Mind of the Damned

AUTHOR: Sarah Rochester
EMAIL: sarah@pulltheplug.nu
SPOILERS: Post May Day
DISCLAIMER: ER and itís characters are owned by Constant C Productions, Amblin Entertainment, NBC, and Warner Brothers. Lestat de Lioncourt, other characters, and any Interview with the Vampire-esque plot lines are owned by Anne Rice.
NOTE: I would love to extend my dearest thanks toa wonderful friend of mine, Victoria. I want to thank you to for letting me bombard you with medical questions, character corrections, ideas, keeping me entertained during my writing breaks, and helping me revising certain parts.
SUMMARY: John enters the world of the Damned.

Chapter One:

My movements make no sound.
My footsteps quick and light...
I glide on down the darkened street
Accompanied by night.
Passing mortal strangers
Who look the other way,
I'm intoxicated by their scent.
These creatures are my prey.

- "The Sweetest Kill", Nhan

He stared at the ceiling, expecting something to happen. The noise from the streets below played into his song of loneliness. Turning his head, John Carter looked at the digital clock on his dress. His brown eyes tried to focus in on the red numbers, but it was all a blur. John gave up and turned his eyes to the ceiling once more.

It was white. The little bumps became faces with stories to tell. The farmer to the left was from Ireland and he had come to America to make money for his family. He was mugged on Staten Island and since then has been in a mental institution.

Then the star-crossed lovers. Apparently they had run away together, much against their parentís wishes. On the way to California, the girl, a blonde, was brutally stabbed. The boy with sullen brown eyes, was then attacked and had watched her die.

The story was achingly familiar.

John heard a car honk, then someone yell.

His eyes focused on a bump. That man was centuries older than he. His blonde hair and ice colored eyes were mysterious. And deadly. He was a killer, a mind tangle, a passionate lover, an angel sent from Darkness, and the devil himself.

And that wasnít a story.

+ + +

Five Months Ago

John heard the door open as he stared at the ceiling.

"Are you okay?" said a voice of a man.

John nodded. "Just tried."

"Oh." Cameron Wakefield walked into the room with two cans of soda. "I brought you something."

John looked at Cameron with curious eyes and reached for a soda. He sat up and leaned against the wall. "Thanks."

"No problem." Cameron pulled up a chair and sat down. He opened his soda with long fingers. He was a average height man with a tan complexion. He was lean and John remembered him mentioning that he was a swimmer. He kept his dirty blonde hair short and Cameron liked to flirt with anything with legs. "Are you okay, John? Iím going to tell Fitzgerald."

John shrugged. "Sometimes I am." He sipped his drink. "Sometimes I want to die."

Sometimes I think I am dead.

Arenít we all, John?

He perked up, expecting Cameronís voice, but his friend was busy chugging his soda. John looked around the room, taking a mental inventory of the occupants in the room. "Sometimes, I think I hear things."

"Itís probably withdrawal."

John looked at Cameron with a cocked brow. "I donít think so."

"You could be going crazy." Cameron laughed.

John pitched his lips together. "Thatís right, Iím a homicidal maniac!"

"Thatís what happened when you come here." Cameron looked at his watch. "I need to be go back. Maddy is on the rampage."


"Some girl is missing. Bella, I think her name is." Cameron stood up. "If you need to talk me."

John nodded. "I know."

All too well.

John paled. Maybe I am going crazy.

Youíre not crazy. Just lonely.

+ + +


John had fallen asleep, but knocking sounds had awoken him. They had become so familiar now. He rolled over to his stomach, bored by staring at the ceiling.


Iím not.

Iím nothing.

Youíre nothing without me.

+ + +

Devil was your angel, but it's not no more
The devil was your angel, when you weren't sure
- "Devil Song", Beth Orton

John stumbled to his knees and slid across the muddy ground. He put his arms out to stop him, which seemed not to work. He looked around the darkness, then stood up to keep running. John occasionally looked behind him to see if the clinicís night guards had noticed he was gone. John realized that he was at the lake, which was on the grounds. He stopped to catch his breath and at the same time calm himself down.

Out of the corner of Johnís eye he saw two figures. John looked up with alarm, then ducked behind a bush. They were walking towards him, laughing. John slowed his breathing down and listened to the pleasant chatter of two of the clinicís patient.

Probably lovers out for the midnight romp by the lake.

One began to speak in French as he caressed the femaleís body. She let out a moan as he kissed her neck.

