Patrick had never met his father. He had grown up without the guidance of a man and it hadn't impacted on him in any way. He had not thought twice about abandoning his own son, who would discover his demon and how to handle it on his own. He would learn about the need for a woman with light just as Patrick had. It was somehow hard wired into their brains.
Two people lived in Patrick's body. They shared the space rather than fought for absolute possession. The beast and the man needed each other. Patrick was in charge most of the time, but he fed the beast when it asked for blood. An itch became a craving as the demands of the demon intruded on his thoughts. There was only one thing to do. Kill.
Sheila had asked him about his nature, but he had no real answer for her. There was no manual on how to manage one's murderous inner demon. Anyway, murder was just part of the deal. The ability to beguile people had made Patrick's life very comfortable indeed. No, he wouldn't change his life if given the chance to do so.
The killing was pleasurable. As the demon got what it wanted, the persistent clamour for a life abated and was replaced by joy. Not getting caught was the key to a good life. The power to enchant certainly helped him, well, get away with murder. Laughing at his thoughts, Patrick drove his luxury car into town.
Money, property, clothes, he had it all. For a man of sixty-three, Patrick was wearing very well. His hair was still dark and his waist was trim. The combination of wealth and looks meant young sweet women still succumbed to his charms. He hardly had to use his power at all.
Things had gradually changed as time passed. The messages from the demon came less often. It still wanted what it wanted, but Patrick could take time to plan his kills. The urgency had been replaced by a steady request. Patrick and his demon had reached an accommodation. The thrill that he felt when he transformed would always be a draw for him, so when it came, he welcomed it.
It was natural, if that was the word, that as he aged and became less capable his appetite for death would start to wane. As an arthritic man in his eighties he would not be as capable of murder and mayhem. The beast would, no doubt, age at the same rate. The hair that spread down his neck onto his back during his change would eventually turn grey.
Imagine what would happen in an old people's home, if that was where he ended up, maybe bedridden with some affliction. The nurses and carers would get a proper scare seeing the transformation. A little growl would cause panic. That was if he could still do it. Nurses were on the whole a pretty righteous bunch and might impair his abilities.
A thought flashed through his mind as he contemplated his old age. Maybe he would not have to endure the rigours of growing old. Patrick had often had a suspicion that it was not something he would have to worry about. Living a life of violence meant that it was likely that the end would come in a bloody fight.
That was not something to worry about today. He had just got a very good deal on a new car and he was taking it home to show it off to his lovely female companion. Maybe this was part of his midlife crisis. All this thought about his mortality had been depressing. He relaxed his will and felt the demon moving restlessly inside of him. That was what he needed to get him out of this mood. A nice gory killing would do the job.
Patrick had read in the papers about three nasty murders which had taken place on the other side of the country. They reported that women had been killed in their beds at night. Although the details of the injuries had not been revealed, the articles had alluded to terrible damage being inflicted. It could be the work of another man with a demon.
Why not do a copycat killing? That would relieve the tension, feed the demon and thoroughly confuse the police. A bit of surveillance, pick a victim, that would be a good project. Not having to work was a bit boring at times. Remembering someone in the neighbourhood, it seemed that a target had been chosen.
Patrick did not creep into the house of his prey. Strolling straight up to the door and then a shove with his broad shoulders. Inside, taking a moment to get used to the dark, the other senses took over. The smell from the kitchen, pork. The soft snore coming from the bedroom down the hall. Each silent step took him closer to the woman.
The bedroom door was opened slowly. There was no creak of the hinges as it revealed the bed and the person in it. A few steps and he was looking down on the face of the scrawny, dark haired, woman. On her back, mouth open, she slept on, oblivious to Patrick's presence. Had she looked up she would surely have screamed.
Now sporting a pair of horns, face covered in dark bristly hair, huge teeth in a wide mouth, the beast was fully present. It smiled and suppressed a giggle. A slash of his claws and she would be dead. That was no fun though. The blood had to be accompanied by horror. That look on the face. Wide eyed, mouth open, the realisation that death was coming.
Years ago, it would have taken some time. Teasing the victim with cuts here and there. Maybe stopping for a while to give them the, false, hope that they might live. The beautiful women whose faces he ruined. The big strong men reduced to whimpering wrecks, begging for their lives. Great memories.
This one would be dealt with quickly. Wake her, see the terror, rip her throat out. The demon would be fed, everyone would be happy, back home for a cup of tea. The rumbling growl intruded into the woman's sleep and her eyes flickered open.
"Oh, good God."
The last words often invoked a deity. Nothing would save her, however. Patrick rammed his fingers into her neck and then dragged his hand sideways. A gurgle, a waft of stale breath, and that was it. Standing back, to admire the work before turning and retracing his steps.
Reading the papers, Patrick grinned and chortled. The murder was reported, but the details had been changed. The poor police were probably wondering what the hell was going on. The killing was similar to others, but had taken place in a different part of the country. There would be no witnesses and no real clues.