He didn’t think her bones were that easily broken. Using the latex gloves from his pocket, he crouched down to lift her. It was difficult retrieving her body from the marsh, but now out of the swamp, he could take her to the cellar.
He was surprised she didn’t cry out. Maybe it was the withering look he gave her warning her not to. There might have been night fishermen close by but she never uttered a word. As he held her under, it didn’t even seem she resisted. It was a mournful testament to the influence he had on her mind. He almost smiled thinking of how he intimidated her into doing exactly what he wanted. As their relationship grew he had total control and she reacted as if in a stupor sometimes. He used no drugs, just his will, a Svengali in modern time.
As he placed her inside the alcove, mortared the opening, he had no thoughts of her returning as a preta, her mind was too weak. Sufficiently sealed for eternity, he once again returned to the dark streets of the night, hunting.