John peered out from the bush, looking. He felt like an idiot, but he was curious.

The woman, who was a pale brunette, let out a gasp as the man nipped at her skin. She closed her eyes and let his hand travel to her breast.

John realized that a pair of icy blue eyes stared at him. The man let out a grin and opened his mouth to reveal his teeth.

And the two sharp pointed fangs that he possessed.

The woman gasped as he bit her. She tried to speak, but blood seeped out of her mouth. The man bit her harder, sucking her precious blood as John looked on.

John stood up, bumping his head on a low tree branch. His mouth was open with horror and disgust. The woman reached a hand out to him, then she fell limp in the manís arms.

"Care to join in?"

John began to bolt back to the clinic. He looked behind him and saw the man walking, casually, behind him. John stumbled on the ground, knocking his knee against a rock. He stood up, wobbling for a moment, then continued to limp quickly back to the clinic. John was a few feet away from the front door when he looked behind him.

The man was gone.

"Can I help you?"

John looked directly in front of him. The man smiled, coyly, with his eyes flashing in hunger. John let out a loud scream, which was cut short by the manís hand, grabbed his mouth.

"What my pretty?" said the man. "You donít care for women?" He pulled John closer to him. "I always enjoyed men myself." He tilted Johnís head upwards to get a clear target of Johnís neck. The man hissed and opened his mouth.

John let out a strained protest and passed out. The man pouted and let go of Johnís limp form. He watched as the body fell to the cobblestone ground and let out a sigh.

The man knelt down next to Johnís body, which laid motionless on the ground. He picked up one of Johnís hands and pressed it to his cheek. "Such a beautiful creature, you are." He touched Johnís still face. "You look like an angel." The man stood up. "And soonÖ" He began to walk away. "Öyouíll be mine."

Then he disappeared.

+ + +

He heard various sounds coming from all directions. Someone mentioned that his was beginning to come to and the other lifted his wrist to check for a pulse.

"John? John, can you hear me?" The voice was echoing and it was loud. "Nurse, hand me a penlight."

John opened one eye and winced at the bright lights of the room. "Where am I?"

"Youíre in the infirmary." The doctor was his therapist. He looked passive and a bit upset. "Do you know why youíre here, John?"

John shook his head. He felt his nose itching and John went to scratch it, only to find his wrists restrained to the sides of the bed. John looked at his wrists in horror, then glanced at his doctor. "Why am I in restraints? What did I do?"

"One of the after hours guards found you outside the facility." The doctor said. "It seems that you made an attempt on your life, that explains the restraints. Do you remember slashing your wrists?"

John looked at the doctor like he was talking nonsense. "What are you talking about? I didnít slash my wrists!"

The doctor loosened one of the restraints and lifted up Johnís arm to show him a bandaged wrist. "Explain this to me, Dr. Carter."

Johnís mouth dropped open in shock. "What happened?"

"Are you saying you didnít do this to yourself?"

John nodded.

"John, have you felt like you couldnít handle your addiction anymore?" asked his doctor.

John fought his restrains and gave up after a moment. "No, you spineless shit head! I didnít do it, you bastard!"

The doctor frowned. "Give him two of Ativan. Iíll come back later once heís calmed down." He said to the nurse.

"No! Donít! Please donít!" yelled John as he struggled against the restraints. He saw the nurse pull down his pajama bottoms to expose his hip and inject the needle of the sedative into his system. "Stop! Please!" He looked at the doctor with frightened brown eyes. "Please. Iíll tell want you want to know."

The doctor nodded to the nurse and handed her the clipboard. "John." He walked over to the bed. "Weíll talk later. For now, you get some rest and think about why you would want to hurt yourself."

"I didnít do it!" John yelled. "Whereís the knife? Whereís the fucking knife, then, you smart ass!" He struggled against the bed.

The doctor looked at him. "I have no idea. Only you know that, John." He left the room.

John heard the door lock and he let out a frustrated groan. He turned his head and looked at his bandaged wrist. Maybe I am going crazy. John felt tears well up in his eyes. He blinked and two slipped down his face and landed on the pillow. Slowly, the medication took affect and John slipped into a deep unconsciousness.

+ + +


He watched Dave hold down a rowdy paitent as he came into the ER. John made a beeline for the lounge to put away his belongings. He quietly pulled on his lab coat and stethoscope. The door swung open.

"We have a MVA coming in." said Kerry.

John jumped into action. "ETA?"

