He arrived on the shortest day of the year and established a small practice in the center of Cross under the name of Dr. Robert T. Riley. The esteemed gentleman was a general practitioner and stated he preferred to work with the elderly. It did not take long for me to understand why this was so.
Within a fortnight of his arrival, one of his patients died. An old farmer named Max Harte. I had known Max since his birth, so when Dr. Riley informed the Harte family that Max died of a heart disorder, I disagreed.
Jean D’Arc ran the funeral home Max was brought to, and he allowed me to sit with Max’s corpse. Max Harte rose before the sun did. His body had been drained of blood, and at some point, Dr. Robert T. Riley had decided he needed more of his kind.
It was a chore to put Max down. Mostly because the old farmer’s chest was almost too thick for the ash stake to go through.
The next morning, I went and found Dr. Riley, asleep in a coffin in the back corner of his office. I took both the vampire and his coffin to the farm, and once there, I tied him out in the sun. The smell of a vampire roasting in the sun is a generally unpleasant aroma, but I was surprised at how hungry it made me.
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