AHC2 Vampire Asylum Page 3

  "I'll tear you to pieces," he whispers, his voice frail and damaged. "One day, you'll make a mistake and I'll get free, and then you'll be sorry."

  "Perhaps," I reply, placing my hand on the lever that will apply the current. "I suppose one must acknowledge the possibility of even the least likely scenario. If it helps you to retain some hope in your heart, then go ahead, but I can assure you, I have never made a mistake yet, and I've been doing this for a very, very long time." With that, I pull the lever, sending thousands of volts of electricity shooting along the line and straight into Felix's temple.

  I stand and watch calmly as he cries out in pain, his naked body jolting and jerking as the current crackles through his every muscle. The chains do their job, of course, keeping him firmly attached to the table even though he's thrashing about with all his strength. Checking my watch, I make a mental note of the point at which I started. Unfortunately for him, Felix is to endure a particularly long treatment session today, and as I walk past the table and glance at his face, I swear that for a moment he opens his eyes and stares at me before the pain overcomes him once again. Finally, as he cries out in pain, I realize that the loudspeaker is crackling again.

  Is it possible? Is that dumb little child going to dare interrupt me again?

  "Um," she says, her voice sounding even more distorted than before, "Dr. Cole? It's me again. Please don't get mad. Please, I just have to tell you this one thing."

  Sighing, I realize that she's never going to learn. I think it's time to start searching for a new receptionist.

  "Annie," I say, opening the mouthpiece, "if you -"

  "It's about Abigail Hart," she blurts out.

  I stare up at the speaker.

  "That name means something to you, right?" she asks tentatively.

  "Go on," I say, as Felix cries out in pain behind me. "What about Abigail Hart?"

  "There's someone on the phone who wants to talk to you," Annie continues. "He... He says he knows where you can find this Abigail Hart person. He wants to strike some kind of deal."

  "I don't make deals," I reply, before realizing that perhaps I should, this once, make an exception. "Patch the call through to my office," I continue, "and I'll pick it up in a moment."

  "Yes, Sir," she replies, "and again, I'm really sorry for disturbing you, but the guy on the phone said you'd -"

  "It's fine," I say firmly. "Just patch the call through and I'll be there in a minute or two."

  Closing the mouthpiece, I pause for a moment. Is it possible? Has the great Abigail Hart been dropped into my lap? Glancing over at Felix, his body still shuddering as the electrical current rips through his muscles, I suddenly realize that my entire project could be advanced a thousandfold if I'm able to get hold of a sample as strong and potent as Abigail Hart.

  "I'm sorry, Felix," I say, walking past the table and heading to the generator. "I think your position as my most valued patient might have been lost. You're going to be usurped, which means I no longer have much need for this experiment." I look down at the current indicator and see that it's almost at 10%. "I should probably just unhook you and toss you out the door," I mutter, before a smile crosses my face. "Then again, why waste the opportunity? I've always wondered what happens if one fries a werewolf."

  With that, I turn the dial up to 100%, delivering a massively increased current directly into Felix's temples. He lets out an agonized cry of pain, louder than anything I've ever heard before in all my years at Tor Cliff. Chucking, I turn and start making my way toward my office. I guess I'll let Felix burn while I'm on the phone, and then I'll unhook him and see if there's anything left of his mind. I probably won't learn much from the results, but Felix is suddenly old news.

  If I can get my hands on Abigail Hart, I can move my work into the final phase.

  Abby Hart

  "Patience," I say, sitting naked on the floor of my darkened apartment. "It's a virtue, Abby, so just try to be patient. At least for a few more minutes."

  It's late, almost 2am, and I've spent the past ninety minutes sitting in this exact spot, forcing myself to stay calm. A few feet away, propped up on the coffee table, is the blood pack I bought from Ragoth. I could tear the damn thing apart right now and pour the blood down my throat, but then I'd be giving in to my urges. When I started buying blood like this, I told myself that I had to find a way to discipline my cravings. If I just use the stuff as soon as I get it, I'm no better than a common addict. I have to strengthen my mind, overcome my weaknesses, and make sure that I keep my worst excesses under control.

