After entering the room, Calhoun closed the door. He got to his bed without bothering to remove the shoes. With one leg folded up to have his foot placed on the surface of the bed and the right leg outstretched, where the shoe touched the edge of the bed, Calhoun stared at the ceiling of his bed.
The day had been far more eventful than what he had expected it to be. Not only he had taken blood from Madeline, but he had taken her to meet his mother.
It has been years since he had last seen his mother's face. Even though where she was resting now was close by, Calhoun had not gone to open the lid of the cemented grave where his mother laid dead and cold. Her body had been preserved in the coffin, but the pain he felt of what took place in the night when he had killed her, still lingered in the back of his mind.
