"Hey, Jackson," someone yelled.
Jackson, I presume was his name, jumped up.
Before I could answer Jackson, he began questioning.
Jackson wrote copious notes.
The only item of information I'd withheld from Detective Jackson was that the assailant had asked me where everybody else was.
I'd not remembered that tidbit when Jackson first questioned me, but even now, I was reluctant to move his inquiry in that direction.
Jackson asked, surprising me.
Jackson read the shocked look on my face.
Jackson believes my story.
After all, Jackson was a member of the law enforcement community and perhaps he would be amenable to letting us retain our anonymity, realizing the greater benefit to goals.
Knowing the local police included Detective Jackson, I suggested he contact the Simi Valley attorney first to find out if the vehicle I saw was in fact his.
I related that Jackson spoke to our California associate.
Smart guy, this Jackson; you are holding back.
It might make me a few minutes late meeting with Jackson but all the more time for Brennan to speak with him first.
Jackson must have seen me drive up because he was waiting by the door.
"Take it easy," Jackson said as he turned away and continued down the hall forcing me to follow.
Autumn had begun to creep over New England, promising to transform the landscape into the backdrop that Jackson Parrish so loved.
Jackson Parrish was 158 years old… and a vampire.
Jackson rounded the corner onto Elm Street toward the Renaissance inspired estate he currently called home.
Jackson did not feed recklessly like many of his kind.
Jackson considered feeding a sport; one he excelled at.
In truth, Jackson had never met a female, human or vampire, who could hold his interest for more than a day or two.
Jackson called to his housemate and best friend.
If Jackson was Adonis, then Sarah was Aphrodite.
Like Jackson, she moved with incredible grace, seeming to float rather than walk.
Jackson had already begun pouring a rare single malt.
Sarah and Jackson had been 23 and 25 years old respectively, living privileged, English aristocratic lives when they were abducted and turned into vampires.
Jackson was thrilled at the thought of spending a decade or so at his favorite home, claiming North America to be fresh and new.
Struggling with consciousness, Jackson first noticed the intense burning in his throat.
Jackson crouched in front of her to meet her gaze.
While stroking her hair, he spoke softly, "My name is Jackson Parrish, and as God is my witness, I will do all in my power to correct this situation."
Jackson rose and spoke with authority.
When Andrew Jackson was a little boy he lived with his mother in South Carolina.
Andrew Jackson was then a tall white-haired boy, thirteen years old.
Well, Andy Jackson, get down here and clean the mud from my boots.
In time, Andrew Jackson became a very great man.