Hell's Detective

Chapter Five- The Residence of Hillsbord

The Hillsbord Hospital had been abandoned for over ten years, after several malpractice accusations brought it to the ground. Ever since, it had hung around like a rather persistent and ugly puppy, crumbling, decaying, and no use to any human whatsoever.

But Ingleseid wasn't looking for a human.

He wandered down the corridors, leather bag in hand. The windows peeked out from behind plastic sheets, and the floor was cracked with tiles missing. Shadows danced across the grimy walls, dust as thick as soup scattering throughout the halls, serving as a lonely reminder of just how long this place had been forgotten for. He passed empty rooms with metal beds, bare reception desks, and bathrooms that smelled like something had died in them, but no vampires. He was about to call in on Ammelius and tell him he had made a mistake, when he heard something. A soft rustling, like tiny voices whispering. He followed it down the corridor. It scurried around the walls, whistled through the air, almost like it was in the room with him, but there was nothing to be seen. He scanned around, spotted a hole in ground a good few metres in width up ahead.

It wasn't around him. It was beneath him.

He approached the hole warily. The smell of rotten food and sweat and dead things wafted out. Ingleseid pressed a handkerchief over his nose and lowered himself down into the darkness, landing in a puddle that seemed to be less puddle and more foul smelling filth. Sewer water. The rustling was louder than ever now and coming from above him, as if a raging tide were about to envelope him. He looked up, saw them, thousands of them. Sleeping upside down on the roof, a giant, shivering mass. He could see their faces, pale and translucent, hollow cheek bones and thin, pointed fangs reaching to their chins.

Heart in his mouth, he tiptoed to the light streaming in and pulled himself up. He couldn't hope to find the king in that lot, let alone fight him. He'd have to go to Holly or Mace. Witches had had run-ins with vampires for centuries, and it wasn't often it worked out well for the vampires. He was almost at the reception desk, when something caught his eye. Light was spilling out from between the door of one of the rooms. The hospital didn't have any power. And even if it did, what would vampires need light for? He approached hesitantly, pushed open the door, revealing a room just like all the others, dirty floors, grimy windows, metal bed frames all the way across.

Only the other ones didn't have people in them.

Hospital gown-clad people lay in each bed, eyes closed, pale forms unmoving. They were hooked up to IVs, and tubes ran through their arms like snakes. Blood travelled through them and into refrigerated containers next to the beds. Ingleseid remembered what Krugo had said about vampires keeping people alive to slowly drain the life out them. He shivered.

Above him, the light flickered. A crash burst from outside the door. He froze. When it was clear nothing was going to burst in and eat him, he very slowly pried open the door and looked out.

Someone was at the end of the hallway, obscured in shadows. They were walking in strange, juddering steps, like some sort of ridiculous tap dance. As he got closer, Ingleseid could see the manic grin on its face. Vampire.

There was no use hiding from it. Vampires could smell life a mile away. He stepped out, starting to back away slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements.

"No...No..." the vampire said, voice soft and airy, like a child's. It sent shivers down Ingleseid's spine. "Don't go...Not hurt you...Just want to be friends...Come closer. Closer."

Ingleseid took another step back. "No, I'm alright, mate."

"Just want to be friends," the vampire repeated. Its eyes were wide and blood shot. Saliva dripped from its mouth. It unfolded its palms at its side, and he saw a flash of sharpened claws.