It’S in the Blood: Four Blood-Drenched Tales

By Martin E. Patterson

The doctorate staff at Lincoln County Hospital for the criminally insane is in for a treat when they encounter an unusual patient who claims to have been bitten by a vampire. Join the men and women at Lincoln County Hospital as they scramble to quarantine what they conceive as an infectious disease running amok throughout the hospital. As the body count mounts, they finally realize the horrible truth, but the epidemic has already spread out of control putting their very lives at stake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503560017

Martin E. Patterson

From his basement lair located in a small town in Ohio, Martin Patterson enjoys writing horror and suspense. It’s in the Blood is his third book with another one in the works. He has at least two dozen original short stories and is working on several more.

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Copyright © 2015 by Martin E. Patterson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 04/13/2015

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CONTENTS

Just A Disorder

Night Of The Goblin

Last Man

Lawman

Just A Disorder

A t the Lincoln County Hospital for the criminally insane, Drs. Daniel Lukemire and Sheri Zimmerman stood next to each other and observed the patient in room 13B.

What do you make of that, Doctor? Dr. Lukemire asked his counterpart.

The brown-eyed auburn-haired Dr. Zimmerman stared at the drooling pale man harnessed in a leather restraint. She didn’t know much about him, except he was found cutting his arms and stomach with a razor, letting the blood drip in a coffee cup and then drinking it. He had to be restrained to keep him from biting himself. Finally, she answered her male colleague.

You tell me, Daniel. You’re the one monitoring his progress.

Actually, answered the aging Dr. Lukemire, he hasn’t made any progress at all. He claims to have been bitten by a vampire, and he’ll change into one himself in a matter of days. He won’t eat or drink—other than blood, of course—and he has amazing strength for an old man. Well, not as old as me but still . . .

How long has he been in isolation?

Two days. Police found him in Jacob’s Park. Before he began to carve himself up, it looked as if he was drinking the blood of pigeons, you know, the white ones you always see milling around people in the park.

Can he talk?

Yes. I talked to him earlier in the day. He claims to be tormented by a dark companion—his words, not mine. According to him, the dark companion forces him to drink blood, which is going to make him kill people and drink their blood.

Has he any relatives that we can contact?

The police are still looking, but so far, nothing.

Sheri took a deep breath and moved closer to the observation window. The name on the patient clipboard said, Mason Bryant. Six feet tall, 170 pounds, blue eyes, and brown hair. Not unlike her own father who she adored. Mr. Bryant was dressed in a shabby plaid shirt, blue jeans, and no shoes. They probably removed his shoes when he was admitted, Sheri thought.

Mind if I have a crack at him? Sheri asked.

Daniel pushed his fingers through graying hair. You can not only have a crack at him. The man upstairs said you can help me make a diagnosis.

Her workload was full, but the chance to diagnose Mason Bryant was getting very tempting. The head orderly named Stanley was standing nearby in case the doctors needed anything. She asked Stanley to open the door to the room. As she entered, she was assaulted by an offensive odor like spoiled hamburger. Disgusted, she thought, Shit. Couldn’t they have cleaned him up? The man’s eyes were bloodshot, and his mouth drooled saliva.

Mr. Bryant? Sheri asked. I’m Dr. Zimmerman. How are you today?

The man stared at her intently, a look of despair etched across his face. I’m not good, Doctor, he slobbered. I’m embarrassed that a young lady such as yourself has to see me like this. Pardon my dribbling mouth, but you see, I can’t move my arms to wipe away the spit. Do you mind wiping my mouth? It’s quite annoying.

Sheri really didn’t want to go near the man, but she was still a doctor, and he was in restraints. Okay, Mr. Bryant. Before she could go out the door, Stanley was beside her with a clean towel.

I’ll do it, Stanley said. He walked over and roughly wiped the drool from the man’s mouth. I’ll be right outside if you need me, Doctor.

Thanks, Stanley. She then focused her attention on the patient. Looking at the clipboard she held, she said, Mason Bryant. May I call you Mason?

Call me Mason if you want, Doc. I don’t know what you’ll want to call me in a few days.

Why? she asked. What’s going to happen in a few days?

Like I told the rest of you quacks, I’ve been bitten! Another day, two at the most, I’ll die and become a vampire, just like the one who bit me.

