the scents into the separate examining rooms. He was able to follow one to the third floor, pediatrics.
There was a police officer standing at the desk right outside the room where the scent was strongest. Colin slipped inside the room without anyone seeing him, pulling a shadow around him to conceal his presence. He made not a sound as he approached the tiny person in the bed.
The little boy’s head was bandaged and he was hooked up to an IV and other machines. His heart was beating slowly and without any regularity, the sound coming from one of the machines in the room. But Colin was able to reach deeper, much deeper, to see the extent of his injuries.
Colin had been around long enough and had been in enough hospital rooms to know that they were monitoring Brent’s heart and brain activities. Colin could feel, Brent Shell, it said on the chart, was nearing death. His small body was too weak and broken to fight the injuries that would soon claim his life. Colin knew he couldn’t stand by and do nothing for him as his mother had done. He would like to think that most anyone would do the same for the child, any child.
Colin closed the door to Brent’s room, locked it, and strode over to the tiny figure on the bed. Colin opened a vein in his wrist, a small wound. He knew he couldn’t heal him completely—that would raise questions and suspicions—but he could save his life. Brent deserved a chance, and Colin was going to see that he got it.
Brent fought the urge to swallow at first, but Colin tilted his head back enough, careful not to disturb the wound and let only a few drops go down his throat. Colin stayed a few minutes more, making sure that Brent had gotten enough of Colin’s rich blood running through his system to give him at least a fighting chance. He could feel the blood doing its work and could see more color return to the little boy’s cheeks.
Colin left Brent’s room a few minutes later and went back down to the ER to follow what he now assumed was the girl. He was not encouraged when he was drawn to go downstairs, her scent pulling him toward the basement levels. He knew even before the elevator stopped that she had not made it. That he was being led was the morgue. That beautiful little girl with the yellow hair and raggedy dolly had died at the hands of her mother. Oh, Colin knew who had actually caused the little human’s death, but her mother was no less guilty in Colin’s eyes than the man who had done the actual killing. And she was going to pay. He would see to it with his dying breath.
~~~
Shade found that she didn’t have the will to do anything anymore. She just couldn’t make herself care about getting up much less simply lying down. She hadn’t had the appetite to eat much either, so she was a little dizzy on top of being depressed. Shade hadn’t left her room for the past few days, not since she had broken down the door to the nightmare of eight days ago and then just the one time. That had only been to go to the funeral for little Becca.
Becca had been buried the day before yesterday, during one of the prettiest days they’d had for a while. The sun had been shining, and there hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky. The perfect day for a little girl to be outside playing, swinging on the play set, or just hanging out with her big brother. But instead, she had been put into the ground, never to play outside again, never to grow old, never to kiss a boy. Shade began crying again, her heart breaking once again.
Shade had failed those children and she knew it. She should have made David take them somewhere, or she should have gone over to the apartment as soon as she found out Brenda had taken them from the hospital. Now, one of them was dead and the other was not going to make it. It should have been her; she wished it had been her. And the fact that it wasn’t hurt her to the core.
Shade wasn’t stupid. She knew that Brenda had been ultimately responsible for their lives,
There was a police officer standing at the desk right outside the room where the scent was strongest. Colin slipped inside the room without anyone seeing him, pulling a shadow around him to conceal his presence. He made not a sound as he approached the tiny person in the bed.
The little boy’s head was bandaged and he was hooked up to an IV and other machines. His heart was beating slowly and without any regularity, the sound coming from one of the machines in the room. But Colin was able to reach deeper, much deeper, to see the extent of his injuries.
Colin had been around long enough and had been in enough hospital rooms to know that they were monitoring Brent’s heart and brain activities. Colin could feel, Brent Shell, it said on the chart, was nearing death. His small body was too weak and broken to fight the injuries that would soon claim his life. Colin knew he couldn’t stand by and do nothing for him as his mother had done. He would like to think that most anyone would do the same for the child, any child.
Colin closed the door to Brent’s room, locked it, and strode over to the tiny figure on the bed. Colin opened a vein in his wrist, a small wound. He knew he couldn’t heal him completely—that would raise questions and suspicions—but he could save his life. Brent deserved a chance, and Colin was going to see that he got it.
Brent fought the urge to swallow at first, but Colin tilted his head back enough, careful not to disturb the wound and let only a few drops go down his throat. Colin stayed a few minutes more, making sure that Brent had gotten enough of Colin’s rich blood running through his system to give him at least a fighting chance. He could feel the blood doing its work and could see more color return to the little boy’s cheeks.
Colin left Brent’s room a few minutes later and went back down to the ER to follow what he now assumed was the girl. He was not encouraged when he was drawn to go downstairs, her scent pulling him toward the basement levels. He knew even before the elevator stopped that she had not made it. That he was being led was the morgue. That beautiful little girl with the yellow hair and raggedy dolly had died at the hands of her mother. Oh, Colin knew who had actually caused the little human’s death, but her mother was no less guilty in Colin’s eyes than the man who had done the actual killing. And she was going to pay. He would see to it with his dying breath.
~~~
Shade found that she didn’t have the will to do anything anymore. She just couldn’t make herself care about getting up much less simply lying down. She hadn’t had the appetite to eat much either, so she was a little dizzy on top of being depressed. Shade hadn’t left her room for the past few days, not since she had broken down the door to the nightmare of eight days ago and then just the one time. That had only been to go to the funeral for little Becca.
Becca had been buried the day before yesterday, during one of the prettiest days they’d had for a while. The sun had been shining, and there hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky. The perfect day for a little girl to be outside playing, swinging on the play set, or just hanging out with her big brother. But instead, she had been put into the ground, never to play outside again, never to grow old, never to kiss a boy. Shade began crying again, her heart breaking once again.
Shade had failed those children and she knew it. She should have made David take them somewhere, or she should have gone over to the apartment as soon as she found out Brenda had taken them from the hospital. Now, one of them was dead and the other was not going to make it. It should have been her; she wished it had been her. And the fact that it wasn’t hurt her to the core.
Shade wasn’t stupid. She knew that Brenda had been ultimately responsible for their lives,
Similar Books
