Eric sat alone in a stone chamber, it's cold embrace sending a shiver down his spine. He could hear laughing - giggling, rather - coming from the darkness beyond the walls. Some may have even heard singing, others might hear screaming. But all Eric heard was a giggle here, a giggle there. It was unsettling, to say the least. Then the room became warm, as if a fire had been started under the chair he was tied to.<br/><br/>"It won't hurt, I promise."<br/><br/>"Think of the women."<br/><br/>"Think of the eternal life, the immortality!"<br/><br/>"Think of<em>her</em>."<br/><br/>The shrill giggles ceased, and a warm feeling encompassed his neck.<br/><br/>"Just a taste?"<br/><br/>A cold scream.<br/><br/>"Just one bite!"<br/><br/>The sound of a woman laughing, a man dying.<br/><br/>"JUST. ONE. DROP!"<br/><br/>-<br/><br/>Eric awoke, nearly falling off of the king sized bed. A red light gently blinked on the other side of the room.<br/><br/>*Beep*<br/><br/>A cold wind kissed his exposed feet.<br/><br/>*Beep*<br/><br/>Eric calmly opened his night table, the silver handgun's engraving whistling in the morning sunlight.<br/><br/>*Fault. Kitchen; Window. Beep*<br/><br/>A cold thumb brought the hammer back, a satisfying 'click' sounding in the empty room.<br/><br/>*Beep*<br/><br/>A pair of well groomed nails hovered over the controls to the alarm, the well rounded fingers they sat upon easily finding their places on the touch screen.<br/><br/>*Disarmed. NOT Ready To Arm.*<br/><br/>Eric kept the gun raised as he quietly stepped into the kitchen, but lowered his aim when he saw a black backpack on the ground, complete with a red rose and folded paper note. He let out a long sigh and knelt down, taking the rose and reading the note.<br/><br/><em>"I thought this might help you. I know you're in between jobs right now. You wouldn't have money issues if you'd just come with me, sweet pea.</em><br/><br/>The letter was signed in red ink, or so he thought it was ink, with a bold, eccentric letter 'A'. The drowsy man slid the note into a drawer, where it accompanied many more like it. Another breath escaped his lips as he unzipped the bag. Sure enough, there were numerous bundles of large bills, all neat and orderly inside the dark back pack. By now, he kept the money. What else would he do with it? If she kept giving him more, yet resisted the urge to turn him in his sleep...maybe her intentions were good.<br/><br/>After shutting the window and tossing the bag onto the couch, Eric Wynters returned to his bedroom and sat on the foot of the bed, running shaky hands through his brown hair. "Thanks," was all he could mutter. He knew she could hear him, one way or another. But he had more important things on his mind. The clock read 6:19 AM, which means his day had to start sooner than later. He shed the under shorts he had on and stepped into the large shower, allowing the steaming hot water to cleanse his body as he lathered a generous amount of shampoo into his hair. The label read 'For Thick, Rich Hair' on the front. He was fortunate to have inherited his mother's genes...