Sheri did notice two puncture wounds on his throat, which was no doubt self-inflicted. The man was showing a classic example of the beginning of DID— dissociative identity disorder. The manifestation of another personality was the belief that he would become a vampire in two days. That would be personality number 3. He’d already shown signs of a second personality, which was the one Sheri was talking to now. The first personality was, according to Daniel, completely incoherent.

I’m dying, Doctor, Mason continued. After my death, it’ll be but hours before I come back to drink the delicious blood of the living.

If you are not yet a vampire, Mason, then why do you already want to drink blood?

Because I like it! Mason snapped. Ahhhh, damn, it hurts!

What hurts, Mason?

My body is on fire. Shit. Help me, Doc!

Stanley, will you come in here, please? Sheri asked.

Yes, Doctor?

Give Mr. Bryant 2 mg of lorazepam, see if that don’t quiet him down some.

You got it! Stanley replied. He then went to requisition the drug from the hospital pharmacy.

As Sheri waited for Stanley’s return, she figured she’d try a few more questions regarding his supposed transformation. Try and calm down, Mason. I need to know more about the dark companion. Is he with you all the time? Is he with you now?

Yes, damn it. He’s with me now, burning me! Christ. Make him stop, Doc!

Finally, Stanley returned with the medicine where he and two more orderlies wrestled Mason to the ground and administered the drug through a syringe injection.

After a few minutes, Sheri asked Mason if he was feeling any better.

Yes, Doctor, I feel better, but I don’t think it’s going to help Mason much.

Oh. This isn’t Mason I’m talking to? Sheri asked.

No! This is the guy who’s going to rip your throat out and guzzle your blood. It will be just you and me, Doctor. You and me!

Sheri ignored the threat. So what should I call you? What name do you go by?

I have many names—Samuel, Isaac. They will do as well as any, if you need to call me anything.

I’ll ask you the same question I asked Mason. What will happen in a few days that Mason dreaded so much?

Mason and I will become one—a perfect being. My power will be infinite, and you, Sheri, will become mine for eternity.

Now how did he know my name? Sheri wondered. Could he have heard it through the open doorway? That must be it. Dr. Lukemire did call me by name in the hall, didn’t he? She couldn’t remember. On second thought, he called me doctor, not Sheri. Now that was creepy. How do you plan to get loose from the restraints with your so-called new power?

He glared at her with deep red eyes. It looked to Sheri that the blood vessels in his eyes had ruptured.

Enough of your questions, bitch! Mason has something he wants to say. His eyes suddenly cleared, and his rough facial features seemed to smooth out.

Please don’t provoke him, Mason pleaded. He will only hurt me. Within hours, I’ll be his forever. Can’t you do something, can’t you believe me, or at least pretend to believe?

I believe, Sheri added, "that you believe in what’s taking place inside your own mind. It’s an illusion, Mason, created by your subconscious to counter some past misdeed. It’s my and Dr. Lukemire’s job to find out what factors are involved and what facts are relevant and what are not. I know it’s hard to comprehend in such a short time, but we need to shock you, so to speak, back into reality."

Mason looked confused. He finally spoke as if he hadn’t heard a word. Promise me one thing, Doctor. If anything at all, please grant me one request. Give me the chance to prove I’m right.

Sheri took a deep breath and let it out slow. She looked at her watch. It was getting late, and she had other patients that needed attention. What’s your request, Mason? she asked.

After I die, I want you to leave me restrained and locked in this room. Just for several hours, Doctor. Please! I don’t want to hurt anyone else.

But who have you hurt so far, except yourself and a couple of pigeons?

A look of immense despair crossed his face. I’ve… I’ve killed, Doctor. A man in an alley, off 39th Street. I drank his blood. I swear, Doctor, I didn’t know what I was doing, couldn’t help myself. The dark companion, the dark one, it took over my body with an overpowering urge to drink blood.

Sheri couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. The man should at least be vomiting up blood. The human body wasn’t well adapted for digesting blood, and depending on the time frame, he ran the risk of hemochromatosis, which is an iron overdose. He should have been physically sick by then.

Mason continued, And in another day, two at the most, the dark one will have consumed me—body and soul. Oh god. Help me! He began to cry.

It’s all right, Mason. We’re going to help you. With medication and therapy, we’ll . . .

I give up! Mason interrupted harshly. You people will know what I say is true when I come back and kill you all!

