Façade (AHS: Hotel)

Chapter 17

The next time Angela opened her eyes, it was to see nothing but a vintage light fixture hanging from the ceiling. She also found herself lying on the top of a bed with different clothing than what she was wearing, consisting of an oversized shirt only half-way buttoned up so it met to the base of her ribcage, and she noticed she was no longer wearing a bra or pants over her only remaining undergarment. She was also barefoot, and her skin felt cold and looked even paler than before as it stretched across her bones. Her vision was still slightly blurred, but it gradually came back as she made out the faces of Pamela, who was sitting at the bedside, Donovan, Iris, and Liz. Ramona was also present, but instead of the stern look of hatred on her face, it was a countenance expressing concern and fear, something she had never expected from her.

Before she knew it, she felt the left flap of the top of her half-unbuttoned shirt be pulled over gently, and she could see it was Pamela and her analytical blue-gray eyes looking at where John has stabbed her.

"I'm surprised she lived. Not a mark there anymore," she heard the police psychic say.

"Had Dono not did what he did," Iris added, sounding sad and tearful, "we would've lost her."

"That...uh, thing you have," Pamela said, "does a hell of a good job healing. I didn't think it would be that fast."

Angela's eyes were fully open now, and Pamela was the first to notice she looked quite different, like she had gone beyond herself and back. Angela, having noticed way before, knew she felt different—she felt herself reflexively shiver and put her arms slowly to her sides as her toes curled.

"W-Why am I so cold? W-Where am I?" she questioned with confusion.

"You survived," Ramona said with a strange sense of victory. "You almost died back there. Donovan saved you, sugar."

"Give me some clothes," the brunette demanded. "I'm freezing. Please."

"You already are wearing them. That's all I could find," Iris said nonchalantly. "You'll get used to it. We are always cold."

Her feline-like eyes were now sparking with vitality but widened in disbelief as she tried to figure out why and how she survived the fatal wound John had inflicted in her chest—"We?"

"Angela," Donovan said, coming forward and sitting on the edge of the bed across from Pamela and adjacent to the newly afflicted brunette. He seemed to have tears in his eyes, which she noticed right off the bat—"had I not turned you, you surely w-would have died. We can't lose you."

"What?!" she asked forcefully, shaking her head. "I...I don't—"

"Being turned is better than being dead in this place," Pamela said as she sat. "Believe me, I would know."

She couldn't believe her ears—now she knew. She was now one of the afflicted, now a vampire-like creature who would drink from slit throats to survive and live forever as a twenty-four year old. In an instant, she swung her legs off the edge of the bed and stood up, looking around and seeing Iris, Liz, and Ramona standing there watching her with Pamela and Donovan sitting behind her. Looking down, she saw the fatal wound was healed to completion; not a scar, not a drop of blood, nothing. In fact, when she walked to the mirror on the vanity table, she plopped on the stool and stared at her reflection to notice there wasn't any blood on her face, either it had been washed off or disappeared by other means. There wasn't even a single blemish on her smooth, alabaster visage. Her feline-eyes sparkled with pure vitality and life, and they were a more intense shade of blue. Her eyelashes looked way fuller, and her lips had a striking natural color to them.