A 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 nodded, but didn’t give her a chance to ask me whom I was here for.
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.
There was indeed a door in the center of the roof.
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.
Now that I’d reached the level I needed to be on, it was a matter of finding the right patient.
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.