Sheri ignored the outburst. Excuse me, Mason. I have other patients to attend to, but I’ll be back after my rounds. With that said, she exited the room and closed the door, which locked automatically.

Well, what do you think, Sheri? asked Dr. Lukemire.

It’s obvious he has multiple personalities and DID, if my guess is right. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he has PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder.

I agree completely, Dr. Lukemire said. It matches my diagnosis exactly. I’ll write up a drug treatment schedule, and if you approve, we’ll start him on some lithium and perhaps 5 mg haloperidol, when needed, for his delusional, aggressive behavior. In the meantime, I’ll keep him mildly sedated. We’ll have to remove his restraints eventually, move him over to 13A where the cell is padded, so he won’t harm himself. Dr. Lukemire pushed his glasses up on his somewhat large nose, took another look at the babbling Mason Bryant through the observation window, and then closed the slot.

Daniel was quite taken with Mason Bryant, Sheri thought. And who could blame him? A man with multiple personalities, and a host of other rare disorders, including vampirism, was quite a prize. She supposed she’d better inform the police of Mason’s claim of murder in an alley off 39th Street.

Sheri’s normal rounds with her other patients were routine and somewhat boring. She found herself looking forward to a more productive session with Mason Bryant, at least productive in a professional sense.

When Sheri returned to room 13B several hours later, Mason had been moved to a padded cell in room 13A, where he was sedated and his restraints removed. Stanley, the head orderly, was sitting at his desk situated outside of room 13A. Only the most violent patients were housed on the second floor, where 13A was located.

Stanley was a handsome black-haired, brown-eyed African American who had proudly served twelve years at the Lincoln County Hospital for the criminally insane. He wore white hospital-issued pants and top and carried a wooden baton with handcuffs and a large key ring, which dangled a multitude of keys for various rooms and cabinets. Down the hall from Stanley’s desk was the security office where they carried firearms.

Hi, Stanley.

Oh hi, Dr. Zimmerman.

How’s our boy this evening?

Not so good, I’m afraid. His blood pressure is low, his blood is count low, and his heartbeat is irregular. I was just about to call you.

Let’s have a look, shall we?

Whatever you say, Doctor. Stanley pushed an intercom button and summoned two more orderlies from the security office. Then he sifted through a set of keys until he found the one for room 13A. After looking briefly through the observation window, he put the key in the lock and swung open the door.

Mason Bryant lay in a fetal position on the padded floor. There was what looked like to Sheri vomit and urine stains on the floor around him.

Stay here, Doctor, Stanley said. The three orderlies surrounded the prone man. Okay, Mr. Bryant. Stanley bent down and slipped a pair of handcuffs over Mason’s wrist then cuffed his hands behind his back.

Turn him over, Stanley, Sheri asked politely.

Stanley grabbed the man by the arm and rolled him over face up. Mason’s red eyes were open. He’s not breathing, Doctor.

Sheri went to Mason’s side, checked his heart with her stethoscope, and then began CPR. Get a crash cart in here, Stanley, Sheri ordered calmly.

A crash cart and two nurses were there within minutes, but their efforts to revive him failed. Mason Bryant was dead.

Sheri experienced a wave of disappointment. Mason was an once-in-a-lifetime patient. Her chances of studying him and treating him were lost. She then remembered Mason’s request to remain in restraints after death for several hours. Before she knew it, Dr. Lukemire was at her side, ordering Stanley to remove the handcuffs.

Wait a minute, Daniel, Sheri said. Mr. Bryant had a last request to remain in restraints several hours after his death. I know it sounds silly, but what have we got to lose?

Dr. Lukemire’s concerned look turned into a frown. Keep him in restraints? That hardly seems necessary. It’s not as if he’s going anywhere, Sheri. And what happens if a relative suddenly shows up and we have a dead man in restraints?

Well, that would be hard to explain, Daniel. I have a gut feeling he has no relatives. He claims he’ll return as a vampire. Between you and me, we’ll just say it’s an experiment.

Dr. Lukemire thought for a minute but finally said, Okay. What have we got to lose? Stanley, will you kindly finish removing the handcuffs and place Mr. Bryant in leather restraints? He looked at Sheri and then back at Stanley. And put his feet in an ankle bracelet, he added. That’ll keep the vampire at bay, eh, Sheri?

Sheri did have to admit it was a ridiculous move.

After Mason Bryant was put in restraints, his feet were shackled and the door to his room locked.

