After waking this evening, Kersen had heard the upsetting news that Hannibal Lecter was dead. His house had burned the day before, and him along with it - potential arson. He had sat for a while with this news, his grief mingled with a touch of guilt for having spent so little time with the man in recent months. He also wondered if he should reach out to Alcuin. But no, that may not be best. But perhaps later, after time had passed.
He did not have much time to dwell on it, however, because eventually he noticed a letter slipped under his front door. It had an address on it, a hotel with a room number, and that was all. It was, of course, really stupid to follow these kinds of directions blindly. But on the other hand, he was a vampire; he had good senses, and he could scope out a place well enough. So... he went.
And, in short, he found a body. Well, not a body exactly. A person who was almost a body. The man bound to the bed had been losing blood slowly for what Kersen suspected was about twenty-four hours. He had also had a few non-essential organs removed, placed in a bowl on the nightstand beside him. And the blood he was losing dripped slowly from one elevated wrist into a large wine goblet.
The man's eyes were open and pleading.
There was a note. Kersen read it, felt his entire body go cold, and then after only a moment's hesitation, snapped the man's neck.
If he were human, he would have thrown up.
Instead, he texted Michael the address. Come. Please.
Then he sat down on the floor at the foot of the bed and waited. He did not drink the blood, nor look again at the body.