A Vampire’s Guide to History: Chapter Five [WIP]

The hospital wasn’t as quiet as Patrick had hoped. They chose the Emergency entrance thinking it might be their best bet at accessing other areas of the hospital but this immediately proved impossible. When Patrick tried to sidle closer to the doors leading into an off limits corridor, the nurse behind the counter clocked him and made him stop with one look. She didn’t even have to tell him off. He simply sidled back to his seat next to Gavin.

”Right,” Patrick said. ”I guess I’ll have to see a doctor.”

Gavin nodded slowly. ”Are you going to ask for blood?”

Patrick nodded slowly as well, then said, ”No. I’m going to fake anemia.”

Gavin smirked.

They shared a look, then both got to their feet. Patrick stood stock still for a breath before he sagged to the floor, Gavin giving a shout in alarm. It took the medical staff less than ten seconds to be swarming around them, checking Patrick for a pulse, yelling that there wasn’t one. Patrick opened his eyes despite himself, finding Gavin’s and giving him look because he didn’t think this through at all.

”It’s weak!” one of the nurses yelled. ”Let’s move!”

There was a flurry of activity around him as he was lifted onto a gurney. Someone asked Gavin what the patient’s name was and Gavin offered his real one, which was a bummer. Patrick didn’t know how to wake up without it becoming awkward but figured getting taken into a hospital room and examined by medical staff trained to detect death in the human body went completely against the one instruction his maker had left him: Don’t tell anyone you’re a vampire.

Did he really still have a pulse? Did vampire’s have a pulse? Or was this why he didn’t have the hunger for blood? Because he hadn’t died yet. How long would it take? Why couldn’t Victor have left a more detailed note and saved him all this confusion? He didn’t feel dead. He didn’t feel like anything had changed inside of him at all but he hadn’t felt his heart when he’d pressed against the spot. Was that common? It could have been psychosomatic, him expecting there to be no heartbeat and so he couldn’t feel it.

Fuck.

Should he get off the gurney? If he tried they’d be able to hold him down and might sedate him. He wasn’t strong or powerful. He wasn’t some immortal beast, he was just him. What had he been thinking coming here. The place smelled sterile and diseased all at the same time. He shouldn’t have come here.

”I think I need some blood!” he blurted but was met with sympathetic looks and exchanged glances that must be thrown around daily in a place where patients thought they could diagnose themselves as well as any medical professional could.

He could let up now that he’d started down this track. He was awake, he’d made that much clear. ”I’m serious,” he pleaded, ”I feel so faint. I’ve not had enough iron. I think I might be dying from some kind of blood deficiency so if you give me some then I’ll feel better. I’m sure I will.”

He wasn’t sure. Perhaps a blood transfusion would actually work but he highly doubted it. Even so, if he could get close to a blood bag then he stood all the greater chance at stealing it. At least he could try what tasting that type of blood would be like. The scent of Sally’s blood hadn’t disgusted him. If he was honest with himself the thought of the soft high of breathing it in made him a little excited. He’d had felt invincible, just for a moment. Was that what the blood did? Was that why he was so weak? Because he hadn’t had his first drink yet?

Blasted. Questions.

”I’m delirious!” he cried, assuming his acting was convincing others as little as it was convincing himself but he was on a roll now. ”I can see colour!”

”Everyone can see colour, mate,” one of the orderlies remarked with a raised eyebrow. It wasn’t unkind but it was a rebuff and Patrick stilled on the gurney, then decided to fake passing out again, hoping they’d just push him against a wall and leave him there to deal with something more urgent than him.

They didn’t.

They pushed the bed into a bed slot by a curtain and he ”woke up” again, looking around at the space, clocking a heart monitor on the wall. Before he could begin to reassure them that he was feeling better, they pinched whatever it is that to checks your pulse onto his pointer finger, looking at the heart monitor in wait. Someone pressed their fingers back against the side of his neck as well.

”It’s still very weak,” the nurse said, small frown on. ”How is he conscious?”

Patrick felt as though his blood was literally running cold in his veins (if it was indeed still running) at the thought of becoming some medical marvel. He’d end up on an experiment table, disappeared by the government so that they might figure out the secrets to eternal life.

”I feel fine now,” he offered with a shrug.

Everyone’s eyes were immediately on him.

”Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but you’re not fine,” the nurse said. ”Benjamin, what symptoms is this young man displaying?”

As Benjamin—the orderly—started rattling of a list of symptoms that sounded death-adjacent Patrick couldn’t stop himself from thinking that oh, this was it. It was already happening. He was about to be poked and prodded and turned into a teachable moment for all of humanity.

Patrick damned his inability to pay more attention during his early teenage years to his father’s daily lectures on what the body needs to thrive, where both his parents had tried to force their own life lessons on him to varying degrees of success.

Author’s note: This chapter will be updated as I write it and tagged Work in Progress until it’s completed. Slight disclaimer as I’ve never gone to Oxford and am doing research while writing: details may change as I’m editing as I go. If anyone sees a detail that is ghastly out of order, please, feel free to let me know. This is not only a first draft but a living document and it will be edited many times over. Please forgive any mistakes, grammatical errors, filler words etc. Thank you for reading!