What time should we reopen the room and take the man down to the basement where we can perform a proper autopsy, Sheri? Dr. Lukemire asked. Even in death, the man makes an interesting subject.

Let’s say tomorrow morning at the start of our shift.

Sounds good to me. I’m getting out of here. I’m beat. See you in the morning, Sheri.

Okay, Daniel, good night. She was also beat as Daniel had put it. One more patient to see, then she would head home. And that’s just what she did.

Later that night, Dr. Sheri Zimmerman lay in bed wide awake. She just couldn’t get her mind off work, couldn’t get her mind off Mason Bryant. She had to admit, even though he was dead, she did look forward to an autopsy to see what made the man tick.

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of Mason Bryant. He was standing over her bed, staring down at her with white vacant eyes. His mouth drooled saliva from pale swollen lips. She was paralyzed. She couldn’t move. Then she realized to her horror that he was dead, a walking corpse. He was smiling, reaching down to her, fondling her breast. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. The grinning corpse was bending down. God, no! Suddenly, his horrid lips were pressed tight against hers, the smell of his breath like roadkill on a hot summer’s day. The taste of his spit-filled mouth caused her to gag and choke. She wanted to shriek, but when she opened her mouth for one last try, his black tongue darted down her throat. She coughed and strangled on her own bile. He was killing her with his vile embrace. Finally, she awoke screaming in her own bed, the alarm clock chirping on the nightstand. Quickly, she found the lamp and turned it on, immediately scanning the room for any sign of the hideous creature. It was a fucking dream, she thought shakily. Oh shit. She was going to be sick.

Jumping from the bed, she ran to the bathroom and vomited in the toilet. She hadn’t had much of a dinner, and there was very little undigested food in her stomach, mostly yellow bile. After her sickening bout, she felt better. Wow! What a nightmare.

Walking back to the bedroom, the alarm was still chirping at the 5:00 AM mark. She turned it off and then hopped in the shower. When she came out of the shower to dry off is when she got the call. It was Stanley from the hospital. Didn’t that man ever go home? She wondered briefly.

Stanley asked her to come to the hospital at the earliest opportunity. There was something she had to see for herself. Dr. Lukemire had already been notified and was on his way.

She pushed the end call button on her cell phone, wondering what the hell was that all about. She hoped it wasn’t Marie Stapleton again with the fake heart attack, or maybe her heart finally stopped beating. Yes, that could be it or Mason. The nightmare she had the night before was still vivid in her mind.

The drive to the hospital was short, and in a matter of minutes after parking her car, she was standing in front of room 13A. Her worst fears had come true. She really had never admitted to herself, but the thought of a reanimated Mason was intriguing. And to her horror, she stared at Mason Bryant standing, still shackled and restrained but apparently alive and well. She had checked him herself. He was positively dead. That would never do. There was definitely a scientific explanation for his miraculous recovery. She asked Stanley where Dr. Lukemire was, and he said he was stuck in traffic—a wreck or something.

First things first, she thought excitedly.

Stanley, could you open the door, please?

You want me to sedate him, Doctor?

No, not yet. I want him to be able to talk coherently. Just stand by if you please.

Okay, Doctor, you’re the boss.

Stanley opened the door, and Sheri walked in. The room was freezing. Was there something wrong with the heat? Stanley, is there any way to warm it up in here?

Don’t think so, Doctor. Set at seventy-five degrees in here. It’s that damn corpse over there.

Sheri was just about to say Don’t be ridiculous until she took a good look at Mason Bryant. He was hideous. His long hair hung limp and greasy. His eyes were bulging and so red it looked as if someone had colored them with a magic marker. The face was pale and sunken onto the bone like hot wax. She looked down at his knobby knuckles and sharp fingernails. That was puzzling. And what was more puzzling was the two long pointed teeth that could easily be seen in his smiling mouth. That was fantastic. He believed himself to be a vampire so completely he actually grew fangs. What other explanation could there be? Mind over matter. Oh, she had to talk to that patient. By the time she was done, she’d be writing a lengthy magazine article on the subject.

Mason? she asked. Can you hear me?

I can hear you, Doc.

So I see you’ve finally completed your transformation into a vampire. Should I call you Mason, or do you have another name you prefer?

Mason is fine, Doc. He smiled.

Those red eyes, Sheri thought, so intense, strangely hypnotic.

