I got it. I understood it. I was sure it would have happened to anyone.
But that didn’t stop me from feeling jealous.
And yeah, I got all of this from a simple hesitation, a simple pregnant pause. It might as well have been pregnant with twins.
Whatever that meant.
Anyway, after his telling hesitation, he started writing again. The Hanner operation was flawed, he wrote. Most of the victims didn’t have to die.
Most? I wrote. Wouldn’t it be more human to say that “none of them needed to die”?
Yes, of course. I was loose with my speech. Or with my fingertips.
I nearly asked what else he was loose with. It was a damn good thing Fang couldn’t read my mind.
Then again, why was I feeling jealous? Fang had, after all, practically thrown himself at me. But our timing had never been right. And then, the dumbass had to get himself turned into a fellow creature of the night. Yes, but the Fang I had developed feelings for wasn’t the same Fang I was corresponding with now. At least, I didn’t think it was. Who this new Fang was, well, I would just have to wait and see.
So, how are you running things differently? I asked, typing.
It’s an underground blood bank. We pay the humans for their blood.
How do you recruit them?
Someone who knows someone. Word gets around in the right places.
Addicts, I wrote. It wasn’t a question.
Drugs don’t affect our system, Sam. You should know that. And if you didn’t, you do now.
I could almost—almost—hear Fang’s enthusiasm. Yes, he was finally a creature of the night. The thing he had wanted most in the world. More than even me.
You’re recruiting crackheads, I typed.
Not all are addicts, Sam. Some are normal people, everyday people. They give us blood and go home. There’s no reason to kill anyone and draw attention to ourselves.
Are you doing it for the money?
No, Sam. I don’t need money. Not anymore. But others who are working for us—the humans—yes, they are very much doing it for the money.
You’re working with crooks?
In a word, yes.
And this is why I haven’t heard from you? I wrote. Because you were putting together this...operation?
There was a long pause, and then this: I had my reasons for being away, Sam. Yes, I was putting together this operation, but mostly...
He stopped there, so I finished for him: Mostly, you were mourning her.
Yes, Sam.
You loved her.
In a way, yes.
More than me?
Not now, Sam. I’m not ready to talk about any of this now. Please.