One last one and...Yes...It was done. The body lay in his arms. Heavy. Dead. The man's head was lolled back, looking up with eyes full of nothing at the steel stars above. In this position Dockett could fully see his dirty work...Two pinprick wounds on the side of the priest's neck. Oh yes, he was a priest. Shock? Not really. The man had come to Dockett, as many did, begging for death. Well, who was he to send them away when he needed their end as much as they seemed to? A meal should never go to waste, and sometimes, privately, Dockett would think that.

He was, in almost all respects, a gentle soul. But being a vampire does not require his type of human sensitivity, and so over his 183 years of being the undead, he learned quite on his own how to 'buck up' as the expression goes. But this newly found hardening of the heart inside him was more worrying than he could ever have imagined, and as he looked down at the dead man's punctured neck, he felt an immense wave of cold.

He set the now cooling body down on the ground, before standing up and watching a breeze ruffle the priest's hair. Hmm...Quiet soul...temptation was too much...he will not be missed by the altar boys. Yet the meal didn't have that slight bout of nausea, or that dizzying effect it usually carried...Perhaps he was not feeding enough. Or maybe it was the fact that this time, he had not absolved the young priest's soul. He had closed it off this time, and the blood was distant, not attached to the body. Had this been a wise choice? This ignorance of a man's soul? Dockett had only done it once before and it had been a mistake...But he was tired. So very tired. Of always taking.

But soon his small philosophizing had come to an end. The quiet and dark alleyway he was standing in, perpendicular to Elm Street itself, was filled with the echoing sounds of footsteps. Dockett didn't panic quite as hard as he thought he would. Whatever it was, he knew he could handle it. A poor lost human? An initiate with nothing better to do but point fingers? He turned around slowly to face the invader. Well, whoever it was would be delt with as much tact as Dockett could muster.

After all, he was a gentle soul.

Cort wasn't quite sure why he was out this late tonight. It had started as a walk when the sun was still up, just wandering around town. Now it was a nighttime stroll, and he didn't know this area too well.

The lights and noises and people of the main street had gotten to him. Cort wanted quiet. An alley was usually quiet, and it usually led someplace as well. He had turned into the alley, hoping is was both.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be occupied. He could see the figure with something -- a bundle? -- at its feet. Probably some homeless person staking their claim for the night. Cort didn't want to turn around and look foolish (stupid), and so kept going.

Maybe the bum would let him by, or just ask him for money. He just wanted to get through.

Deep in the core of his being, a vague feeling of warning was slowly forming.

Dockett still had the man's blood in his mouth. A lingering taste, and he swallowed as indecisiveness took over his already buzzing mind. Eventually two solutions presented themselves; One was to flee, two was to kill, and the third...Well the third was the one Dockett always went with. It was persuasiveness...The fact was that this alleyway was where most of his suicidal meals came to meet him. Should he flee those pesky mortal police will crawling all over it like ants over gum on a sidewalk in the summer.

Dockett watched this young teenager continue his wlak through the alley, and knew immediately that he hadn't noticed the body. In a flash of his vampiric eyes Dockett could see the thin wire-framed glasses over the young man's brown eyes, and was quietly wondering. But there was no time. In the blink of an eye, with vampiric speed, Dockett had taken off the teenager's glasses, and placed them carefully in his own pocket...Would the teenager think they had simply fallen? Well there was only one way to find out.

"You all right?" Dockett asked in his warm friendly voice, like hot chocolate at winter.

Cort blinked. Where'd his glasses go? And was the man this close before? He raised a hand to check his glasses. Missing.

Frowning, he looked down squinting, shuffling his feet in hopes of bumping into them. Even the ground was too far away to see.

"Uhh... no. Did you see where my glasses went?" he asked, running a hand around his neck, along his shirt and jacket. Maybe they got caught?

"I kinda need them..."

Dockett watched as the young man began searching about his person for his glasses. He tilted his head slightly to the side. "Hmm, no I haven't seen them..." he drawled out, watching with keen interest as the young man's hand felt at his neck. His clear grey eyes flickered back up to the young man's face and drank in his appearance for future reference. Mm. Strange hair.

"What exactly do they look like?" Dockett asked, his head straightening as he placed his hands in his worn leather jacket pockets. Who would ask such a weird question? How many glasses were lost in an alleyway?