Come to me, Sheri, she heard Mason’s voice inside her head say.

That voice, so soothing.

Everything will be all right if you loosen the straps.

She felt lightheaded like she was floating, drifting toward the soothing voice.

Remove the restraints, my love. Then we’ll be together.

Yes, everything will be all right if she just obeyed that gentle command.

Doctor! Stanley cried.

Sheri felt herself being lifted and realized she was being carried. Her mind quickly recovered as Stanley set her down in the hallway.

My god, Dr. Zimmerman. You were about to release the patient. What happened in there?

I’m not sure. Her mind was still a little foggy, but she was starting to remember. I was talking to Mason… He must have hypnotized me in some way. That could be the only explanation. But how? One minute I was talking to him, and the next minute… I don’t know. She could hear Mason raging from inside his padded cell.

You better not go in there by yourself again, Dr. Zimmerman, Stanley said.

No, I suppose I shouldn’t, but I need to go back in, Stanley. I can’t let him intimidate me. It’s not good for a doctor-patient relationship. You come with me, Stanley. I have other questions I want to ask Mr. Bryant.

With Stanley by her side, she immediately went back into the cell. The patient was throwing a tantrum.

You! he bellowed. He glared at Stanley with utter hatred.

Calm down, Mason, or we’ll have to give you a sedative. Do you want that?

Do what you want, Doctor. It’ll have no effect on me.

You sure about that? Sheri asked.

Quite, he answered.

I say give him 10 mg of ziprasidone just to shut him up, Stanley said.

My, my, Stanley. Aren’t you the tough one? Mason said. Take that dog chain off my feet, and we’ll see who’s tough.

Mason, Sheri interrupted, do you have any relatives you want us to contact—wife, daughter perhaps?

There’s only you and me, Sheri. We’ll be together soon enough. He smiled.

How do you propose to do that? You can’t get out of the restraints, and if you were released, you’d still be trapped inside the cell.

I have to go to the bathroom, he suddenly said.

He’s lying, Doctor! Stanley said.

Now that was interesting, she thought. I didn’t know vampires used the facilities, Mason, she said.

Mason’s smile turned into an ugly frown. You got me on that one, Doctor. You know, Doctor, I could escape these restraints anytime I choose. And then we’d be together, Sheri.

The guy was starting to give Sheri the creeps. She had to admit the man didn’t even look human and he stunk, not counting his above-average talent for hypnosis. Could he really be… Stop it. Don’t be ridiculous, she thought to herself.

Are you a vampire? came a voice from behind them. It was Dr. Lukemire.

Well, if it isn’t that good, Dr. Lukemire, or should I call you Daniel? And to answer your question, yes, I am a vampire but not of my own choosing.

If you were a real vampire, wouldn’t you have enormous strength? Wouldn’t you be able to tear the harness off your body and break the ankle chain?

As I told Dr. Zimmerman earlier, I can release myself from the bonds anytime I choose.

What are you waiting for?

Night!

You’re waiting until evening to escape?

To drink!

To drink blood?

By nightfall, my craving for blood will be uncontrollable. And you’re going to be first, Daniel.

Daniel raised his eyebrows. My, you must be a very powerful vampire to get loose from them restraints and then drink my blood—kill me. Daniel smiled at the patient in 13A as if he was a misguided child. To tell you the truth, Mason, you’re never getting out of here until you are cured of your affliction.

Mason began to laugh—a chuckle at first then a wholehearted deep laugh. The two doctors glanced at each other.

Daniel tried to ignore the laugh and continued with his questioning. Is there anything to prove you are a vampire? Show me your strength.

Look into my eyes, Doctor.

Them eyes did have sort of a calming effect, Daniel thought. Maybe I shouldn’t stare at his… eyes… too deeply.

Sheri watched, transfixed. Dr. Lukemire is a highly trained psychiatrist. It would be interesting to see what will happen next. For the next minute, the three orderlies and Sheri watched in silence as Dr. Lukemire took a deep breath, turned to Stanley, and began to fumble at the keys on Stanley’s waist.

What the hell are you doing, Doctor? Stanley cried.

Sheri stepped back and watched, amazed at what Daniel was attempting. What started as a clumsy attempt to get the keys turned into a downright struggle. The other two orderlies had to drag Daniel out into the hall, where the blank look on his face finally turned to recognition.

