A Turn of Tides
Page 11A hospital, on the other hand, would have sick people.
Perhaps even terminally ill people.
People who would do anything to be given another chance at life.
I still didn’t know all the symptoms that would come with being a half-vampire.
But Jeramiah had said that their lives are preserved as vampires’ are.
Whether that life would be worth living was another matter entirely.
But I felt a strong sense of wanting to take someone who had already given up on life.
It would make the act I was about to commit feel at least a little less monstrous.
So I began heading in the direction the sign was pointing.
I sped up to a run, following sign after sign, until I eventually found myself standing at the foot of a tall, glass-windowed building.
This was it.
I was grateful that I’d had the presence of mind to change into clean clothes back in the submarine.
Going in covered in blood would have made me look more like a patient or a serial killer than a visitor.
Taking a deep breath, I strode through the doors.
Fluorescent lighting beat down on me as I walked up to the reception desk.
Two dark-skinned women sat behind it, filling out medical forms.
One of them looked up at me and spoke in Spanish.
“How can I help?” I felt grateful for the Spanish I’d been taught in school.
“May I have a floor plan, please?” She reached into a drawer and handed me one.
“Are you here to visit someone?” she asked.
I stepped back and began to study the map.
My eyes settled on the plan of the top floor—for long-stay patients, according to a helpful note.
I didn’t have time to figure out how to get there legitimately.
My body was still an alien to me, and for all I knew it could suddenly decide that it was thirsting for blood again.
I had to make this quick.
I tucked the leaflet into my shirt pocket and walked back out of the exit.
Staring upward, I began to circle the building.
It was almost completely sheer except for narrow ledges sticking out beneath each row of windows.
I finished scoping the building and decided that climbing up the back would garner less attention.
Tightening my belt around my waist and pulling my hood over my head, I leapt up and began to climb.
I’d thought that even as a vampire it would be a challenge.
So I was shocked to leap from one ledge to the next as though I’d done it a thousand times before.
As I reached the top level, I dared look down for a second.
My stomach flipped.
I wasn’t sure that even I would survive that fall if I didn’t land just right.
I forced my focus back on the task at hand.
Since none of the windows were open, I climbed onto the roof.
Less attention would be drawn to a door being forced open right at the top of the building than a whole window smashing open.
Possibly into an operating room… I lifted myself onto the roof and looked around.
I approached it and pulled at the handle.
It was locked, as expected.
Gripping the handle, the metal crushing beneath my fingers, I yanked it off.
That would draw less attention than kicking the door down.
I pushed the door open to find myself at the top of a dark staircase.
Keeping the hood of my cloak over my face, I closed the door again before hurtling down the steps.
Light streamed through a pair of glass doors as I reached the level beneath.
I pushed it open to find myself in some kind of storage room.
There were shelves upon shelves of medical equipment.
I crossed the floor and reached the door.
Opening it led me to another storage room.
I was about to open the door when my eyes caught sight of a pile of white overalls and visitor cards.
I put an overall over me and attached a visitor card around my neck.
Perfect.
When I opened the door, the scent of human blood was stronger.
Nurses and doctors passed through the corridor.
I waited until they’d disappeared before stepping out.
I kept my eyes fixed on the floor as I tried to walk at the speed a human would.
I didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone.
The scent of human blood was filling my nostrils—both sweet, healthy blood and also a more sickly, stale scent of dying blood.
The latter was the type I needed.
One that wouldn’t be so appealing.
I would have a better chance of not killing the human if his or her blood tasted disgusting.
I walked in and out of rooms, looking for a bed that had few people around it and was almost empty.
As it turned out, my victim found me.
As I was walking along a particularly empty-looking ward, plastic curtains rustled in the bed a few yards to my right.
I whirled around to see curious eyes looking at me, an emaciated hand holding open the curtains.
It was a young man.
It was hard to tell his age—he looked so thin and sickly.
But I guessed he was no older than his mid-twenties.
“Hey,” he called out in a frail voice.
I approached him cautiously, raising a brow.
His face contorted with pain.
“I need help.” I was surprised that he spoke to me in English.
“What’s wrong?” I said, stopping at the end of his bed.