Section I: Baby
In the ward reserved for particularly violent patients, a tall, cadaverously built orderly with a shock of unruly, kinky hair that was so blond as to be nearly white was trying to reason with a dark-skinned youth with sharp, ratlike features and greasy straight black hair that fell down over his narrow eyes with their high-peaked black brows. For all the world, the kid looked like Satan’s own son, and he certainly acted the part.
“Fuck you, Cunt! You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do! The Master, ‘e’s comin’ back for me one of these days, ‘e is! I don’t care what you lot say! ‘E can’t be killed! ‘Cause…”
“I know, Louie. He can’t be killed because he’s already dead.”
The teen’s behavior made Howard Exeter wish that they could still tie patients up and apply electroshock therapy or pack the more violent bastards in ice until they were too cold to fight. The boy had managed to kick Howard damn close to his family jewels and Howard was sure that he’d find a wicked bruise on his groin. He was still feeling queasy. The boy wasn’t very big. At thirteen years old he stood 5’3” tall and weighed perhaps 90 pounds, but he was a fierce little bastard, and crazier than a shithouse rat. His madness and his rage made him powerful. Howard sighed. He had gotten certified as a mental health technician because he wanted to help people the way he’d been helped when he was younger and became so deeply depressed after his own father’s suicide. But people like this fucker were beyond help. Howard hoped he could hold on until a position opened up working with the non-combative patients. The ones on this ward didn’t respond to compassion, all they knew was violence.
“’E’s the Living Dead, Bitch!” the boy shouted, and he whipped a piece of sharpened bar from his shirt, brandishing it at Howard. Howard gasped and jumped back. He didn’t know where the boy could have gotten this item. Fortunately, two burly orderlies had just entered the corridor and jumped the violent youth, pinning him to the floor, wrenching the weapon away from him. A nurse jabbed a needle into the boy’s arm and filled his system with Haldol.
“Fuck you!” the boy screamed as the orderlies dragged him off to a padded cell where he couldn’t harm himself or anyone else. “Screw you whores! The Seed has been planted! The door shall be opened between worlds! The Master shall return and you shall all bleedin’ die like the cunts you are!”
“You all right, Howard?” asked nurse Finn Yeager, a burly man in his late 20’s whose benevolent expression and calm tone never seemed to falter.
“Yeah, I think.” Howard said. “He missed the Exeter Jewels by mere inches, though.”
“He’s a vicious one,” Yeager remarked. “Nastier than most.”
“Fuckin’ hopeless,” Howard said, limping slightly as he followed Yeager to the nurse’s station. “If ‘e was a dog, we’d euthanize his violent arse so he’d not be a danger to anyone else.”
“Well, he’s not a dog,” Finn said. “So people like you and me have to tend to him when he becomes violent and pray that no doctor is ever fool enough to release him back into society.”
“Yeah, lucky us,” Howard muttered. He sank down into the chair at the nurse’s station and Finn brought him an ice pack.
“Best go to clinic and have that looked at, Mate. Who knows, you may be lucky enough to get a day or two away.”
“I’ve never been known as a lucky one,” Howard said. “So I’d not bank on it, especially as stingy as these bastards are about paying for time off. But a bloke can always dream, what? Least I’m not imagining that some bleedin’ vampire is going to come free me and make me king of the world of the Undead like bloody fuckin’ Renfield there.”
“Renfield…” Finn smirked, and soon, in spite of Howard’s aching groin, he and the burly nurse were laughing in unison.
In the ward reserved for particularly violent patients, a tall, cadaverously built orderly with a shock of unruly, kinky hair that was so blond as to be nearly white was trying to reason with a dark-skinned youth with sharp, ratlike features and greasy straight black hair that fell down over his narrow eyes with their high-peaked black brows. For all the world, the kid looked like Satan’s own son, and he certainly acted the part.
“Fuck you, Cunt! You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do! The Master, ‘e’s comin’ back for me one of these days, ‘e is! I don’t care what you lot say! ‘E can’t be killed! ‘Cause…”
“I know, Louie. He can’t be killed because he’s already dead.”
The teen’s behavior made Howard Exeter wish that they could still tie patients up and apply electroshock therapy or pack the more violent bastards in ice until they were too cold to fight. The boy had managed to kick Howard damn close to his family jewels and Howard was sure that he’d find a wicked bruise on his groin. He was still feeling queasy. The boy wasn’t very big. At thirteen years old he stood 5’3” tall and weighed perhaps 90 pounds, but he was a fierce little bastard, and crazier than a shithouse rat. His madness and his rage made him powerful. Howard sighed. He had gotten certified as a mental health technician because he wanted to help people the way he’d been helped when he was younger and became so deeply depressed after his own father’s suicide. But people like this fucker were beyond help. Howard hoped he could hold on until a position opened up working with the non-combative patients. The ones on this ward didn’t respond to compassion, all they knew was violence.
“’E’s the Living Dead, Bitch!” the boy shouted, and he whipped a piece of sharpened bar from his shirt, brandishing it at Howard. Howard gasped and jumped back. He didn’t know where the boy could have gotten this item. Fortunately, two burly orderlies had just entered the corridor and jumped the violent youth, pinning him to the floor, wrenching the weapon away from him. A nurse jabbed a needle into the boy’s arm and filled his system with Haldol.
“Fuck you!” the boy screamed as the orderlies dragged him off to a padded cell where he couldn’t harm himself or anyone else. “Screw you whores! The Seed has been planted! The door shall be opened between worlds! The Master shall return and you shall all bleedin’ die like the cunts you are!”
“You all right, Howard?” asked nurse Finn Yeager, a burly man in his late 20’s whose benevolent expression and calm tone never seemed to falter.
“Yeah, I think.” Howard said. “He missed the Exeter Jewels by mere inches, though.”
“He’s a vicious one,” Yeager remarked. “Nastier than most.”
“Fuckin’ hopeless,” Howard said, limping slightly as he followed Yeager to the nurse’s station. “If ‘e was a dog, we’d euthanize his violent arse so he’d not be a danger to anyone else.”
“Well, he’s not a dog,” Finn said. “So people like you and me have to tend to him when he becomes violent and pray that no doctor is ever fool enough to release him back into society.”
“Yeah, lucky us,” Howard muttered. He sank down into the chair at the nurse’s station and Finn brought him an ice pack.
“Best go to clinic and have that looked at, Mate. Who knows, you may be lucky enough to get a day or two away.”
“I’ve never been known as a lucky one,” Howard said. “So I’d not bank on it, especially as stingy as these bastards are about paying for time off. But a bloke can always dream, what? Least I’m not imagining that some bleedin’ vampire is going to come free me and make me king of the world of the Undead like bloody fuckin’ Renfield there.”
“Renfield…” Finn smirked, and soon, in spite of Howard’s aching groin, he and the burly nurse were laughing in unison.
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