AHC2 Vampire Asylum

  Vampire Asylum

  by Amy Cross

  Copyright Amy Cross, All Rights Reserved

  Published by Dark Season Books

  First published: December 2013

  This edition: February 2017

  http://amycrossbooks.wordpress.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. If you enjoy it and wish to share it with others, please consider buying them their own copy. Feedback is always welcome. The author reserves all rights in respect of this work.

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  The Betrayal

  Part Two

  Into Hell

  Part Three

  The Cobweb Man

  Part Four

  Oubliette

  Part Five

  The Garden of Dead Souls

  Part Six

  The Ghost at the Door

  Part Seven

  Dark Genesis

  Part Eight

  The Escape

  Vampire Asylum

  Part One

  The Betrayal

  Prologue

  "She's screaming again," Nurse Fletcher says, standing in the doorway. "Worse than ever. Are you sure we can't just sedate her for a few days?"

  Sighing, I set my pen down. It's getting late, close to midnight, and I was hoping to work for a few more hours without being disturbed. Then again, in a place like this, one should always count on being disturbed at regular intervals. Looking across at the door, I realize that I over-estimated the ability of my staff to deal with such a difficult patient. This is going to be harder than I ever imagined.

  "When you say screaming," I reply slowly, choosing each word with care, "what do you mean? What exactly is she screaming about?"

  "Same as the rest of them," she mutters. "Says she doesn't belong here. Says she's not crazy. Says it's all a huge mistake and she's gonna make us suffer if we don't let her out right this instant." She smiles. "The usual. I was thinking I'd hit her up with something to calm her down."

  "Out of the question," I tell her.

  "Just enough to knock her out," she suggests. "She might do herself an injury otherwise."

  "She can't be drugged," I reply, removing my glasses and setting them carefully on my ledger. "I need her to be lucid and communicative first thing in the morning. It'll be her first full day with us, and there are so many tests we must get through. I can't risk having her mind clouded or her body held back."

  "I understand that, Dr. Cole, but she's really upsetting the other patients. The place was pretty peaceful until she showed up, and now it's just one din after another." She pauses. "Something's gotta be done about her. At this rate, she's gonna cause a riot. She's agitating the other patients. I don't know if it's the noise she's making, or her psychic energy, but she's upsetting everyone!"

  Rubbing my eyes, I realize with weary resignation that this matter is going to require my personal intervention. Getting to my feet, I head over to the cabinet at the far side of the room and open one of the drawers; I take out a small black case and slip it into my pocket, before closing the cabinet and walking over to join Nurse Fletcher at the door.

  "I'm sorry," she continues as we make our way along the dark, dimly-lit stone corridor. "You know I don't like bothering you, especially late at night, but this time we've really got a problem. To be honest, she's a bit of a nightmare, and I'm not sure if we can even handle her. I know you warned us that she'd be a special case, but she's seriously crazy. I don't think we've ever had a patient quite like her."

  "Not crazy," I reply calmly. "I must remind you, we never use words such as 'crazy' or 'mad' in this place."

  "Sorry," she mutters. "As ever, Dr. Cole, I defer to your great wisdom and intelligence."

  "Our patients are disturbed, not crazy. They're troubled, and they're afflicted, but they're not mad. They're simply individuals who, for various societal, cultural and genetic reasons, have been unable to deal with the hardships that have come their way. I hope I don't need to remind you that the word 'asylum' originally described a place of safety rather than a madhouse. That's what we're providing here. A place for injured and damaged souls to get away from the world and enjoy a little time to recuperate."

  "I know, I know," she mutters, sliding open the door to the elevator. "Still," she adds as we step inside and she turns the hand-crank all the way, "this one really seems to have a lot of pizazz to her. I like them better when they're weak and broken, but she's full of righteous indignation and fury."

  "I'm not surprised," I reply with a faint smile as the chamber begins to make its juddery way down toward the basement. Reaching into my pocket, I feel the comforting presence of the black box. I hope I shan't have to use it, of course, but one must always be prepared for the worst eventualities. "The shock of being committed to an asylum," I continue, "is itself a very traumatic experience. She'll be feeling as if she's lost control of her life. It's very common for such individuals to feel anger, as well as hatred, and of course she'll be absolutely convinced that this is all a terrible mistake."

  "She says she's gonna rip our heads off and stick them on poles," Nurse Fletcher replies as the elevator reaches the bottom of the chamber and she slides the door open. "I think she means it."

  "Clearly she resorts to threats of violence during times of stress," I reply, leading the nurse along the dark tunnel. On either side of us, patients stare from their dark cells. Most have learned over the years that it's useless to call out, and that the punishment for doing so can be extremely severe, but one or two of them are so far gone, they mutter and groan, as if it pains them to see us. My only response is to offer a polite nod to each of them, in the hope that they might see the benefits of a more civilized level of discourse.

  "Doctor!" a voice shouts from one of the nearby cells. "It's me! There's been a terrible mistake! I got locked in by one of the patients! He stole my uniform and made a run for it!"

