"Just look at them down there," thought Elizabeth with disgust as she peered down from her shadowed perch high above the bustling city street. "Not a thought in their heads other than how to pay their mortgages and what to cook for dinner." Slowly, as she watched them flow like a river of humanity, she began to feel the hunger. It was a hunger that she had felt as long as she could remember. It was a hunger that haunted her dreams. A hunger that came as quickly as the tides, and as predictably as the setting of the sun. A hunger that could never be entirely quenched. The hunger could only be satisfied temporarily... with her next victim.

Once the masses began to dwindle, and the sun had slipped completely beyond the horizon, Elizabeth focused on which of the remaining mindless drones below would become her first victim of the night. Those still in groups were quickly discarded. There would be too many witnesses. Those in a great hurry were forgotten. It was too much effort to try and slow them down. Those who looked a little too wealthy were cast aside. Too many others would be looking for them. The homeless and street people were left as a last resort. They just weren't appealing.

She noticed a well-dressed man walking down Michigan Avenue's "Magnificent Mile", past the street vendors still selling their cheap trinkets trying to make a quick buck, past the horse drawn carriages offering romantic tours of the city, past the musicians that line the streets with their beat up violins, corroded saxophones, and drum sets made of plastic pails, and past the over-priced stores and shops that screamed for tourists to spend more money in a day than they earn in a month.

With his head hung low, the man walked aimlessly, ignoring everything around him, with no real direction in mind. He had the look that Elizabeth always searched for. It was the look of someone with no place in particular to go other than an empty one-bedroom apartment, with no one waiting for him when he got there. It was the look of the defeated, the beaten down, and most importantly, of the lonely. It was the look of someone who wouldn't be missed or searched for.

"There's my bitch," thought Elizabeth as she watched the man trudge further down the block.

Elizabeth looked ahead of the man, searching for the best place to make first contact with him. It had to be somewhere unnoticed by others on the street. And more importantly, it had to be somewhere that would not seem suspicious, should she suddenly appear out of nowhere. She noticed an alleyway that exited onto the street just ahead of where the man was walking. There was a small storefront right next to it. It would be as good a place as any.

With the agility of a cat, Elizabeth sped down from her perch, and across the busy street. She was so fast, that hardly anyone noticed her fly past. She became just another blur in the tired minds of those just trying to get home. Elizabeth quickly slipped around the block to the far entrance of the alley, and through it past the dumpsters filled with refuse from the day's business, and the few homeless people who were too weak and fragile to get themselves out onto the main sidewalk to beg for the change they needed to buy their next bottle of whatever liquor was cheapest that night. She came to the end of the alleyway just before the man reached it, blended into the shadows of the doorway to the store that had been already closed for over an hour, and waited patiently. This was her favorite part of the game, toying with her victim before she made her move.

As the man passed in front of the store, Elizabeth stepped from the shadows, and coughed slightly. Something about that cough made the man look towards her. What it was, he couldn't begin to guess, but there was something about this woman who suddenly appeared by his side, something he couldn't put his finger on. But he knew in that very instant that it was something special and something appealing.

Elizabeth walked seductively towards the man, her strawberry-blonde hair shimmering in the light of the streetlights that were slowly coming to life as the sky darkened. She made sure she never lost eye contact with him. It was one of many ways she could control her victims. He felt himself staring into her incredible violet eyes, and although it made him uncomfortable to maintain such intense eye contact, the power of her gaze would not allow him to turn away.

"Hello," she almost breathed into his ear. "Would you like some company?"

The man was shocked at first, thinking he was being accosted by a prostitute. But prostitutes were unheard of in this part of town. Especially on Michigan Avenue, where the tourists, and the wealthy shopped.

Elizabeth sensed his anxiety and quickly changed the expression on her face to a look of pleading for help, and tried to reassure the man. "I'm lonely. I just moved to this city and I know no one. I saw you walking down the street and I thought you looked nice. And I thought that maybe you would like to stop into a bar around the corner and have a drink with me." The man thought for a minute about the empty one bedroom apartment he had waiting for him at home. He pictured himself spending yet another evening alone in front of his 13" TV screen, watching reruns on late night television. He pictured his beat up brown recliner, with the stains from years of beer spills, and the rips and tears in the fabric from the restless nights when he fell asleep in that very chair. He pictured the uninviting darkness and the drab walls, and remembered the all too familiar smell of cooked cabbage that continually penetrated the walls from the apartment next door. "If a man's home is his castle," he thought to him self, "I must be living in the dungeon."

"Sure why not," he said to his new companion. "I have nothing else to do anyway, and no one waiting for me at home. And besides, after the day I had, I could really use a drink myself."

He introduced himself to Elizabeth as Paul, and she slipped her arm into his as they began to walk around the corner to the bar that Elizabeth spoke of. She had been there dozens of times, always with the newest victim, but she couldn't tell him how familiar she was with the place. After all, she did "just" move to the city.

