Samuel closed his eyes to catch a moment’s peace in the hospital’s break room before he had to head back to the overly-busy emergency room. He’d run out of coffee and blood in the same day, making him one very cranky vampire. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d just celebrated his one hundred and seventy eighth birthday recently, he’d think he was a new fledgling fresh out of med school. At least he’d been able to handle the residency process. Being over a hundred and fifty when you did rotations allowed some tolerance to sunlight and not needing any food or sleep.
“Dr. Wexford to emergency. Dr. Wexford to emergency,” Ken, one of the latest crop of residents, said over the intercom.
Ken doll. Samuel smiled as he downed the rest of the hospital’s god awful coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trash. It made a perfect arc and sailed neatly into the center of the receptacle. With his surfer spiky blonde hair and eyes the color of the ocean outside his the view from his remote home, Ken looked like the proverbial childhood toy. And boy would Samuel like to play with him. He shook his head to clear the thought as he hurried from the break room and down to whatever the latest crisis was. Tonight was his last night before a two week vacation.
He followed the sound of commotion into one of the bays and stopped. His blood ran cold. The mortal on the table looked heart-stoppingly familiar, and for once Samuel was thankful that his heart didn’t beat. Blood caked the man’s midnight dark hair to his forehead. A gash ran along the outside of his left eye. An air splint held his right arm, and Samuel bet he’d see bruising on the man’s chest from a steering wheel.
“Car accident. He rear ended a truck on the Pacific Coast Highway, just past the turn off to Malibu Canyon Rd. Apparently the truck thought he saw something on the road and our patient didn’t stop quick enough. At least that’s what the truck driver said.”
Samuel listened with half an ear as he stared down at the man he’d once professed to love until the end of time. “Blake Bothman, the founder of Wirefly International,” he said.
“You know him?”
Samuel nodded, his throat too tight to say anything more. He drew a deep breath. Damn it, where was his emotional detachment when he needed it.
Ken laid his hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “We’ll take good care of him. He’ll be just fine. I promise.”
Sam looked down at Ken’s hand with his neatly manicured fingernails. Such youthful optimism. He’d had it once long ago. “Thank you,” he said, and hoped like hell Ken doll was right.
On the table, Blake groaned. “Samuel. Must. Get. To Him.”
Samuel surged forward. He touched Blake’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he said. “You’re in the ER. You’re going to be all right.” He glanced at Ken and saw the resident nod. He grabbed a chart and shoved it in Samuel’s free hand. Scanning it, Samuel saw nothing more than a few minor injuries, nothing some rest wouldn’t cure.
“Samuel,” Blake groaned again. His eyelids fluttered open for a moment. Green eyes connected with dark brown. And then they dipped closed. Blake’s moment of consciousness had passed.