Feeding in Amber Hill

The soft clicking of Dr. Ith Lazarus' old shoes against the tiled floors echoed down the asylum corridor. These patients were his, hand chosen from the larger inmate population and brought to his private corridor of holding cells. They were the unbelieveables, those who told mad stories in the outside world which, eventually, landed them a permanent residence within Amber Hill. Perfectly safe behind the veils of their madness, their stories of vampires and bloodsucking would only fall on the deaf ears of the other staff -- it would all just appear as mad rambling.

Having just woken up from a tortured state of dreaming, he was in a fowl mood and decided to spread the feeling to those around him. Activating his nightmare power of dread, Lazarus took his time walking down the long hallway. Within the darkened cells the mad moans and whimpers of those within could be heard growing in magnitude and volume as their "caretaker" passed. Their various noises of terror brought some comfort to Lazarus -- this was still his asylum, and he was still in charge.

Finally, about half way down the cells, he stopped at a dark cell marked "#15A: Eric Boyle." The man inside, only 23 years of age, was brought tere by police the other night after a psychotic breakdown. After the good doctor found that the man had no immediate family to visit, and a family history of schizophrenia, he was quick to come under Dr. Lazarus' care. He had not yet been under the careful scrutiny of Lazarus, however, but tonight would be his first.

Reaching inside his wrinkled lab coat and pulling out a plastic keycard attached to a chain, Dr. Lazarus swiped the card on the door-reader and the internal electronic lock clicked open. With a turn of the handle the door opened slowly, casting the artifical light from the hallway within. Standing in the door frame, Dr. Lazarus smiled at his prey which cowered in the far corner of the room against the broken toilet. Between the already active dread and eye of the best, Eric Boyle stood no chance to resist Lazarus' fangs. The young man was left slouched against the toilet, much of his blood drained, but just enough remaining that he'd live without medical attention.

Now full with blood, Dr. Lazarus went back to his office; he had some phone calls to make.

(Addendum to Previous Post)

After feeding on #15A Dr. Lazarus' body ached to be healed from the ailments inflicted during the unwelcome torpor. Concentrating on, and directing, the recently obtained vitae to the injured areas, the recovery began. It was slow at first, but soon enough the vitae was working at its full potential and the fatigue/injuries began healing rapidly. It was a large expenditure of vitae, the doctor was sure of that, and the all too familiar hunger cravings of the beast were once again present.

Without too much thought to the matter, Dr. Lazarus returned to the cell block to find a new meal. He decided that he'd go for vintage this time, an elderly gentleman who had been in his expert "care" for at least a decade. In all honestly, Lazarus had forgotten his name long ago; to the doctor he was only known as "#3R." Upon entering his cell the man was in the all too familiar position of being strapped to his bed, violently thrashing in a fruitless attempt to escape the fate that was going to inevitably happen.

As #3R's screams echoed down the hallways, the other patients went silent -- each one knowing the fate that their fellow inmate was enduring.