  Stopping by the cell door, I stare at Felix's terrified face as he reaches out and tries to grab me. The poor runt was once a proud and strong individual, but after our little mishap he has been reduced to the status of a bumbling, terrified lunatic with delusions of grandeur. It's no wonder the other patients despise him with such open passion.

  "Go to sleep, Felix," Nurse Fletcher says wearily.

  "I'm serious!" he shouts, his hand still desperately grasping at me even though he can't quite reach. "One of the patients, he overpowered me, stole my uniform and left me in here! You've gotta let me out so I can go and hunt him down! If he gets to the forest, we'll never see him again!"

  "It's okay, Felix," I say calmly, "just relax and everything will be okay." Leaning closer, I can see that his skin is healing nicely. "How are you feeling?" I ask. "Have the effects of our little accident finally worn off?"

  "But he's out there!" he shrieks. "You can't just let some mad guy go running around! Let me out of here! I'm not a patient! I'm staff, like you!" He rattles the bars on his cell door, desperate to find a way out. "We can't afford to lose even a single one of them!" he adds. "Every patient is important!"

  "That might be a slight exaggeration," I reply with a faint smile.

  "I'm not one of them," he continues. "I'm one of you!"

  "Of course you are," I reply, "and we'll fill in the requisite paperwork and get you out as soon as possible. For now, why don't you just settle down for a few minutes? There's a new patient who needs my attention, and you wouldn't want to interrupt my work, would you? She's very important. More important, even, than all the rest of you put together. Doesn't that excite you, Felix? Aren't you pleased to know that such a creature is finally here? More pain for her will mean far, far less pain for you."

  "But..." he starts
to say, before pausing for a moment. "Okay, but you have to hurry back, okay? It's giving me the creeps being in here."

  "Up his medication," I whisper to Nurse Fletcher as we resume our walk along the corridor. "Make a note on his record of this incident, and ensure that his cell is searched thoroughly during his next trip outside. He's becoming more agitated by the day, and I'm worried that -" Before I can finish, I spot a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor, with a set of iron bars covering a small opening. I'd been delaying this moment until the morning, but it's now clear that I must introduce myself immediately.

  "This is her," Nurse Fletcher says wearily.

  "She seems very quiet," I reply.

  "Give her a couple of minutes. She'll be back on song before you know it. She's quite inventive when it comes to threats of violence."

  We stand in silence for a moment, listening to the dull scraping sound that's coming from the other side of the door.

  "What's she doing?" I whisper.

  "I think she's trying to dig her way out through the stone floor," Nurse Fletcher replies, keeping her voice low. "She's already worn her fingernails down to the stubs, and she just keeps going. God knows what she thinks she's going to achieve."

  "I can hear you!" a female voice calls out from the darkness, filled with disdain and barely-reserved anger. "Just because you're whispering, I can still hear you, you know."

  "Did I mention that she's got a mouth on her?" Nurse Fletcher adds with a hint of resignation. "This is one sarcastic customer."

  "My name is Dr. Cole," I say firmly, staring at the little window and the darkness beyond the bars. "I'm the clinical head of this institute, and I'm going to be overseeing your recovery. You and I are going to be seeing a great deal more of one another over the next few weeks and months." I wait for a reply, but all I hear is the sound of her still scraping at the floor. "I understand that this must be a difficult time for you," I continue, "but I hope we can become better acquainted. It's always much nicer to talk on good terms, don't you think?"

  "I wouldn't know," she says, her face suddenly appearing on the other side of the bars, staring at me with wild intensity. "I'm not crazy, and I don't belong here, and I'm not staying."

  "I'm afraid the choice is not entirely yours," I reply, swatting away a plump gray spider that has started crawling across the door. "But don't worry, Abigail. We're going to take very, very good care of you while you're here. In fact, I think it's fair to say that we're going to put a nice big smile on your face."

  Twenty-four hours earlier

  Abby Hart

  "Are you sure?" Mark asks, following me out of the bar. "I didn't mean a romantic meal or anything like that. I just meant we could grab some food. That's all I was suggesting."

  "It's fine," I say, stopping and taking a deep breath of late-night New York air. The truth is, my stomach has been rumbling for the past hour or more, but food isn't the problem. Not strictly speaking, anyway. And while I'd be perfectly happy to spend a few more hours with Detective Mark Gregory tonight, I think it might be a bit of a culture shock for him to come with me to the place where I'm planning to get my appetite filled.

  "Okay," he replies, as we start walking along the busy sidewalk. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come on too strong. Or even at all. I honestly, genuinely just felt like grabbing something somewhere. That's all."

  "You talk a lot when you're nervous," I say with a smile.

  "Do I sound nervous?"

  "Another time," I reply, already starting to wonder when and how I can ditch him tonight. He's cute, and if I was in the right mood, I'd definitely want to spend more time with him, but tonight something feels different. I can't explain it, but I've got a kind of itch under my skin, and I need to calm my nerves. Fortunately, I know just what to do, although I'll need to ditch Mark first.

  "Another time?" he replies.

  "Another time," I say calmly, unable to stifle a faint smile.

