Flat on her back, all Annie can see is the ceiling above her, lights flashing by in a blur as she’s wheeled down the corridor at a run. She can hear one of the wheels beneath her squeaking slightly and thinks, “just my luck to get a dodgy trolley.” She tries not to think about the luck, or lack thereof, that has landed her on the gurney in the first place. 

​

∘˚˳°∘˚˳°

 

The gurney crashes through a door, and the lights get brighter. She can feel hands on her, waiting for the count before they lift her and move her to a more static platform. All around her, people are talking at a fast pace, reeling off lists of numbers. Annie is no doctor, but she can tell from their tone that the numbers are not the ones the medics want to be hearing. She tries to talk, to ask them what’s happening, but even if they could hear her around the oxygen mask on her face, she doubts they’d have time to strike up a conversation. And, to be fair, they do have other priorities right now. 

     Annie tries to focus on the other sounds—the beeping noises on the edge of her hearing. There’s more than one of them, each with their own separate pattern. Then one rhythm starts beating faster, drowning out the others. Its noise feels like a drill, boring into her skull as the beeps coalesce into a single tone. She can vaguely hear somebody shout, “We’re losing her.” Her first instinct is to try and reply, “but I’m right here?” Then the tone gets louder, draining the colours from around her until all she sees is white.

​

∘˚˳°∘˚˳°

​

Her mouth is full of liquid, burning like ice as the colour washes back over her. Annie starts to struggle, but a voice in her ear tells her to hold fast. “Swallow it down, it’ll be over soon.” She tries to resist, to spit out the metallic taste in her mouth, but she’s tired, and somebody is massaging her throat. Finally, all she can do is swallow.

     The single tone starts to separate, and now she can hear all the different machines again. A voice from beside her calls, “Time of life, 12:13 a.m.” She forces her eyes open and cries out in pain  as the lights feel like they’re burning into her brain. 

     “Switch to dimmers, stat!” The command is obeyed within seconds, and Annie almost sobs at the relief that it brings her.

     “Sorry about that.” The voice is calming, soothing. “They’re supposed to cut the UVs when there’s a Sanguinary resuscitation.” 

     “Sanguinary?” She manages to focus on the woman in the white coat who is now standing beside her bed. 

     “Yes, you’re lucky they found the card in your purse and checked your medical records. Otherwise, they’d have had to call it when you coded.”

 

∘˚˳°∘˚˳°

​

The Sanguinary card, she remembers it now. 

     The Society had had a stand set up in her university during freshers’ week oh so many years ago. They’d had red velvet cupcakes for anybody who took one of their pamphlets. She’d signed up for so many things that day—societies that she’d never attended, sports that she’d never played. She remembered laughing at the ongoing war of petty sabotage between the Dungeons & Dragons stand on one side and the Christian missionaries on the other. Whoever had allocated the various stands clearly had a sense of humour by putting such sworn enemies together. 

     But for some reason, she’d kept the card, moving it from purse to purse throughout the years. She’d even laughingly added it to her medical history the last time she had blood tests. But she’d never considered the possibility that it would ever be called upon, never thought about what it would mean for her future.

     “Oh God, I’m a vampire?” 

     The woman in the white coat smiles at her, and Annie notices the teeth with the sharpened fangs that are exactly the same width apart as the cuts she traces on her neck with her finger. She can feel other things too: the sharpness of the needle in her arm, the pressure from the pulse oximeter. Breathing in, she smells the tang of the antiseptic and the dozens of open wounds that lie in her immediate vicinity.

     “I’m a vampire.” Her tone is one of pleasure as she imagines the fun she’ll have.

     “Only temporarily,” said the woman, speaking with the patience of one who has had the same conversation more times than she cares to remember. 

     “Wait what?” 

     “A Sanguinary resuscitation only gives you a little breathing space, figuratively speaking anyway.” The woman pushes a pamphlet into her hand. “It’s all there in the fine print. The effects of the resuscitation will wear off after a few days, but you need to avoid biting anybody’s throat in the meantime.”

     “Or I’ll be a vampire permanently?”

     “Oh no, you’ll still be mortal, but they’ll sue the pants off you and so will we. Enjoy your new life.” The woman walks away.

     Annie is so focused on the pamphlet with its list of ‘dos’ and ‘don’ts’ that she doesn’t initially realize that the woman in white is the only person whose shoes don’t make a noise on the floor.