AHC2 Vampire Asylum

by Amy Cross

  "I'm just a nurse," she says calmly. "I'm afraid I'm not privy to the details. Nurse Fletcher just came out and called for me, and told me to fix you up. I don't know what happened to you in the testing room." She pauses. "You were strapped to a table -"

  "I remember that part," I reply firmly, looking down at my wrists and spotting the red marks where I tried to pull free. Memories of tonight's ordeal keep coming back to me in brief, lurid flashes, but I can't put them together into any kind of narrative. Then again, perhaps I shouldn't try to find out what really happened to me; if I knew the truth about Dr. Cole's experiments, I might end up losing my mind.

  "I think you were injected with something," she continues.

  "I remember that too."

  "They operated on you," she adds. "There's a scar on your chest. I think they removed something."

  Looking down, I realize that she's right; there's a half-inch cut just above my abdomen, with a couple of stitches holding it shut. I guess this must be something that happened once I'd passed out, but it's hard to imagine what they could possibly have wanted. I reach up and touch the wound with a finger, and although the skin around the cut is sore, I gently push at the stitches. It's tempting to pull them out and try to find out what Dr. Cole was doing to me, but I figure I should wait a little while. Still, I'm not convinced that Nurse Silk is right when she says something was removed from my body; I think there's a chance that they added something instead, something that I can feel deep in my mind.

  "Stand up," she says suddenly, dropping the sponge into the bucket before heading over to grab a towel from the bed.

  Awkwardly, and a little hesitantly, I lift myself out of the metal bath and stand naked while she comes over to me with the towel, which she uses to start patting me dry. I feel very self-conscious, since my body is covered in small scars from the experiments that Dr. Cole has been carrying out over the past few years, but I figure that a nurse, of all people, should be able to look past such things.

  "Ordinarily," she continues, with a faint smile, "I'd leave you to do this by yourself, but you seem so..." She pauses again as she runs the towel across my back. "I just thought I'd give you some help," she adds eventually. "You must be so tired and weak, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to help you out. Just don't get used to it, okay? Tor Cliff isn't a hotel, so this is strictly a one-off deal. Technically I'm not going against the orders I was given by Dr. Cole, but I'm sure he didn't intend for me to spend so much time with you."

  "I hope you're not putting yourself in danger," I reply, staring at the flickering candle in the corner of the cell. It has been so long since I had a light source in here, and although I'm already starting to shiver now that I'm out of the bath, the sight of the flame makes me feel a little better. "I imagine you'd be punished if anyone found out about this moment of kindness."

  "Just don't go expecting so much attention every night," she continues. "It's strictly a one-off deal. I just..."

  I wait for her to finish, and finally I turn to her.

  "Don't tell anyone," she says, staring at me with a look of fear in her eyes. "In a place like this, I could get into a lot of trouble for helping you. People would misunderstand and perhaps even think I had some other motive. A vampire helping a werewolf in this way... There are people who'd see it as unnatural, maybe even immoral. I know that must sound crazy, but these beliefs are held very strongly by some of the people around here."

  "Maybe you should stop," I reply. "If someone happens to walk past the door -"

  "No-one will," she replies with a faint smile. "Nurse Fletcher is busy with Dr. Cole, and all the other nurses have retired for the night. The orderlies -" Before she can finish, there's a distant rumbling sound, and a kind of vibration seems to run through the cold stone floor for a moment. "I should go," she says, placing the towel in my hands before turning and gathering her things. "It was a mistake to help you like this. I hope you'll understand that I won't be able to do it again. I just felt sorry for you, that's all."

  "Because I'm a werewolf?" I ask.

  She glances over at me.

  "I'm a werewolf in an asylum full of vampires," I continue. "Are you... Do you mind if I ask, are you a vampire?"

  She stares at me for a moment, before finally walking back over to me. She pauses, as if she's on the verge of saying something, and then finally she leans closer and opens her mouth, allowing me to see the two small, sharp fangs that confirm my suspicions.