Stanley, I don’t want anyone in room 13A with less than three orderlies, Sheri ordered. Is that clear?

Crystal clear, Doctor.

That was amazing, Sheri thought. Daniel, are you okay?

Yeah, I guess so. What the hell happened?

You tried to get Stanley’s keys from his belt. We had to move you out into the hall before you gained your senses. That was the most spectacular display of hypnosis I’ve ever seen!

Come to me, Sheri came a voice from inside her head. Oh shit! He’s trying to get inside my mind, Daniel! Suddenly, the voice was gone. What do we do now? Sheri asked. There’s no apparent defense against his hypnosis.

These doctors, Stanley thought, they sometimes can’t see what’s in front of their faces. Just don’t look at his eyes, Stanley suggested. That’s the best defense against the creature.

Sheri thought for a minute. He tried to get into my mind when I was out in the hall. I say once he penetrates the mind, he gets a foothold, meaning it gets easier for him to gain access. We have to be careful, Daniel.

I’ll say. This is good stuff, Sheri. The best we ever had or ever hope to have. Have the cameras been recording all this, Stanley?

Most certainly, Doctor.

Sheri, we both have other patients that depend on us. I say we make our rounds and meet back here to question our subject further.

Sounds like a plan to me, Sheri said.

As they left to make their rounds, Stanley locked the door and watched the patient through the observation window. The patient was sitting on the padded floor. Mason no longer requested a bathroom break. The creature in room 13A was not human, Stanley thought. He always stayed over a couple of hours into the night shift to make sure the orderlies he supervised were clear about their duties. Today he wished he could be far away when night approaches. The damn guy gave him the willies. Unfortunately, his duties called for him to be there in case the good doctors needed him. Mason was a unique specimen to them—the subject of a bestselling magazine article or, better yet, a book. To Stanley, the guy was what he said he was—a vampire. He dreaded what the coming night had to offer. He dreaded Mason Bryant.

It was almost dark when Sheri and Daniel returned to room 13A. Stanley was waiting for them.

Stanley looked nervous, Sheri thought. Hell, they all were. The patient, Mason Bryant, was ranting about blood. Sheri realized she had changed her mind about the questioning at that late hour. She would prefer to be anywhere but there, at least until daylight. But she was a trained psychiatrist, a professional. The subject was special. There was no doubt about that. A vampire in the mythical sense, he wasn’t.

Mason looked like a standing corpse, Stanley thought.

Let me out of here, Stanley! You do, and I’ll let you live! Mason cried.

I don’t think this is a good time to question him, Daniel said. He’s too agitated. Stanley, give our patient 10 mg of haloperidol. Let’s calm him down.

Stanley left to get the medicine and was back in a few minutes. He and three other orderlies tackled the struggling Mason to the floor and administered the medication through a syringe. He immediately calmed down.

Now let’s have a talk with him, Daniel said.

Sheri and the five men entered room 13A. Mason seemed to be resting.

Mason? Sheri asked. Are you with us?

Yes, Doctor, I’m here.

It’s almost dark. Are you craving blood?

More than anything you could imagine. He raised his head and smiled.

He really didn’t look doped up to Sheri. Did they give him enough?

As if Mason had read her mind, he said, It doesn’t matter how much you give me, Sheri. It will have no effect.

Stanley, give him another 5 mg, Sheri ordered.

Right you are, Doctor. This time, Mason didn’t struggle.

After the shot was given, the doctors were again astonished that Mason could still function normally, at least as normally as Mason the vampire could. The six of them were inside room 13A. The two doctors were studying charts and graphs on their clipboards, making occasional notations, when Mason spoke up. It’s time, Dr. Lukemire.

Daniel took a step back. Time? Time for what?

Time for me to drink your blood, time to give you a new life, time for you to die!

Daniel smiled. How do you propose to do that? Daniel said calmly. You’re in restraints.

Not for long, Doctor. Standing up straight, Mason closed his eyes. At first, there was nothing, and then they all could hear the popping of the thick leather in the straps as it started to stretch. They began backing toward the door as the first strap that was attached in the back snapped. Quickly crowding through the door, they stared in horror through the observation window as the final two straps snapped. The door to the room was slammed shut and secured.

Christ in heaven. He’s going to get me! Daniel hollered.

He’ll never get through that door, Daniel, Sheri cried.