They looked liked a perfect couple. Paul was in one of his nicer suits. It was navy blue and made of fairly high quality linen, although seen close-up it was rather rumpled and well worn. It was a look that perfectly complimented his dark tousled hair, and deep blue eyes. Paul had the ability to look more successful than he actually was, and hid his lonely, shabby, empty apartment life from most of the people he came across. Elizabeth looked stunning, as usual. Dressed in her favorite black leather duster over a skin tight, form-fitting, leather catsuit, she simply glowed with charm and grace. She had to be careful not to attract too much attention to herself, or she would become too memorable, and be forced to find a new place to hunt for victims.

They made their way to a dark, run down neighborhood bar. Elizabeth preferred these smaller, out-of-the-way, sparsely occupied places. Fewer people around meant fewer who would remember her later.

After walking down the short flight of stairs to the basement-level bar, Paul found himself leading his new friend around pool tables and fooz-ball tables, toward the back of a bar with walls exposed right to the bare brick. There were the obligatory neon beer signs hanging here and there, but the place had the look of a typical basement storage area, instead of a welcoming tavern. A few locals, regulars of the bar, were shooting pool. If Paul and

Elizabeth had stopped to watch, they would have seen that the players were playing very poorly, with balls bouncing off of the hard rubber rails instead of falling into the pockets. A couple of drunks who could barely stand were off to the left, tying to play a game of darts on the electronic dart board.

"Just what this town needs," Paul thought. "Another couple of guys all boozed up, throwing what could be considered a lethal weapon."

The small DJ stand next to the door was unoccupied, apparently on automatic pilot. There was some current hit playing that neither Paul nor Elizabeth recognized. The bar itself was surrounded by mismatched barstools, each with a seat made of a different material, color, and apparently from a different era. About the only thing the barstools had in common with each other, was that they were all bolted securely to the floor. No one was going to walk off with one of these highly prized seats. And if they got drunk and fell off, at least they wouldn't take the stool with them and cause more damage to it.

There were a few scattered drinkers sitting at the bar doing little more than staring at the television set in the corner. The local baseball team was playing, and had captured the attention of everyone present, including both bartenders, each of which had been surgically enhanced to help fill out their skin tight t-shirts with the bar's logo splashed across the front. Apparently youth and plastic surgery were prerequisites for being hired. Actual bartender experience and knowledge was not necessary.

"Can I take your order?" a surly waitress popping bubblegum and wearing a shirt matching those behind the bar asked the pair after they had made themselves comfortable as far from the regulars as possible.

Paul ordered a gibson without even thinking about being a gentleman and letting his lady friend order first, or asking what she would like. Elizabeth was used to being treated with more gallantry, but she brushed the thought off, since it really didn't matter to her if her victims had manners. She simply turned to the waitress and ordered a cosmopolitan.

They sat and made idle chitchat while waiting for their drinks to arrive, even joking about the deco they discovered on their table. It was from the 1970's, and looked like it had barely been cleaned or repaired since then. Quickly running out of subjects to discuss, Paul started talking about himself, a subject he was obviously fond of. Once Paul began the subject, Elizabeth learned much more about her prey than she usually cared for.

Paul had moved to Chicago several years earlier from New York City. He did, as Elizabeth had guessed, live alone. Paul was a journalist, but wasn't associated with any specific publication or broadcaster. He worked freelance, and had just had an incredibly rough day trying to sell a story he had written about some cover-up in the mayor's office regarding the Mayor's mental health. Apparently he could not find any corroborating sources, and minor corruption was commonplace these days, so no one wanted to bother with his story.

Although Paul enjoyed talking about himself, occasionally he would try to turn the conversation to the subject of Elizabeth. Every time he tried, Elizabeth was able to avoid the question by making a joke, asking a question in return, or simply changing the subject suddenly.

As the evening wore on, Paul continued to drink. He didn't even seem to notice that she had not taken the first sip from her Cosmo. As long as she seemed interested in him, he was doing fine.

The more he drank the closer Elizabeth got to him. She would occasionally inch her chair slightly closer to his, until their legs were touching, side-by-side, under the table. Lucky for Elizabeth, these chairs were not bolted down like the bar stools.

She took his hand and held it up to look at it. Paul's hand looked as if it hadn't seen a day of hard labor in its entire life. This was the hand of a man who had everything handed to him with no effort. But she wanted to continue to compliment him, and make him relax. "You've got very strong hands," she told him, the lie crossing her lips with no hesitation.

When she placed his hand back on the table, she kept her slender fingers on his arm, and slowly let them meander past his elbow, and over his shoulder. She began to trace the veins in his neck with her finger. Excitement built in her as she anticipated what lay ahead. And she loved every minute of it.

She wanted to finish him off before he got slovenly drunk. If he where unable to walk easily, or got too boisterous, he would attract attention, and that would be no good for Elizabeth.