  "Is it wrong that I'm not horrified?" I ask.

  "You're a werewolf," she whispers. "You should instinctively want to rip me to pieces."

  "Not all werewolves hate vampires," I point out.

  "Most do," she continues. "Apart from an enlightened few, for the most part our two species have an uneasy truce. We pretend to respect one another, but there's always an edge of distrust, maybe even loathing."

  "I don't feel that right now," I tell her, staring at her fangs. "Do you?"

  "I believe in..." She pauses, as if she's not sure whether she can, or should, say what she's really thinking. "I believe in staying true to my instincts," she says finally, taking a step back. "I believe in following the rules of nature and not getting caught up in silly ideas. We're very different creatures, Felix. Vampires and werewolves keep a distance from one another, and there's a good reason for that."

  "What?" I ask. "What's the reason?"

  "I don't know," she continues, carrying her bucket out into the corridor before turning and pushing the door shut. She locks me back inside before peering through at me. "It's not our place to challenge thousands of years of tradition," she adds, seemingly a little panicked. "You're nothing but a dirty, stinking beast, Felix. Compared to a vampire, you're worthless and..." She pauses again, and it's clear that she doesn't believe what she's saying right now; there's a look of fear, even compassion in her eyes, but after a moment she hurries away, leaving me standing alone and naked in the cold cell.

  Turning to look over at the corner, I realize that she forgot to snuff out and take her candle. The flame still flickers, casting ever-changing shadows across the cell. Walking over and taking a closer look, I realize that I can feel the faintest heat on my bare chest from the candle; I lean toward the light and watch as it dances in the darkness, and it's almost as if she left a little of herself behind. I reach out to kill the flame, but at the last moment I decide to let it last a little longer.

  Just until morning, when I'll have to hide it in order to ensure that no-one finds out that she was here with me.

  Chapter Seven

  Abby Hart

  "I began as a nightmare," Dronigan says as he rolls Madeleine onto her back and looks down at her ancient, gasping face. "The people in the asylum used to have the most terrible dreams. War, famine, pestilence, evil, love... They'd cry out in the night, and no-one ever went to calm or tend them. So many thoughts would run through their minds, and sometimes those thoughts would be so powerful, they'd escape into the forest even when the bodies of the dreamers were unable to leave the cells."

  "She can barely breathe," I reply, staring down at Madeleine's old, whitened eyes. She's gasping as she tries desperately to get some air, but it's as if her entire body is seizing up. "You have to do something to help her. You can't just leave her like this, it's cruel!"

  "Cruel?"

  "Look at her!"

  He stares down at her for a moment, but there's no hint of compassion in his eyes.

  "Can't you see that she's suffering?" I continue. "Look at her! She's dying!"

  "The air in the forest is so still," he continues, as if he doesn't give a damn about her. "No breeze, no movement at all, and this stillness meant that once the nightmares were out here, they hung in the air like gossamer. Over time, they accumulated until, one day, they seemed to have a mind of their own. They fought, and they killed one another until finally only one was left. The one that refused to fight."

  "Madeleine," I say, kneeling next to her. "It's okay. I'm going to find a
way to fix this. You've just got to hold on tight and make sure you don't give up." I wait for her to reply, but her milky eyes stare up at me with an expression of blank incomprehension. "Madeleine," I continue, "can you hear me? It's going to be okay. I'm not leaving you." I pause for a moment as I look for some sign of understanding in her eyes. "I couldn't leave," I mutter, "even if I wanted to."

  She opens her mouth, as if she wants to say something, but all that comes from her lips is a dry, rasping rattle, accompanied by a cloud of dust.

  "It took a long time," Dronigan continues, as if he's still blissfully unaware of Madeleine's suffering, "but eventually I was able to develop a physical form. I had to spend a lot of time at the windows of the building, trying to see inside, but I copied what I saw and eventually I was able to develop a rough approximation of..." He pauses, as if he's momentarily forgotten what he was saying. "I thought that once I looked like them, they'd allow me back into the building, but instead they just bolted the doors, as if they were scared."

