I’m right in the middle of a fucking information war. You’d think I would be used as one of the guns in this war but I’m not. I’m being used as a nail in one great big house of blood and bile. I could of tried harder to update this blog before now but you know what, I hate being a tool. I almost didn’t return to it, but I also hate being a quitter. I hate a lot, if you haven’t noticed. Hate is something that comes easy to me. I’m like a mother fucking Sith Lord, I’m so full of it. Vampires give me so many reasons to hate, but you know what, fuck them. They wish they could be half as awesome as they think they are. I’m going to use this blog to light-saber their asses.

I wrote that earlier. I think maybe I need to get my emotions under control but in the spirit of openness I’m leaving it at the head of this post because at least it is honest somewhere.

Sunday Night, I left my loft like I said I would. Like they knew I would, obviously from reading the blog. My thoughts were kind of a mess. Why was I suppose to write this? What was Isabelle’s master plan? Vampires are like a slow molasses made of pure refined plotting. They move so damn slow you forget they are even moving sometimes. The attack the other day was fast and seemed rash on the outside but you bet that it is part of a long term scheme. This blog is part of a long term scheme. I know they will never tell me what is really going on. Fucking vampires.

Too bad vampires also seem to think that humans are stupid. I think if they ever had to face humans in mass they’d lose simply because of that. They think they are so superior that they overlook us. I realized after talking to Lucy that they can come back and erase from us what they don’t want us to recall so they don’t really think to do a lot of preventative steps. They collect information and then debate forever what to do about it. Once they decide they come in with their vamp magic and do what they do. Erase minds, enslave souls, get hammered on power.

And I realized all this while drunk on vodka straight from the bottle, not even the good stuff. Eat that haters.

I left my loft determined to find Isabelle and Lucy and have them lay out their cards. After all what is the point of being a vampire reporter if there is nothing to report.

I should of known that something had changed on the back end of this mystery when the cop was gone when I walked outside. Also it had stopped raining. The Gods must of been trying to tell me something.

Then I spent the next night traveling to all the places I knew to look for vampires but no luck. No luck at all. I could of screamed, and I did end up punching a mail box. Remind me not to punch metal when angry. I must of looked like a fool holding my nearly broken hand in the middle of Westport.

Shit finally started hitting the fan when I stumbled back into my loft. I was so exhausted from nothing happening that finding Lucy curled up in my bed, her clothing soaked in blood and her skin dry and shriveled on her bones, made me feel like cheering. Of course I didn’t. Lucy had been nice to me the last few days so I immediately switched into caring mode.

She could barely talk. Whatever power she has must of healed any damage that had been done to her but it took a toll on her. I helped her get into the closet, but I was not about to let her have any of my blood. She never asked for it.

Once safe in the closet she looked up at me and told me what had happened in this soft and defeated voice. I had to get close to hear her.

“They are not after you. They consider you just another vampire fan writing a blog that no one will read.”

“well they got part of that right” I tried to make Lucy laugh, and it almost worked.

“They came for me because of what I said in the interview. They took me to some warehouse. A warehouse. It was like a a a bad movie. They thought I knew some kind of secrets, some kind..of.. magic or something. It was so confusing. They beat me and bled me when I didn’t know what to tell them.”

“why did they let you go?”

“I think they are waiting… waiting to see if Isabelle comes to me. Waiting for you to write about this so she comes. I think they think she knows a secret or something that they want…I’m so confused.”

Which dear reader is one reason you haven’t heard from me. I’m not going to write something to help out anyone. Sorry.

Lucy seemed to be falling asleep as the sun started to rise. Good for her, she needed her rest. I need something also. I needed answers.

“Lucy, what warehouse?”

Then she gave me the address. Not the actual address, she gave me the street number, said it was really big on a blue overhang above the door. Said it was in the East Bottoms near Knuckleheads Saloon. Good enough for me.