She whispered into his ear that it was time for them to go. She paid the bill with cash she had taken from the wallet she picked from his pocket and led him out of the bar. They walked down the street now lit entirely by electric lights. The evening was overcast, with Mother Nature blocking the light normally provided by the moon and stars. It was a perfect night for Elizabeth.

She led him back toward the alleyway where they first met. "Maybe we should grab a cab." Paul suggested. He had a sly gleam in his eye and he almost winked when he said, "We could go back to your place."

"Not quite yet. I'd rather walk for a bit"

Paul was having a little difficulty walking, but it was nothing he couldn't manage, so he continued on. He didn't want to upset this stunning beauty, and have her leave him at the end of the night, to return alone again to his empty apartment. This was the first time in many months that he had the company of a beautiful woman, or any woman for that matter, and he was determined to carry it through to what he hoped would be a long night of passion, and breakfast together in the morning.

"Let's go down here." Elizabeth began leading Paul down the alleyway.

"I don't know about that. Alleys aren't the best place to be late at night."

"Oh, it looks safe to me, Mister Scardy-cat."

"It does? I think it just looks darkŠ and smells bad." Paul screwed up his face into a look of disgust. After dealing with the cooked cabbage from his next-door neighbor for so long, he should have been immune to foul smells.

"Oh, come on." Elizabeth gave him her best come hither, seductive look. "Besides, I've never done it in an alley. Have you?"

Paul stammered for a moment, unable to find words to express his complete shock, and at the same time complete joy at the sudden revelation that he was about to have sex with a drop dead gorgeous, total stranger. "UhŠ no I haven't," was about the only thing he could get to squeak past his lips.

Elizabeth turned and began strolling down the alley. Paul was quick to get over his fears of a darkened alley at night, and caught up to her, matching her stride for stride across the broken pavement.

Halfway through the alley, Elizabeth suddenly stopped, almost jerking Paul off his feet, and pulled him up against the side of a dumpster. She grabbed him by the lapels of his wrinkled suit and pulled him to her. She began kissing him full on the mouth. She could taste the whiskey on his breath, and was afraid for a moment that she had let him drink far too much. She did, after all, have plans for this man.

Paul was instantly aroused. There was no foreplay. No gentle, soft kisses to start, working up a fever to the point of complete and unbridled passion. Elizabeth had shocked him again with this sudden, delightful attack, but he didn't care. He simply returned her kisses and started exploring her body with his hands.

He'd had an idea that there was a wondrous, curvaceous body beneath the leather duster she had been wearing all evening, but he had been unable to see it. Now his hands were seeing it for him, and it was incredible. He felt her slender waist, and the curves of her hips. His hands roamed to her pert buttocks, and up to the small of her back. He grew more and more aroused as he started kissing her neck, and she kissed his. One hand held her tightly, as the other slid forward to find a perfectly rounded, supple breast. That perfect breast was the last thing Paul would ever touch.

Elizabeth decided that this was the time.

She grabbed the hair at the back of his head and pulled his head sharply to the side, almost snapping his neck in the process. "Oh, what exquisite pain," was all Paul could think about. She opened her mouth wide, displaying perfectly straight, perfectly white teethŠ and a set of perfectly sharp fangs. The fangs quickly sank into the flesh of his neck and Elizabeth began to drink the warm liquid that flowed from the woundŠ the precious blood that she so craved, so needed, and so hungered for.

At first, Paul didn't realize what was happening. He hadn't see the fangs. He hadn't felt much of anything besides the arousal in his loins, the feel of his hands on her body, and the growing passion inside of him. He was sure she was giving him the biggest hickey he had ever received, and he would have to find some way to hide it, or cover it, before starting to work the next day. But it would be a wonderful reminder of the lovely night ahead. And it would surely last longer than any relationship he had ever had.

Before long the exquisite pain began to burn, and Paul could tell something was very wrong. He realized he was growing weak, and the pain in his neck was so intense, he almost couldn't stand it. He tried to pull away from this woman, but she was much stronger than he, and he was unable to stop her.

Soon, he stopped fighting, and his body grew limp. She knew that the end of this feeding was almost near, and she dropped him to the pavement like a rag doll. Wiping her mouth she looked down at her victim and then with a vicious laugh, said, "So I lied. I HAVE done that in an alley before."

She picked up the body as easily as I it were a sheet of paper, and tossed it into the dumpster behind her. It landed with a solid thud among the cardboard boxes and discarded food. She reached into a pocket and produced a single match. She struck it and threw it into the dumpster, which ignited almost instantly. With luck, the flames would burn out before alighting anything nearby, but only after charring the body beyond recognition. Tomorrow morning, the ashen remains of Paul the journalist would make a trip in a city garbage truck to the city dump, where it would be forever buried in its final resting place.

With dinner finished, and her leftovers discarded, Elizabeth stretched her arms above her head and then disappeared into the mists.