  "You were created by their nightmares," I point out, "or at least by the nightmares of people who used to be in there. You can't be surprised that they weren't too keen on a reunion."

  He stares at me for a moment, but it's clear that he doesn't really understand what I'm telling him. There's something incredibly naive and innocent about Dronigan, and I'm starting to think that all these horrific things he's done to Madeleine have been motivated not by anger or cruelty but instead by curiosity and a kind of childish keenness to experience more of the world.

  "Did you try talking to them?" I ask.

  "Who?"

  "The people whose nightmares created you."

  "The dreamers were dead by then," he replies, as if he has no particularly strong feelings on the subject. "What is a nightmare supposed to do when the people who dreamed him are gone? I would have thought that they'd outlive me, but it seems to have happened the other way around. They withered and died, and yet I persisted." He pauses for a moment, as if he's a little confused. "Sometimes I think I might live forever and just... be, even after everything and everyone else has faded away."

  "Please," I reply, hoping to finally get through to him, "I need you to help my friend. Can you put her back to how she used to be?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Fix her!"

  "Nothing about her has changed," he replies.

  "Except the fact that you've aged her by a couple of centuries," I point out.

  He frowns, as if he doesn't understand.

  "Look at her," I continue. "Can't you see that she looks a little different? Remember what she looked like when we came into the forest tonight? Look at her now. Can't you see that you've brought about a hell of a change?"

  He stares down at her. "This form is more appropriate," he says after a moment. "She now looks more like her true self. She's very old. I can see it in her mind. Her youth was stolen from others, but it was not hers to keep. The change, if it has happened at all, is on a microscopic level."

  Sighing, I realize that this guy really doesn't seem to understand the problem here. I glance back toward the asylum, and I can't help but notice that the first light of dawn is starting to show in the distance; I don't know what time the nurses are going to start checking on all the inmates, but pretty soon they're going to realize that I'm not where I'm supposed to be. For a moment, I have visions of guards and dogs racing through the forest, trying to chase me down. Then again, that's just what would happen at a human asylum; at a vampire asylum, I'm sure they've got a few more tricks.

  "There," Dronigan says after a moment, as he finishes rolling the threads into a ball and carefully stuffs them into Madeleine's gaping mouth. "Do you think that's better?"

  "Can't you fix her... properly?" I ask as she starts to choke. Reaching into her mouth, I pull the threads out in an attempt to at least help her to breathe a little more easily. "No-one deserves to end up like this."

  He stares at me.

  "You really don't understand, do you?" I continue, frustrated by the fact that despite his power, he seems to have a childish lack of comprehension when it comes to the world; it's almost as if he did all of these things to Madeleine purely because he wanted to see what would happen. "She's suffering," I continue. "She's in pain. Does that make sense to you?"

  He frowns.

  "Do you even know what pain is?"

  "I..." He pauses. "I don't think that I've really heard that word before." He pauses again. "It does seem strangely familiar, though." He frowns as my stomach rumbles. "What does that mean?" he asks, as if it's the most unusual and confusing thing in the world.

  "I'm hungry," I continue after a moment, sitting back with a sigh. "Do you have anything to eat?"

  "Eat?"

  "Madeleine said she'd stolen some food from the kitchen," I continue, reaching into the pockets of Madeleine's tunic and pulling out a few slices of apple wrapped in a piece of plastic. "Huh," I mutter, unable to hide my disappointment. "It's not much, is it? Still, I guess it'll have to do."

  "I don't understand," Dronigan replies.

  "It's food," I explain, taking a bite.

  "Why are you putting it inside your body?" he asks.

  "Because I'm starving," I continue, eating the whole slice. I look down at Madeleine, but she seems to have passed out; when I turn back to Dronigan, I realize that he's staring at the apple slices with a puzzled look on his face. "You want one?" I ask, holding a piece out toward him.