  Keeping my eyes fixed on the blood pack, I reach down and pick up the mojito cocktail I prepared earlier. With my eyes still on the blood pack, I sip from the cocktail through a straw.

  Focus.

  Patience.

  Glancing at the clock, I see that there are three minutes left until 2am. I told myself that 2am was the magic moment when I'd finally be able to drink the blood pack, and I'm sticking to that schedule. Hell, I'm pretty sure my father would never have been able to do anything like this. He was the kind of guy who'd drink the blood pack as soon as he got it, and then go rip off a couple of nearby heads and take as much blood as he wanted. That guy earlier tonight, for example, would have ended up dead and drained. I guess - I hope - that I get my restraint from my mother's side of the family. The last thing I want is to end up with my father's anger.

  As the clock hits 2am, I set the cocktail down, get to my feet and calmly walk over to the blood pack. My hands are trembling as I pick it up, but I figure a little tremor isn't exactly a sin. Staring at the dark, thick blood in the plastic pack, I try to imagine it slipping past my lips and entering my body, coursing through my veins and enriching my every atom. Filled with anticipation, I raise the pack and open my mouth to bare my fangs, and finally I sink the tips through the plastic and into the still-warm blood inside.

  For the next couple of minutes, I drink as slowly as I dare. My whole body seems to be tingling, as if fingers are dancing across my skin. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back and start to draw the blood faster and faster into my body, letting it fill me up completely. I swear to God, I feel warmer and hotter and stronger as the blood mixes with my own until, finally, I realize that I'm already starting to empty the pack. As soon as I've managed to extract every last possible drop, I toss the bag aside and stand in the darkness, allowing a single dribble of blood to tickle its way down my chin before dripping onto my chest.

  I know this feeling won't last forever, but right now I feel stronger than any living creature. I feel as if I could roar and make the whole world hear me. Looking over at the door, I suddenly realize that it's crazy to hold myself back like this. I could be out there, drinking fresh blood every night, extracting it directly from the bodies of people all over this city. Why the hell should I keep myself caged up like this, salivating over a pack of blood purchased in some backstreet emporium, when I could be out there draining it from bodies myself? It's completely unnatural to restrain myself like this, and I could be so much happier and more fulfilled if I just let my instincts take over.

  With a smile, I start walking over to the door. Tonight's the night. I'm going to get out there and, for the first time ever, I'm going to be myself. I'm going to take what I want, and instead of forcing myself to be patient, I'm going to drink and drink until I become even stronger, and then I'll carry on drinking forever, gaining more and more strength just like my -

  As I put a hand on the door handle, I suddenly feel a cold rush of realization wash over my body.

  Just like my father.

  I stand completely still.

  The only sound comes from the gentle hum of the air-conditioner.

  My father must have felt like this sometimes, torn between a desire to show restraint and a desire to fulfill his potential. He chose the latter path, and he tore through the world - and through the people he met - like a force of nature. I admire that strength and power, but at the same time, something seems to be
holding me back. Taking my hand off the door handle, I realize that I can't let myself be overwhelmed like this. I chose to live among humans, to be like them, to hide myself and to turn my back on the worst traits of my species. I'm a vampire, but that doesn't mean I have to be a murderer.

  I remember how it felt when I killed Donna all those years ago.

  And Todd.

  And Shelley.

  I never want to feel like that again.

  As the moment passes, I suddenly feel cold and powerless. Grabbing a dressing gown from the bathroom door, I cover my naked body and head back through to the main room. With a sigh, and a sense of relief that I managed to keep myself under control, I grab the empty blood pack and take it through to the kitchen, where I toss it into the garbage. I hit the light-switch, and the neon tube on the ceiling flickers into life, bathing me in a harsh, bright white light. Grabbing a carton of milk from the fridge and pouring myself a glass, I can already feel the effects of the blood starting to wear off, but I feel calmer than before.

