the money he could ever need. Horsham had a saying: “Compound interest is a vampire’s best friend.” It was amazing how much money he’d accrued over the past few centuries.
    He walked one block over and opened another account (again getting curious glances) and asked for some blank checks. He found a printer still open and had the name “Prestigious Insurance” printed on the tops of the blank checks. Then he went back to his motel and ordered a delivery from the butcher shop.
    Out of curiosity, he called the Hardaways’ number again. He got a busy signal. An hour later, it was still busy, and from that he deduced that Jamie’s death had been reported and the Hardaways were busy dealing with the consequences.
    Terrill tried to stay in the motel, but he wasn’t the slightest bit sleepy. TV was all sitcoms and reality shows, and they bored him. He hadn’t thought to bring a book.
    At about midnight, he ventured out on foot.
    There was a public park, Pioneer Park, along the Deschutes River, a few blocks from the motel. It was dark except for some the lights on one side of the bridge.
    Despite the cold, there was a couple making love under some blankets down by the riverside. No one could have seen them, though a passerby might have heard the lovers’ soft exclamations––no one human, that is.
    Terrill could see them clearly. The night was brighter for him than day was for humans. He could see every blade of grass, every goose turd that littered the park, the individual hairs on the heads of the lovers. He could see under their skins to the blood beneath, running like the branches of a tree, flowing to ever-smaller capillaries.
    The blood called to him. They couldn’t see him or hear him, he knew. He was, for all intents and purposes, invisible to the human eye. He was a ghost, a monster of the dark––a vampire. He stood over them and watched their slow movements become frenzied, their blood racing.
    Once, he would’ve waited for their climax and then fallen upon them and ripped them into small pieces, consuming their blood, their flesh. And then, as casually as a diner throwing away the remnants of his meal, he would have tossed the bloody bones into the river.
    Terrill walked away.
    Without consciously deciding to go there, he found himself back at the motel. He lay on the bed, staring into the bright darkness.
    For a long time, he’d always been able to rationalize killing humans who he decided deserved to die. Then Mary had come along and changed him. Now another woman had entered his life for a short time, and again, he had killed without wanting to.
    He would never kill again, no matter what.
    Not now.
    Not after Jamie. She hadn’t deserved it––she was the last person who had deserved it, and because of that, because of her goodness, he was done killing, forever.
     
     

 
    Chapter 7
     
    “ Officer Carlan.” Brosterhouse’s voice boomed across the lobby. He accentuated “Officer” as if to emphasize the distinction between a homicide detective and a lowly patrolman. Obviously, the Portland detective had uncovered the restraining order. “You left Bend at six a.m.?”
    “Check with my sergeant,” Carlan said. “But yeah.”
    Brosterhouse was carrying a manila folder, and now, as they stood in the lobby with everyone looking on, he opened it. It was filled with copies of paperwork from the ongoing dispute between Carlan and Jamie.
    “Can’t we take this somewhere private?” Carlan asked,