I suggest you two come with me, Stanley said. We’ll lock you in the holding cell. You should be safe there.

Come on, Daniel. Let’s go!

Daniel was paralyzed. He couldn’t move as he witnessed Mason pulling at the stainless steel ankle chain that held his feet until it too snapped. Finally, Daniel ran screaming down the hall toward the elevator that led to the hospital exit one floor below.

Come back, Daniel! Sheri cried.

Stanley led Sheri to the holding cell and locked her in. I’ll be back, Dr. Zimmerman. Then he ran back down the hall to room 13A. One of the other orderlies had already summoned security. Two of the security agents stood with guns drawn.

Come now, Stanley, came Mason’s voice from the speakers next to the observation window. Let me out, and I’ll let you live. If I have to break the door down, I’m going to be pissed.

I can’t do that, Mr. Bryant, Stanley said. I’ll lose my job. Now you stay put, and nobody will get hurt.

You bring me what I want, and I’ll stay put. I need blood, Stanley. Bring me blood, or so help me. I’ll tear this hospital apart and then take what blood I need!

Give me five minutes, Mr. Bryant, and I’ll see what I can do.

Better hurry, Stanley. Time’s a wasting.

Stanley had no intention of bringing blood to a mental patient, but it did give him time to contact the local police, just in case. Just around the corner from room 13A, he made the call. Suddenly, Mason’s voice was in his head. I heard that, Stanley.

What? Could he know already? Stanley ran back to the cell in time to see Mason pushing on the door.

You dare to defy me, Stanley. You tried to trick me, and now you’re going to pay. Mason went to the other side of the cell and made a run at the padded steel door. The impact was loud and very powerful, but the door held steady. Mason did a second run, then a third. The men stared in terror as the rivets holding the hinges in place began to loosen.

Shit, man, he’s going to break down the door, one of the orderlies said to Stanley. There were now three security men with guns pointed at the door. Stanley prayed the guns could kill the creature.

The men began to back away from the door as the loose rivets went rolling across the tiled floor. Another impact and the hinges were broken. The door began to buckle.

Shoot that thing when you get a shot, Stanley ordered security. At that second, the door flew off the frame and into the hall, knocking two orderlies onto the floor. Mason stepped from the doorway as security let loose with a barrage of bullets, striking Mason in the chest, legs, and stomach. Mason screamed and fell onto the floor.

They stared at the limp form of Mason as they reloaded their weapons. I don’t think he’ll be getting up from that, said one of the men confidently.

Stanley wasn’t sure of anything at that point. Turn him over, Steward, Stanley ordered.

Why do I have to turn him over, man? He might not be dead.

He’s dead! said the confident security man named Jeff. Nobody can live through that. Then he walked a few steps and stood over the body of Mason Bryant. Bending down, he grabbed the smelly man by his clothes and rolled him over. A hand suddenly shot up and gripped Jeff’s neck. Mason began to laugh.

I told you, Stanley, said the gravelly voice. I’m going to kill you all, but first, I have to drink. The man named Jeff grunted when Mason bit down on his throat, but he could not scream because of the powerful hold Mason had on his neck.

Christ. Do something. It’s got Jeff!

Blast it! Stanley cried.

We can’t. Jeff’s in the way!

The slurping and sucking sounds were loud as his throat was torn apart in a blood frenzy. Blood gushed from a gaping hole in his tender neck tissues.

Mason! Stanley yelled. Stop it! But Mason was just getting started.

Mason stood with the body of Jeff in front of him. What a brave bunch you are, he yelled as he threw Jeff’s lifeless body against the concrete wall. Before the men could began firing again, Mason snatched a security man as he retreated toward one of the cells, bit deep into the back of his neck, and then came away with a mouthful of bloody skin and bony tendons. The man’s screams echoed through the drafty corridor as Mason sucked down the flowing blood. While Mason was busy murdering the security man, the rest of the men ran in the opposite direction, locking themselves in the nearest cell.

Stanley couldn’t believe what was happening. He stared in disbelief when his men ran like rabbits down the hall and into one of the cells. And for his own safety, he too had to run back to where he had left Dr. Zimmerman and locked himself in with her.

Stanley, what’s going on?

Quiet, Doctor. Mason’s on the loose. If we’re quiet, he might pass us by. He has already promised to kill me, Doctor. We must be quiet before he gets close.