  I make my way back through to the main room, which is still shrouded in darkness. I don't know how much longer I can go on living like this, but I feel as if I'm being torn between two completely different sides. I can maintain my human identity most of the time, but it's as if my vampire side is aching to get out. I've managed to keep her tucked away, but I don't know if I can be that strong forever. Heading over to the window, I -

  "Damn!" I shout as my bare foot comes down on the empty cocktail glass, which smashes instantly.

  Feeling a jolt of pain, I sit on the arm of the sofa and take a look at my sole; sure enough, there's a small piece of jagged glass embedded in my skin, and as I pull it out, a thick bead of blood emerges.

  "Great," I mutter in the darkness, watching as the blood drips down onto the floor. "Blood goes in, blood goes out. Great job, Abby."

  Dr. Cole

  "I'm not sure that I'm in the mood to cut a deal," I say, sitting in my office. "I'd much rather discuss a price."

  "I don't want money," the voice replies from the other end of the line. "I don't want a penny. I just want a straight swap. I'll tell you where to find Abigail Hart, and you'll return my daughter to me."

  I pause for a moment. While I'd be happy to get rid of one of the straggly prisoners from the basement, I'm not entirely sure that I have this man's daughter.

  "You still there?" the voice asks. "You know I'm genuine, right? This isn't a trick. If I wasn't genuine, how would I have even found this number?"

  "I have no doubt that you're genuine," I reply, grabbing my logbook. "I know full well when the fear in a man's voice is genuine, and you sound particularly terrified. Tell me your daughter's name and I'll see if I have her in my records."

  "Katia," he rasps.

  "Katia?" I pause, and finally I realize who I'm talking to. "Ragoth?" I continue with a smile. "Is that you?"

  "You recognize me, huh?" he replies. "After all these years? That's good. I'm glad to know that I made an impression."

  "It never occurred to me that I'd hear your voice again," I reply. "Back when -"

  "I don't care about the past," he replies, interrupting me, "I only care about Katia."

  I start flipping through the logbook. "It constantly amazes me to find which vampires survived the war and which didn't," I mutter as I look for Katia's name. "Doesn't it ever amaze you, Ragoth, to think that the likes of you and I managed to scrape our way through, while other, better, stronger vampires died?"

  "Speak for yourself," he says darkly.

  "Still as charming as ever," I reply, as I find the page with Katia's record. "Here she is," I tell him, scanning the notes I made back when I treated her, "she's -" I pause as I spot the final comment I left on her condition. Re-reading it a couple of times, I realize that although Katia is most certainly here at Tor Cliff, it might not be so easy to just turn her back over to her father. According to my records, she's deep beneath the asylum, in one of the final antechambers that must be endured before delivery to the beast.

  "She's what?" he asks. "Is there a problem?"

  "No problem," I reply, my mind racing as I try to work out how to proceed. "She's here," I add. "That's the good news."

  "And she's alive?"

  "Of course."

  "So you'll give her to me?" he asks. "You give her first, and then I tell you where to find Abigail Hart. I'm not lying, you know. I know where Abigail can be found. She's one of my customers."

  "I believe you," I reply calmly, unable to stifle a faint smile.

  "So bring Katia to me," he continues, "or let me come and collect her. I don't care how you do it, just let her go!"

  "And how do I know that you'll keep your word?" I reply.

  "You know me," he says. "You remember me. I'm an honest man. I just..." He pauses. "There's one other thing I want to ask from you. When you get hold of Abigail, please... Don't tell her that I'm the one who ratted her out. I like the girl, and I'm striking this bargain with a heavy heart. I don't want to know what you'll do to her once you've got her. Don't lie to me and tell me she won't suffer. But... Please, for my peace of mind, I'm begging you not to tell her that I did this."

  "You disappoint me," I reply. "If a man has the courage to betray a confidence, surely he has the courage to stand up and admit to his actions?"

  "She's not a bad person," he continues. "She's troubled, but she has a good heart -"

  "Not for much longer," I mutter.

  "Just don't tell her it was me. Please!"

  "Is she strong?" I ask, already imagining all the things I could do to that girl once I've got her here. Most vampire bodies can be broken eventually, but Abigail Hart might present a more meaningful and fulfilling challenge. "Is she as strong as her father?"

