Steel bars rattled with bewildering ferocity, and the crazed shouts and screams of startled inmates echoed throughout the halls. Randall shuddered at the disturbing sounds surrounding him, covering his ears with his hands in a futile attempt to block it out. Even after working in the place for several weeks, he still had yet to become accustomed to the ceaseless insanity that radiated from each cell.
He jumped nearly a foot in the air when a rough hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him a little. He craned his neck to look behind him, relieved to see a familiar veteran of the place, Joel, and not one of those psychopathic monkeys.
“You’ll never get used to it, Doc, but you sure will get tired of it,” the old man warned him with a deep frown and a shake of his head, releasing his shoulder and walking past him to go check on the patient in cell 1A.
Randall watched him for a brief moment then glanced to each side, seeing several arms reaching out of the cubbyholes in several cells, all struggling to grab at him. A little spooked, he quickly followed after the old man, freezing mid-step when he turned to him.
“My knees are aching today. Can you go fetch the trays for me?” he asked, and Randall let out a long sigh.
“Yes, sir.” He nodded and spun on his heel, walking as fast as he could in the opposite direction, trying is best to ignore the voices behind him.
“Come back!”
“Just one hair? It won’t kill you.”
“Hug…?”
“Come here!”
“And thou shalt relinquish your soul to Sata—“
The voices were finally gone and all was silent with the simple slam of the door. Of course, he would have to go right back after he brought the food trays from the kitchen, but even five minutes away from that chaos was a luxury. He looked around at the empty cafeteria before zoning in on the clock over the door in the distance, realizing that lunch for the semi-sane inmates had ended half an hour ago. That meant, as soon as he was done bringing the crazies their food, it was time for his lunch break.
That thought alone was enough to put a skip in his step as he threw open the doors to the kitchen, calling out in a singsong voice, “oh, Ann!” The immediate reply he got was the sound of a tray clattering on the ground and a frightened squeak.
“Jesus, Randall! I told you to stop doing that!” she hissed out as she bent over to clean up the mess. Randall instantly sidled over but, before he could do anything, she spoke up again, “I swear to God, if you touch me, I’ll rip off you head.”
With a wide grin and a nervous chuckle, he slid his hands into his pockets. “It seems you’ve gotten used to the routine,” he remarked while Ann got back up to her feet and irritably blew a few loose strands of black hair out of her face. As she tossed the ruined tray into the sink, he couldn’t help but add, “…mostly.”
“Shut up,” she snapped as she shoved the cart at him, causing him to wince when one of the wheels rolled over his foot. “Oh, look what you did! You colossal ass,” she growled out but, before Randall could even see what she was going on about, she spun around and went to go search through the cupboards. “I swear, I could sue you for this. Or better yet, I should lock you in one of the cells for a few days,” She grumbled under her breath as she wrapped a hand towel around her thumb.
Red. He saw red seeping through the towel. He felt a cold chill run down his spine and his eyes promptly began to dart around the room, at the cart, her face… maybe her “assets” a couple times. Everywhere but the… No. He refused to even think the word.
“What? You have hemophobia? How funny. No wonder you got fired from Hope. What kind of doctor is afraid of a little blo—“
“Bye!”
Before she could get another word in, he was pushing the cart out the door, repeating, “lalala. I can’t hear you!” obnoxiously loud over and over again until he was sure he was out of earshot.
Great. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. The sound of the cart’s wheels rolling seemed to trigger a sort of frenzy amongst the inmates. The sound of shaking bars and grubby hands beating on walls intensified instantly, making Randall think about investing in some ear plugs. They would certainly make the workplace a little more pleasant.
His brows furrowed in confusion when he saw the old man kneeling down, looking through the cubbyhole of cell 1A. He was hitting his hand with his fist, and he could see the inmate doing the same through the small hole. It took him a while, but he eventually registered in his mind that they were playing rock, paper, scissors. He was always creeped out by how attached Joel seemed to be with some of the inmates. He almost treated them like his own children.
“Ahem.” Randall coughed into his hand, trying to get the old man’s attention without disturbing the nutjob in 1A.
“Oh, Doc. What took you so long? They were all getting a little restless while waiting for you,” the old man said with a crooked grin, plucking one of the food trays off the cart and passing it through the hole in the door of cell 1A.
“There was a small mishap in the kitchen. No biggie,” Randall reassured him, though he did hope Ann was alright. He didn’t treat her well, and he knew that, but he was only playing. Besides, she was a prude and needed to learn to live a little.
The old man pushed the cart to cell 2A, but before he stuck another tray through the hole, he looked over at Randall. He stared back at the old man for a short moment, uncomfortable with the look he was giving him. Those beady, squinting eyes were practically staring him down. “You have a little something on your cheek. Right there,” he finally said, pointing at his face.
Randall wiped the cheek in question with his fingertips and looked down at his hand, only to find… blood? He fell silent as he lightly ran his thumb over the viscid liquid on his fingers. It was a beautiful color. Shiny. Crimson. Red as the sunset. Just the sight and the feel of it brought back memories of home.