"Theyíre pulling up right now."

John saw the ambulance and rushed outside into the cold weather. He looked at the victim and began to spout off orders. The victim was only sixteen.

Days like these, he wished he was in bed.

+ + +

Five Months Ago

He lurked in the darkness.

His glowing ice colored eyes watched the sleeping figure on the bed. The man walked over to him with soundless ease and brushed a hand over the younger manís youthful face, making sure not to touch his warm flesh.

"So beautiful." The man whispered as he touched the young manís lips with his finger. He devoured the softness of the pale pink lips with his pale finger and smiled. "And so fragile." The man kissed the lips of the unconscious form with his own. "You will be my puppet."

He moved and let out a low moan. The young man moved his head towards the pale figure and opened his eyes.

"I see my sleeping beauty has awoken from his deep slumber." He smiled. "Drug induced, of course."

The pair of hazed brown eyes looked at him with curiosity. The light in them seemed dull and lifeless.

"I see the pain." He smiled at the younger man on the bed as he knelt down next to him. "Youíve been hurt, betrayed, and broken. You have no stability and you feel like fine china. I prefer the kind with the blue flowers. Claudia always wanted a china tea set." He unwrapped the gauze over the manís wrist. "Such beautiful skin with such an ugly history." He kissed the tender skin. "Poor rich child thrown into responsibility to be something he isnít. He becomes a doctor to salvage others, but yet he canít seem to salvage himself. His soul is torn. Your body weak. Your blood tastes like drugs. An addict? What would mommy and daddy think? They arenít in the picture, are they, John?" He smiled at John, who still tried to shake the darkness from his mind. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have such beautiful brown eyes?" He nipped at Johnís wrist. "You looked so frightened last night." He punctured the soft flesh with his teeth.

John let out a soft whimper. He felt a dull pain travel up his restrained arm, which intensified. John winced as he watched the man suck on his wrist. Already weaken from the Ativan, he couldnít yell for help. For some reason, John felt like he didnít want to. "PleaseÖ"

The man looked up. "Please what?" He took one his jagged fingernails around his own wrist and cut it open. "Drink it John. You can leave all the pain behind and join my family. We cause pain, it cannot hurt us." He squeezed a drop of blood over Johnís mouth.

John moved away as the blood slid into his mouth. He winced and tried to pull away. "Help me."

"They canít hear you, my puppet."

John fought lamely against his restraints. "Help me." His voice cracked. He tried to move, but his strength failed him.

The man turned Johnís head towards his with his hand. "You and I are linked, my boy. Darkness will prevail." He slit Johnís damaged wrist open and repeated the process with the other.

"No." John, hoarsely, whispered. "No. Please." He looked towards the door. "Help me." He tried to yell. "Help." John turned towards the man, but no one was there.

He had disappeared.

John struggled against his restraints as his wrist bled out in heavy flows. "Help. I donít want to die. Help me." He felt dizzy like he had been before he passed out on the cold floor. He could almost feel the knife impale his body. John felt tears roll down his cheeks. "NoÖ" He rested his head against the pillow and cried into it. "No. Donít let me dieÖ"

+ + +

She ran quickly. Her feet squeaked on the floors in the treatment center as her legs carried her to the doctorís office.

"Dr. Fitzgerald!" shouted a nurse. She burst into his room. "Itís John Carter!" The nurse saw the shocked expression on the doctorís face as he gathered himself up. She followed the doctor down the hallway to the infirmary.

"What did he do now?"

She handed him the chart. "Someone broke into his room and attacked him. His left wrist was slashed open and heís been losing as much blood as weíre putting back into him." The nurse opened the door into Johnís room.

"Who found him?" Dr. Fitzgerald rushed over to Johnís side and pulled out his stethoscope to examine Johnís ragged breathing.

The nurse pointed to the security guard, a young man in his early twenties. "He heard John calling for help."

The doctor nodded as he ordered more O neg. "How long has been he in this state?"

"Since we found him."

A monitor went off. "Heís pulse ox is dropping." He looked at the monitor again. "Heís going into V-fib!"

"Paddles! Charge to 250!" yelled Dr. Fitzgerald as he readied the paddles.

One of the nurses charged the machine. "Charged to 250!"


He jumped.

"Charge to 250."

He jumped again.

The pale figure watched from the shadows. His puppet danced on the bed as his song of beeping paused, then sounded again. He smiled.

And his puppet danced.

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