One whole week without blood. No, correction, one whole week stuck in the hospital with a healthy supply of blood and no way to get to it. It was pure hell, especially in his condition.
The little prick nicked both his heart and his lung with that knife. It would have been simple enough to handle. Three bags of blood would have been enough. Unfortunately, the rape charges against Mike were tricky enough without any testimony and they couldn’t press the battery charges since Carol still wasn’t talking. So, it fell on his shoulders to put the little prick away.
Attempted murder on a New Hampshire State Detective was no laughing matter. Mike was facing federal charges now. More importantly it would be a long time before he used his fist on another woman. That was the only reason Ephraim played along.
He had to pretend to be knocked out by the medication the doctors injected into his body when in reality that medicine was poison to him. Every single drop of medication had to be destroyed internally. The more they pumped in the weaker his blood ran until his veins were filled with nothing but poison. He reached that state four days ago.
That operating room was just a clean version of Nichols’ torture chamber. He had to force himself to remain limp while the poison burned his blood and the surgeons sliced him open. He felt every nick, every pull and prod. The pain was unreal. He didn’t know what was worse though, the medication or the surgery.
His only hope was a transfusion. New blood would have diluted the poison in his system. When that cocky surgeon announced that he wouldn’t require any transfusions because they'd stopped the bleeding he wanted to reach out and bitch slap him. He couldn’t. He had to pretend to be out. He was in so much pain that he began sweating.
The doctors took that as a sign of an impending fever and pumped more poison into his system. It successfully paralyzed him. Every movement set off fire in his body.
Blood, all he wanted was blood and no one would give it to him. He told them he was hungry and they brought him Jell-O and broth. What the hell kind of meal was that? After the second tray they tried forcing on him he began throwing the trays at the offending deliverer until they stopped bringing them.
So, for six days he was stuck in a hospital bed with no chance of escape. Tubes and monitors were stuck in him. On all four of his escape attempts the damn things went off and people came running. He almost cried. He needed to eat and a variable buffet came running in and he couldn’t have any of it. It was agony.
As was the first two days of visitors. Endless visitors came. People he didn’t even know came. They all wanted to see how “their” hero was doing. After the first minute of each visit he “nodded off”. It was either that or let them see how hungry he was. Finally he put his foot down and demanded to be left alone. Mrs. Buckman was not happy with that and told the nurses to ignore his wishes.
For the last four days he had to put up with Mrs. Buckman and a few of the other renters. The children tried to come, but ran off within the first thirty seconds when he started screaming. Screaming was good, screaming made him feel better.
Screaming was also the only thing that saved them. He was so hungry. He just needed a few pints to force the poison out and heal his wounds. God, how they itched. His entire body itched. Six days of sponge baths. That was bullshit. How could they call that a bath? He smelled like a hospital, itched and felt gross. He could feel the grime on his skin again.
Blood.
He needed blood. If he was stuck here for a week then he was out of luck. He hadn't been here to accept his blood deliveries. Every two days at three in the morning blood was delivered by an unmarked van.
After two no shows they wouldn’t make another attempt to deliver until he contacted them with a new safe drop. He needed to call them to setup new delivery. So, now he had no hopes of blood being delivered. He had to suffer another week. But that wasn’t his greatest fear. If he didn’t keep everyone out of his room he was going to attack someone. The urge to feed was overpowering everything else. His control was almost nonexistent.
It would only take Madison for the last thread of control to snap. Of course, she wasn’t likely to see him. She didn’t even try to see him in the last week. She sent her apologies and flowers, but didn’t come. He tried to tell himself that was for the best. If she came he would have begged her for some blood either hers or some stolen blood. At this point in his suffering he wouldn’t beg. If she came into his room he was going to take.
His eyes drifted to the adjoining bathroom door. She could at least check and see how he was. That wasn’t too much to ask after all he did take a wound for her. She probably didn’t think much of it. She knew he couldn't die, but did she realize that he would still feel every ounce of pain and nothing in the world could take the edge off his pain but blood? He was suffering and she couldn’t even bother to see him. He was pissed on top of already being pissed.
“Fuck her. I don’t want to see her anyway.” But he did. He really did. Never mind that it was her blood which he craved night and day. He wanted to see her. He wanted to see her brown eyes light up when he annoyed her.
She was so cute when she'd attacked him with biscuits. He liked everything about her. She was funny, smart and kind. But she was a human, a human whose blood screamed for him and him alone. He could never have her. She would never be his.
He wanted to kill someone. He needed to hurt someone. This was too much. There was a reason he didn’t allow attachments and Madison proved him right. Once he was healed he was going to leave and start over. He couldn’t handle the pain and disappointment.
“Wow, you stink.”
Ephraim forced his eyes open. “What?”
“I said you smell,” Madison said matter-of-factly.
Even before his brain registered who was in his room his body did. His fangs dropped as his arms shot out and grabbed her. He dragged her down. He couldn’t fight it any longer. He was starving and his obsession was here. He didn’t even stop to consider if they were alone or if he could stop in time. He needed her too damn much.
Some part of his brain registered that she wasn’t screaming. Actually, it felt like she was coming on her own. That was odd.
“Here you go, open up,” she said as she stuck something in his mouth. He froze, shocked at the sensation.
His eyes left her neck and moved down to the object in her hands. He chuckled weakly. She stuck a straw in a bag of blood. He suckled, slowly savoring the taste of type O blood hitting his lips, his tongue, the roof of his mouth and finally down his throat. He closed his eyes and moaned in relief.