  "Maybe even stronger," he replies. "She has his passion and anger, but she keeps it deeper in her soul. You know what that means, don't you? She thinks she's controlling herself, but the truth is, she's just holding it back. She'll explode eventually, and when it happens, the force will be ten thousand times stronger than anything her father achieved. Compared to Abigail, Patrick was nothing."

  "She's a female," I point out. "She's necessarily weaker than -"

  "You're wrong," he says firmly. "Once you've got her, you'll see. She's stronger than any vampire I've ever met, even if she doesn't know the full extent of her strength yet."

  "You think she can eclipse her father?" I ask, enticed by the idea.

  "I know she can," he replies, "and she will!" He pauses. "My daughter, Katia, she is everything to me. She's all I have left. But to you, she's nothing. She's just another girl in your asylum, just another ordinary little vampire who wants nothing more than to scuttle about in the world, minding her own business. Would you really miss her if you let her leave?"

  Staring at the name scratched in my logbook, I realize that the old man is right. It would appear that this Katia girl has languished in the deepest, darkest parts of Tor Cliff for many years, unloved and forgotten. Were it not for this conversation, I might never have thought of her again, and she might instead have been left to die down there. It would make no difference to me whatsoever if she were to be let loose, and yet... I have never allowed a single patient to leave this place, and I am in no mood to change that rule.

  "No," I say quietly. "I doubt I'd even notice."

  "Please," Ragoth continues, his voice low and cowed, "do we have a deal?"

  I stare at the name. It has been more than a century since she was consigned to that antechamber beneath the oubliette. God knows what state she must be in by now, but no-one has been to check on her in all that time.

  "Do we have a deal?" Ragoth asks again, his voice betraying his extreme desperation.

  "A deal?" I pause. "No, old man. We don't have a deal."

  "But Abigail Hart -"

  "I can live without her," I reply, smiling as I imagine the undoubted look of shock on his face. "Easy come, easy go. I don't make deals, and a girl like Abigail m
ight cause more trouble than she's worth. I'd much rather continue my work on some more pliable and easily broken subjects, such as..." I pause for a moment. "Well, perhaps I'll send someone to drag dear Katia up from the basement. I'd quite forgotten about her, but now I feel she'd be perfect for a test to determine -"

  "No!" he shouts. "Please, I beg of you! Just give her to me! I've promised to let you know Abigail Hart's location! What more could you possibly want from me?"

  "I want you to shut up," I say firmly, putting the phone down, "and leave me alone."

  Sitting in silence for a moment, I consider the possibilities. Despite everything I said to Ragoth, I'm determined to get hold of Abigail Hart. The thought of tying her down to one of my tables and performing my experiments on her body... I could leap ahead in my work, and I'd undoubtedly learn so much more. She would be, in many ways, the perfect patient. Fortunately, I don't need Ragoth to give me Abigail's location, not now that I know she must be somewhere close to his location. He's in New York, so she must be too. Now that I've narrowed the spot down to such a small area, it won't be difficult to get the rest of the job done.

  Picking up the phone again, I dial through to my receptionist.

  "Annie," I say, as soon as the call is connected, "I need you to connect me to the dormitory. Get Nurse Fletcher to come to the phone, and tell her it's urgent. I don't care if she's sleeping. Wake her if necessary. Hell, go down there and drag her to me. I need her to go on a small errand."

  Abby Hart

  Whatever it was about, the nightmare slips from my mind as I sit up in bed. Covered in sweat and filled with a vague sense of residual panic, I try to think back to the core of my dream, but it's already slipping away. And now, in my dark bedroom, I find myself completely alert, as if -

  Suddenly there's a knock at the door.

  Checking the clock, I see that it's just past 5am. I know this is supposed to be the city that never sleeps, but I do sleep and I really, really hate being woken up. I'm not much of a morning person, either, even when I have time to get up on my own terms. Right now, however, the hairs on the back of my neck are tingling. No-one has ever knocked on my door at 5am before, and I don't like it.