Page 13 of The Shadow of the Count
“He has a certain reputation.” At Donnie’s look, Richard shrugged. “I don’t judge. I share some of his ideas.”
“Yes. I—I understand as well.” He relaxed a bit, knowing that he was among friends, because he felt incredibly alone.
“Good. Good.” A car was brought around, Richard smiling and waving him in. He didn’t recognize it, but it was a little boxy two-seater.
They slid in, and he chuckled. “I’m never going to get used to getting into the wrong side of the car.”
“Ah, yes. Americans.” Richard sniffed dramatically, which turned his chuckle into a full-blown laugh.
“Oh, you mock, but I have a friend that’s a Texan. He is bigger than life. Truly from the wild West.”
“I should love to meet him. I do like a character.”
“He is more than a character. He’s…like a movie star without the acting.” Don wasn’t sure anyone could love Jeb, but he was a good friend.
“Fascinating.” Richard shook his head, eyes on the road. “I had no idea such men really existed. I thought only in books and cinema.”
“I didn’t either, until I met him in the flesh.” In fact, he hadn’t believed Jeb existed until they had known each other for time. He was too used to Douglas’s actor colleagues, who stripped off the dirt at the door and wore silk suits and smoked cigars. Jeb was a cowboy from the hat to the dust on the boots.
He preferred his dust in the library.
They pulled around to the back of an imposing building, possibly Georgian or earlier, and he could hear the sounds of a hospital as soon as they stepped in the door. He could smell it too.
He told himself that he wasn’t worried. This was a hospital more than an asylum, surely. He would not be frightened. Donnie squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.
“Have you been in a place like this before?” Richard asked. “It can be intimidating.”
“I have been someplace similar.” The catacombs held dead inhabitants, but in the end, the screams had been the same.
“All right then. If you get disturbed, we’ll retire to my rooms.”
The man lived in the hospital? Honestly?
How could he do it? The screams… Donnie hid his shudder behind a smile. “Thank you. Lead on.”
“He’s in the tower.”
They climbed four flights of stairs, and he got the feeling these rooms were more like cells, the bars on the doors they passed making it very clear that these inmates were dangerous. Patients. Richard would no doubt call them patients.
“This in an old building, hmm?” Old and vast. Truly.
“It is. It’s been many things in its years. As a hospital, it’s held many types of patients, but now the forgotten reside here.”
Donnie had to admire Richard’s commitment to these people. “You truly care for them.”
“I do. I don’t believe in many methods that are current or past for treating them.” Richard stopped finally, pulling out a ring of keys. He opened a door, but it only led to another locked door, this one with a barred window at eye level. “May I present Mr. Reynaud.”
A skeletal man crouched in the corner of the room, a heavy panting sound on the air. “Doctor. Have you brought me a present? A juicy, delicious present?” The voice raised the hair on Don’s arms.
“Not tonight, my friend. I know that you had a fine selection of rare meat for supper.”
The man whined, the sound so like an animal that Donnie flinched.
“But I need blood, Doctor. Real blood. You don’t know.” He began to tear at his hair. “You don’t know.”
“Mind your manners. Mr. Fitzhugh is here to meet you from America.”
“Who?” Bright, feverish eyes landed on him, and they widened until Donnie could see how bloodshot they were. “I’ve seen you.”