Suddenly, there was banging on the door. I know you’re in there, Stanley. And you too, Sheri, my love. Where’s Dr. Lukemire? Ran like a coward I suppose. I’m going to get the good doctor, Sheri, and then I’ll be back for you. As far as I’m concerned, Stanley, you’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet.

Gunshots suddenly erupted from the corridor as Mason screamed in rage. The police must be there, Stanley thought hopefully.

After several minutes, they heard voices from the hallway. Everything had seemed to quiet down as Stanley slowly opened the door with a key from within. The police officers were everywhere and immediately ushered the couple downstairs to the lobby. Mason had escaped.

*     *     *

Dr. Daniel Lukemire paced the living room of his home. What had he done? He panicked, ran out on them. How could he ever face his colleagues again? If they were still alive. Perhaps Mason wasn’t able to escape room 13A. Perhaps Mason had done one of his hypnotizing tricks on Daniel and what he saw didn’t really happen. Daniel will be the laughing stock of the hospital. No, he was just fooling himself. It really did happen, and Daniel had run like a coward. But at least he was a live coward.

Daniel walked to the front window and looked out into the darkness. It was a wooded lot his house was built on, which made him feel vulnerable. It was late February, and the wind was still brisk and cold. He went to the cabinet by the fireplace and fixed himself a scotch and water. His wife worked the day shift at the local high school and should have been home by then. She must have worked late.

After his second scotch, he felt better. He was worrying over nothing, worrying over… Suddenly, his cell phone rang. Quickly, he pressed the green button. Hello. This is Dr. Lukemire. Yes, Sheri, calm down. Daniel listened intently as Sheri described the night’s events. It was horrific. After Sheri had hung up the phone, Daniel thought about what was said. Daniel was right in running! Mason would have fulfilled his promise and killed him first.

He was on his third drink when he heard a noise coming from the basement. With shaking hand, he set the empty glass down. Was Carmen his wife home? Had she been there all along, and he didn’t know it? Never thought to check the garage for her car.

Daniel walked into the hall, through the laundry room, and into the four-car garage. Her car was still there. Knowing Mason was on the loose was not helping his nerves any as he began a search of the house. Perhaps she was taking a nap or straightening up the basement. Or perhaps she was lying dead, drained of blood, with Mason waiting beside her cooling corpse.

He opened the basement door and peered down—nothing but darkness. Carmen, are you down there? Something wasn’t right. Daniel walked briskly to his study, opened a drawer to his desk, and retrieved a 9 mm pistol. According to Sheri, bullets wouldn’t stop Mason but would sure hurt him.

Walking back into the living room, he heard a noise upstairs. He began a slow ascent of the stairs. At the top of the stairs, he listened. Despite the coolness of the house, he began a nervous sweat. Mason was hiding up there, waiting to get him. Daniel could almost smell him. Then he heard a loud noise from the bedroom as if someone had knocked something over. He wiped the sweat from his eyes.

I know you’re up there, Mason! he bellowed. Come and get me! Suddenly, footsteps coming in his direction, someone was walking fast through the bedroom. He took a firing stance, his gun pointed at the bedroom door. Come on, you bastard, he thought frantically. Come and get it! A figure appeared at the door. Mason! He fired twice at the figure in the dim light, striking the left nipple and inner shoulder. His wife screamed and clutched at two bloody holes in her chest. She took a couple of steps toward Daniel and then fell onto the floor—dead.

The news of the death of Daniel’s wife and his subsequent arrest traveled fast throughout the hospital. The news took the saddened Sheri by surprise. How could such a thing happen? She had just spoken to Daniel a few hours before. Daniel would be greatly missed. His expertise was invaluable.

*     *     *

Jeff Turner was a loving family man until his tragic death at the hands of Mason Bryant—the vampire. The next night, his corpse lay on a steel slab in the hospital morgue. The security job he had taken so much pride in cost him his life. It wasn’t long into the night that his leg began to twitch then his hand. Finally, he sat up, his face a mask of surprise, with a hunger no human could know. There were vague memories of what had happened lurking in his blood-craved mind. He felt his neck, the one that had been torn open by sharp teeth. It had miraculously healed itself. Jeff felt strangely powerful, his senses acute. Sight, smell, taste, hearing—senses that were otherwise taken for granted were greatly increased. People were talking. Yes, he could hear them. They were on the other side of the wall, discussing an