Bloody JackHis heart was a dark toy a busted bike wheel careening down blind alleys in a rush to end. Night stained his fingers with the dust from stars and made it hard to breathe His mudshine eyes like a pistol shooting out street lamps and the cold arc of his smile, that cracked the air above his chin and chewed the night into long pieces, moving among the hunted. He sensed the desperation that soaked their clothes the lure of tattered petticoats and thighs that caved like pavement an aphrodisiac for cunning hands and the flesh that lingeBloody Jack
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"To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner." - Lestat
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