Patience was a virtue. Francis Sexton knew that. It was one of those clichés that actually had a basis in truth. Indeed, he was well aware that it was not only a virtue, but in his case, it was essential. However tempted he was to begin his operations, he must not give way to such desires. Oh, yes, he longed to be out there in the darkness seeking victims, seeking to satiate his appetite for blood.
But he must wait.
He had waited this long. A few more nights would not hurt. His plan, carefully plotted and executed, had taken months to reach fruition: to spoil it all now with rash and ill-prepared actions would be foolish and possibly ruinous.
Two more nights and then the feasting could begin.