Weird indeed. The question frustrated Cort. What does he mean what do they look like? 'Oh, they look like a large piece of glass stuck to my face set in cheap plastic.'

"They look like glasses," he said, pausing for a second before saying, "Thin frames, kinda shiny." It sounded childish, but that's what he was thinking at the moment. Find the shiny, find the glasses.

"I see..." Dockett said, shuffling his feet a bit, making as if he were looking about. He glanced over his shoulder at the body...He hadn't healed the puncture wounds yet...He looked calmly back over to the teenager. "I don't see them. Maybe you lost them on Elm street?" he asked this all rather calmly, but the need to get this person out of the alley, this slight note os desperation, was heard. In his right hand pocket he held the glasses, planning on how to return them. He could always just drop them somewhere on Elm Street and hope the young man got them.

But something was different about this kid, and he could feel the frustration eminating off of him in ripples. One didn't need to be the undead to feel that.

Cort frowned. "No, I had them here. I could see clearly just a few seconds ago." The vague feeling was getting a bit more urgent. He hated that feeling.

"I could see you and your bag before, and now I can barely see you. I had them, and all I wanted to do was get past here and get back to the apartment." He crouched down, using his hands now. "You sure you didn't see them fall, or something? I didn't even hear them hit the ground."

His bag? Dockett was quietly thankful. He would have sighed in relief had it not been the pressing matter presented before him. "Then they fell quietly," He stated, looking down at the ever-seaching young man. Eventually he crouched down too, but what the young man didn't know, but most likely sensed, was that he was not searching. No gravel from the alleyway ground was being crushed beneath Dockett's boots, and his hands rested comfortably on his left knee, which was drawn up while the other kneeled. He watched the boy with eerie silence.

"I could help you get back to your apartment? Maybe your glasses are there..." He finally said, ignoring the teenager's previous comments of having been able to see perfectly just a moment ago.

Cort scowled. "I told you, I could see before. This isn't like one of those placebo things, I cannot see without them. Impossible, especially since I've never seen you before and I saw your face well enough." Not totally true. It was more of a shadowy sight, but clearer than it is now.

Besides, who was he to be helping Cort home? He didn't even know him, he could be some molester taking advantage of him now. The eerie way the man seemed to watch him unsettled him. It didn't seem like the guy was too concerned with Cort's ability to see right now.

Come to think of it, he had looked closer once his glasses had fallen off.

"You saw my face, did you?" Again the vision of mortal police authorities watching over his beautiful little alleyway came to mind. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, not gently, but not roughly. It seemed like an urgent gesture, and Dockett was regretting it even as his hand reached out. However it was too late.

"You need to leave," he said, his voice deepening.

Cort frowned, thrown off balance from the grab. He fell backwards, placing a hand on the ground behind him. "What the hell, huh? I'll leave once I get my glasses. They cost a lot more than I can afford now."

Ok, so it wasn't a molester; it was a psycho.

The feeling in his chest tightened.

Dockett's teeth chattered in what seemed like silent and barely controlled anticipation. Finally his lips pulled back slightly to show his fangs, though he had turned his head so the teenager wouldn't see. He was becoming irrational, and when such happened...He became hungry. And angry. Eventually, with tight fists, he gained control, and he bit his lower lip for a moment, looking down at the practically blind young man, lying angrilly on the pavement before him.

"I'm sorry. It's just that these alleys can be dangerous," 'No kidding' said a modern thought in his ancient soul, "You should leave. Now."

Cort was getting even more frustrated. Did this guy just not understand, or was he just stupid?

"Look, I can't leave unless I have my glasses. I'll probably get hit by some car or lost even worse than I am now without them. Find me my glasses and I can leave."

He pushed himself up, crouching again to look. Glasses don't usually bounce, especially if they 'fell quietly.' Gotta be around here somewhere...

Dockett sighed openly, his fists clenching even tighter. His vampiric flesh would not be cut very easilly, but his nails were also vampiric. If he pressed any harder, he would have half moon scars on his palms. He looked up towards the opening of the alleyway, where Elm street was starting to really wake up with the night crowds.

"I think I see them...Shiny, right?" Dockett couldn't resist a bit of a mocking tone on the last two words, and walked past the teenager towards the open Elm Street. "Yes I have them. Come here" Away from the body...Yes.