  "Should I put it inside my body?" he asks.

  "Kinda," I reply. "That's how eating works, right?"

  Slowly, and with a hint of fear in his eyes, he takes a slice and examines it for a moment, before slipping it between his lips. He holds it in his mouth for a few seconds, before pushing his fingers inside and sliding the slice back along his tongue until finally he swallows it with a look of utter shock on his face. Judging by his expression, you'd think he'd just done something completely new, something he'd never experienced before.

  "Nice?" I ask hesitantly.

  He stares at me.

  "I don't really have enough to share," I tell him. "What do you normally eat out here, anyway?"

  He tilts his head, as if he's experiencing something completely new and strange.

  "What's wrong?" I ask.

  "I ache... less," he says eventually.

  "No offense," I continue, "but you look like you could afford to gain a few pounds."

  "I don't understand."

  "You don't eat much, do you?" I wait for him to reply, and then finally an idea crosses my mind. It seems totally crazy, but then again, everything around this place feels crazy right now. "You do eat, right?" I ask. "I mean, you do understand what eating is, don't you?"

  "I ache all the time," he replies.

  "You're hungry," I continue. "That's what the ache is. You've been out here all this time, and... Has no-one ever taught you how to eat?"

  Reaching down, he scoops up some dirt and - before I can stop him - he drops it into his mouth and swallows. "I ache less," he says after a moment, as if this is some huge revelation.

  "I don't think dirt's so good for you," I tell him, pushing away a second handful of dirt before he can put it into his mouth. "There are other things you can eat, though. If you really want to try, I can show you. I can help you, but you have to promise that you'll let us go. We don't have much time, and I need to get going before the asylum sends people to track me down."

  "I wish to have more," he says, reaching out and trying to grab the apple slices from my hand. When I move them away, he tries again, and finally I get to my feet and take a step back.

  "There has to be food around here somewhere," I tell him. "You need to learn what you can eat, and what you can't. I'm not much of an expert, but..." Looking around, I realize that the whole forest seems to be completely dead; nothing's moving, and I don't see signs of anything growing either.

  "I shall eat everything," Dronigan replies, grabbing Madeleine's arm an
d lifting it toward his face. Before I can stop him, he takes a bite and rips away a chunk of flesh. "This is warm," he continues, with blood dribbling down his chin. "I think this might be better than dirt."

  "Stop," I say firmly, grabbing Madeleine's arm and resting it on her belly. "This is crazy, okay? You have to leave the forest, Dronigan. You have to go somewhere else, somewhere there's actual food you can eat. You can't sit around here forever and just eat dirt."

  "But I'm hungry," he replies, grabbing my arm before I pull away; his fingernails scratch my skin, and I have to push him away as he tries yet again to get hold of me. "Stop it!" I say firmly.

  "I need to eat," he replies.

  "Not me," I tell him. "You can't eat me."

  He stares at me.

  "Do you understand?" I ask.

  "You said my name," he replies.

  "No," I reply, before suddenly realizing that he's right: I did say his name. "That doesn't mean anything," I continue. "Please, just let me go..."

  "The forest is my home," he says calmly. "I can never leave it, just as you can never leave your home."

  "I've already left my home," I tell him. "I'm trying to get back there."

  "I can take you back," he replies.

  "I wish I believed you."

  "It's true," he continues. "I do not wish to leave the forest, but I have the ability to send you home. I was wrong to make you stay here with me. I can send both of you home." Looking down at Madeleine for a moment, he reaches out and brushes a finger against her eyes, causing her to fall asleep. "I cannot restore her youth," he says, "but I feel she will find a way to do that for herself."

  "We can make our own way home," I reply, staring at him before suddenly looking down and realizing that Madeleine has disappeared. "Where did she go?" I ask.

  "I sent her home," he says calmly. "In sleep. When she wakes up, she'll find that she's back where she wanted to be. I hope she'll be happy. You seemed so certain that she wanted to go back."