  "Really?" he asks, as if he can barely believe it. "You want to get something to eat some time?"

  "Absolutely," I say, stopping at the next intersection as I try to work out the best route. The hunger is starting to fill my body, and it's hard to concentrate on anything else. I should have left earlier, but I was actually having fun talking to Mark, so I left things a little too long and then I had a couple of beers, so my blood-sugar level is all out of whack, and now I'm getting pretty desperate for blood. I swore I'd fight the craving this time, but it's too strong. I need one last hit.

  "So what do you like?" he asks. "Italian? Asian? Good old-fashioned American?"

  "I'm a v -" I start to say, turning to him but catching myself just in time.

  He stares at me.

  "I'm..." I continue, before pausing. "A vegetarian," I add eventually.

  "Huh."

  "I'm a vegetarian," I say again, glad that I managed to think of something. Damn it, my head is getting pretty woozy right now. "I should have mentioned that earlier," I continue. "I hope it doesn't affect things."

  "It's cool," he replies, with a knowing look in his eyes. "To be honest, I thought you were gonna say something else."

  "Like what?" I ask, wondering if this will be the moment when he finally gives voice to his suspicions. I'm pretty sure that he's guessed the truth about me, and there's always this undercurrent of unspoken curiosity whenever we hang out together. To be honest, there's a part of me that wishes he'd just come out and say it. At least then we could talk more openly, instead of dancing around the subject all the time.

  "Well..." he stammers, like a deer caught in the headlights.

  "What did you think I was going to say?" I ask.

  "Like..." He pauses. "Vegan," he adds eventually, with a relieved smile. "I thought you were gonna say that you're a vegan!"

  "You did, huh?" I reply, aware that he's blatantly bullshitting. Checking my watch, I realize that I really need to get going. "This has been a fun evening," I tell him, "but it's a little late for me, and I have to be at work early, so maybe we can take a rain-check on the meal and catch up against some time next week?"

  "Next week?" He pauses. "Sure. Next week sounds good. Let me walk you to a taxi -"

  "I'm gonna take the subway," I reply, keen to get going as soon as possible. "But thanks! Really! I can take care of myself. Believe me, I know exactly what I'm doing. I'll see you soon, okay?"

  With that, I turn and start walking. I can only pray that he's not going to try to catch up, but when I reach the next intersection I glance over my shoulder and realize that there's no sign of him. In a strange, slightly big-headed kind of way, I'm slightly disappointed that he hasn't tried to follow me; after all, I was at my mysterious and enigmatic best during dinner, and although I still haven't told him the truth about my background, I haven't been able to avoid dropping tantalizing little hints. Nevertheless, he hasn't tried to follow me at all, which is good and bad at the same time.

  Fortunately, I'm not too far from Ragoth's Emporium. Hurrying through the crowd, trying not to draw attention to myself, I take a right-turn onto a much less busy street, and a few minutes later I take a left and then a right until, finally, I'm on a dark little street with no-one else in sight. As I make my quickly through the shadows, I can't help but feel that most people would feel nervous being out alone in this part of town. Fortunately, I'm pretty sure I can handle myself, no matter what dangers the city might throw at me. I'd feel sorry for anyone who tried to attack me; after all, I've sworn off hunting for blood, but if some asshole literally launches himself at me, I might well be tempted to sink my teeth into his neck.

  For an abstemious vampire who chose long ago not to prey on humans, New York can be pretty tempting sometimes.

  ***

  As soon as I reach the dirty little door that leads into Ragoth's Emporium, I make my way up the steps and pull the rope that hangs from the frame. Somewhere deep inside the building, a bell sounds. While I wait for someone to come and let me in, I turn and look along t
he dark street. The place looks empty, but I can sense someone nearby; a human, filled with adrenalin, probably wondering whether he can jump me and grab my bag. He seems pretty harmless, though, since I can smell his sweat from here, and I can even hear his rapid breathing. From just these few clues, I can already piece together a pretty good idea of this guy: he's scared, not a career criminal but someone who's being forced by hunger or addiction to do this kind of thing.

  One addict, stalking another.

  "Come on," I whisper, almost relishing the prospect of a little violence. "I dare you."

  Hearing the creak of the door, I turn to find myself face-to-face with Ragoth's tall, silent man-servant. He's the kind of guy who looks like he was carved out of pure granite, and yet he has a kind of sickly, deathly pall.

  "Hey, Ludo," I say, stepping into the warm hallway. "I'm here for my usual."

  Without saying a word, Ludo pushes the door shut and then leads me along the corridor. This is the same routine we go through every time. I have no idea why Ludo doesn't speak, but I guess that since he's almost eight feet tall, maybe he figures that his imposing presence does all the talking that's necessary. To be fair, he has a point.

  "Is that Abby Hart?" a voice calls out from the room up ahead.

  Sighing, I steel myself for another session with Ragoth. The guy has his plus-points, and he's certainly well-connected, but he's far too perky for my liking, and he has far more Hawaiian shirts than any vampire I've ever met.

  "Show her in!" he calls out. "I thought it was about time for her to turn up."