All the little bugs he squished the green guts out of, the squirrels he had caught and snapped the necks of so he could watch the red liquid run. Like a waterfall, only much more pleasant.
He brought his fingers to his lips and tentatively licked it, enjoying the metallic taste that spread over his taste buds. The inmates had started an uproar, but he didn’t notice. All outside noise was void. It no longer existed to him. He was enjoying his peaceful trip down memory lane.
Such as memories of the hospital he used to work at. Hope. What a wonderful place. Ann was always curious as to why he was let go, but he would never tell. He wasn’t let go. The entire establishment was torn down. Why? Thanks to him of course.
He loved Hope Hospital. There were so many patients; so many living sacks of blood. They came to him, searching for relief from their illnesses and injuries, and that is what he gave them in exchange for their blood: relief. Relief from the stresses of life. Death was a gift he was sure all of them were grateful for. But some people didn’t like his gift and tried to track him down. But he knew they were coming, so he left. Looking for a scapegoat to pin the “crimes” on, they shut down the hospital.
It was very tragic. Randall was pleased to find a new home though. A prison. Specifically, the criminally insane wing. All the crazy antics around him made him feel frightened, but at the same time, sane. Unfortunately, that feeling of unbreakable sanity was shattered to pieces when he tasted blood once again.
Though it felt like hours had passed while his life was flashing before his eyes, it had only been seconds in the real world. The old man was still giving him a look of disbelief, the patients were still hollering pointless drivel, and the copper taste in his mouth still lingered. And he wanted more.
He snatched up one of the food trays off the cart, and before the old man could even think to call for help, he swung it at the side of his head, knocking him into the door of cell 2A.
“Ann! Ann!” he screamed as Randall giggled in excitement, watching with wide eyes as red seeped out from under Joel’s thinning hair.
“Blood. Blood! Blood!” The inmates screeched in unison, some in fear, some in a violent frenzy, wanting to shed more with their own hands.
Randall ran his thumb over the edge of the tray, searching for the sharpest part as the old man continued to scream and scream for help, his voice quickly growing sore. Ah, there was the spot.
He heard the double doors down the hall slam open just as he swung the tray again, watching in glee as the old man collapsed, sprawled out on the floor. The white tile around his head became a gorgeous red color, and as much as Randall wanted to stop and admire it, he felt a pair of eyes on his back that he needed to deal with.
“R-Randall?” Ann choked out, holding the doors open and pausing to comprehend what just happened. There was blood. Lots of it. Splotches of it along the walls, and a growing puddle on the ground around Joel’s head. Whatever just happened, she knew she needed to run. Fast.
The moment she backed out of the doorway, Randall was on her tail, racing down the hall with a red tray held tight in his hands. He slammed into the door with his shoulder and looked around the cafeteria, spotting a dark figure scrambling into the kitchen.
Knowing there was no way out of the room, he slowed down and took in a few deep breaths, taking his time while heading towards the door. “Ann? What’s wrong? Are you mad at me? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry. Come out, please?”
He waited outside the kitchen, his ear pressed against the door as he waited for an answer. Nothing.
Holding the tray in one hand, he used the other to push open the door, surprised to see that she was gone. He looked up at the ceiling, searching for any open vents, but they were all too small for a human being to fit through. He stepped inside and just as he was about to turn around and search elsewhere, he was startled by a loud grunt.
Randall narrowly avoided the blade thrusted at his chest, smirking when he realized that the clever woman grabbed a kitchen knife and hid beside the door, waiting for the right moment to strike. “You sick bastard!” she wailed as she slashed the knife at him, only managing to nick his shoulder as he sidestepped out of the way.
"And I thought you were just a joy-sucking prude. I was wrong!” He taunted her with a cackle as he smacked the weapon right out of her hand with the tray. He snickered as she fell back and scrambled away, frantically looking around for something to protect herself with. The only thing she had was a wall behind her, and that would do her no good at all.
“Let it rain!” he roared as he smashed her head in with the tray again and again, shivering with excitement each time he felt warm blood splatter against his skin. When the tray was dented to the point that it was unrecognizable and her body was still, he dropped the tray and took a moment to catch his breath. It had been a long time since he got so riled up, and he was absolutely exhausted.
When he was finally able to breathe normally without his chest heaving just to pull in enough oxygen, he scooped the knife off the ground and knelt down by Ann’s body, not quite ready to leave. He had to go before the next shift, but he couldn’t go before tasting that sweet, sweet blood one last time. He ran the knife across the vein in her neck and licked the blood that seeped out, wishing he could take her with him. Her blood was by far better than any he tasted at the hospital.
But after several minutes of drinking the thick, warm liquid, it began to grow cold. He eventually gagged and couldn’t have anymore, disgusted by how cold blood tasted. It just wasn’t the same. He gave Ann’s corpse a brief peck on the lips before standing up and stretching. What a lovely day it was.
He wiped the blood off his lips as he went out into the hall, smiling at the sight of the pale old man, painted red on the floor, and the thick silence that was suspended in the air. Not a single inmate said a word as he passed. They simply stood and stared.
He hummed to himself as pushed the back door open, shielding his eyes from the sun with his arm. Finally, it was time for lunch break.