Cort followed the blob of color that was the man with his eyes. Over there? But... how? They'd fallen over here. It didn't make sense. Not a lot of things had been making sense recently.

He stood up, nodding. "Yes, shiny," he replied. "But how are they over there? They fell off right here." Cort pointed to the ground where he stood, but couldn't resist moving in the direction of the man. Any hope to find his glasses was better than what he'd found so far.

"You sure it isn't some coin, or something?"

"Oh I'm sure..." Dockett said, crouching down for nothing and as he straightened back up he reached in his pocket and took out the glasses. He put them in the young man's palm and remained silent. He wasn't sure he wanted the kid to see him...He glanced around to make sure he wasn't under any dangerously bright lights, which would expose his unnatrual skin. He was fine. The Elm Street lights were enough to illuminate the opening to the alley, which they were very near, but blissfully free of any bright beams.

"You should get going now." Dockett declared, taking a fraction of a step back, in precaution, in a shadow.

Cort frowned again, putting the glasses on. As the world once again came into sharp focus, he blinked and look at the man. Hiding in the shadows. Why, some kind of Phantom complex?

He glanced down the length of the alley behind him. It would take less time that way, but for some reason he didn't the the man would like him going that way. The bag caught his eye. It just looked wrong.

Maybe because it wasn't a bag.

The feeling in his chest crashed inside of him as he realized it wasn't a bag. Bags don't have arms, or legs, or heads.

He looked quickly at the guy in the shadows again, stuttering. "Um, y-yeah, maybe it is better if I - if I go now, y'know?" He started walking toward the mouth of the alley, hoping he wasn't next.

Oh, but it was too late. Dockett's hand reached out and grabbed the young man's neck in a quick sharp action, and soon enough, Dockett was at arm's length watching him. Dockett suddenly took a step forward, his hand still around the young man's neck, though it wasn't choking him, it was merely to keep him from running. "I'm sorry. I wish you hadn't seen it. It's not what it seems. I'm sorry..." Dockett sighed softly, an expression of pure pain and regret cloudng over him. When he had taken the step forward, however, he was crashed in to the Elm Street light, and the unnatural gleam to his skin, as well as the cat-like glint to his clear grey eyes, was visible.

"Listen, I'm not going to kill you..." Dockett said, recovering from his previous emotional pain. It was little comfort, he knew this, but he also knew what would have to take place next.

Cort whimpered. "Look, don't hurt me. I haven't seen anything! There's nothing to see." The sight of the man had unnerved him badly. He didn't like the hand around his throat, he didn't like the eyes, he didn't like the skin, and he didn't like the whole situation.

The feeling in his chest had returned. Strong.

"Shh...It won't hurt very much," Dockett explained, hating himself both for telling the scared kid and for using such a cliche. He leaned closer, his hand falling to his side, though there was no way the young man could escape. Dockett was too close. Carefully Dockett's left hand reached up and placed itself on Cort's head, pulling it carefully to one side in order to get to the neck easilly. Carefully, but not slowly, the slower it was the more painful. Though Dockett wouldn't know.

Soon enough though the taste of the young man's blood was on Dockett's tongue, and he drank with a great amount of control and as much compassion as he could muster.

Cort's eyes were wide. It happened so quickly. He froze at first, getting more and more tired. He tried to fend off the man weakly, pushing at him until finally even that was too much of an effort.

"What...?"

Soon after, he was unconscious. Blood loss can do that.

Dockett held the now unconscious Cort in his arms. He lay him down carefully on the ground, making sure no broken pieces of glass or trash lay in his wake. He still tasted his blood. He hadn't taken much, and he was silently proud that it had been so easy to pull back...Probably because he was full. In a swift movement he had cut his own finger, and placed his blood on the two puncture wounds.

"I hope you don't mind hangovers..." Dockett said silently, his hearing focused on the people behind him on Elm Street, should anyone notice his strange activity. For the moment, he was safe. He stood up straight and looked down at the poor boy, the one who had stumbled upon the unnatural. Dockett then looked back to the priest's cold body...It was already decomposing. He could smell it. He wlaked over to it and healed it as well.

Soon enough the body was over Dockett's strong vampiric shoulders, and had plans to see the fish in the Lake before the night was over. As dockett walked past the young man, he made a small prayer that he should meet better tidings. Who he prayed to, remained unknown.