Perhaps you don’t believe that I really am a vampire. It is a stretch, I’ll give you that. But if you do believe I am a vampire, well, you can’t be a numbskull about it, either. I’m not a storybook vampire like Count Dracula. I can’t do supernatural. My escape wasn’t all that impressive. Check the ceiling of your school someday. Or an office. If it’s like mine, it’s really a false ceiling. It’s made of rectangular foam tiles that sit on a plastic frame. You can poke them up with a broom. Up above, you’ll find the plumbing and ducts for heating that run every which way.
That’s it. That’s how I got out. I just stood on my desk, pushed up the tile, slid it backwards, jumped up and grabbed one of the black pipes hanging overhead. Then I pulled myself up and slid the tile back in place underneath me. Ta-dah!
Are you impressed? Maybe not. But I tell you, it was awfully nerve-racking hanging there, hoping the police would leave.
Everett Johansson was furious. “Where did he go?” he asked again.
“I don’t know,” the nurse answered. “There’s no way out of here but the window, and it’s barred.”
The bed was moved and moved and moved again. The mattress was lifted and the sheets pulled off. The room was only about eight feet wide and twelve feet long. It didn’t take them long to search it.
“I’ll check the next room,” the nurse said.
“No, he’s in here somewhere. There’s no way he could have gotten out.”
I listened while they moved the bed again.
“Wait a minute,” Johansson said. “Give me that chair.”
I heard the sound of people shuffling around, then the tile underneath me popped up just a hair. That got a reaction. I had to get moving. Pipes ran in every direction. So did the metal heating ducts, but they didn’t look as strong. I took my best guess and slid, hand over hand, foot over foot, along the pipes in the direction of the kitchen.
“Get me a light,” Johansson continued. “I can hear him. He’s in the ceiling.”
An instant later the tile disappeared. Johansson’s head and shoulders rose through the space. He had a small flashlight in his hand.
I got lucky. There was dust everywhere, and the beam of his flashlight didn’t penetrate very far into the darkness. He scanned straight ahead first, then on one side and the other. By the time he looked behind him I was even farther away.
“He’s heading that way,” Johansson said.
A tile to my right popped up and then disappeared. Then another one off to my left. The two police officers joined the search. The beams of their flashlights lit up the dust all around me.
“Over there,” said a voice. I tried to speed up, but it wasn’t easy hauling myself along. Unless I found a way to turn invisible, they were going to catch me.
I kept moving in the direction of the kitchen. I was starting to slow down because my wrists were getting tired. I was breathing heavily. All the dust made it difficult to get a full chest of air. I couldn’t hang on much longer.
Then a tile popped up right in front of me. I waited for the officer underneath me to look up, but he didn’t, because someone started yelling at him. It was Nurse Roberta.
“You can’t do this!” she shouted. “This is a mental ward. Anything out of the ordinary throws these people for a loop. Our job is difficult enough. Tearing the ceiling apart like this is out of the question.”
I could have dropped to the floor and kissed her. Instead, I slid, as quietly as I could manage, back the way I’d come.
The officer ignored her. He tossed the tile to the floor and removed another. It gave me a better view of him. He was standing on something. A chair, or a ladder, maybe. I thought he might turn his flashlight on me, but he didn’t even have it out any more. I scanned the darkness above the remaining tiles. The other officers must have stopped using theirs, too. The beams were no longer shining through the dust. They were simply tearing down the ceiling one tile at a time. Soon, the whole network of ducts and plumbing would be exposed. And so would I.
The officer removed another tile, and another. As the tiles disappeared, more light danced up through the dust. I was going to be in plain view very soon.
Then I heard another voice shouting, “He’s in here! He’s in here!”
It was Jacob, my red-haired neighbour from across the hall. I could hear him giggling.
The officer in front of me stopped pulling out tiles. A second later, I heard the heavy sound of his feet as they hit the floor. Then he ran off in the direction of Jacob’s room.
This bought me a few precious seconds. I considered what to do. The dining hall would still have a few patients lingering in it.
So would the kitchen. So would the common room. There was nowhere I could drop where I wouldn’t be seen.
Another voice started shouting, too. It was Sad Stephen. He had chronic depression and came in a few times a year for shock treatment. Sounds horrible, but it might have been working, because he was laughing too, just like Jacob.
“No. I see him. He’s in my room!”
I nearly started laughing myself. A few seconds later, every person on the floor who could talk was shouting.
“He’s in my room!”
“No, my room!”
“He’s in here!”
“. . . right behind you!”
In the end, it didn’t make much of a difference. Johansson told his men to go back and keep pulling out the tiles. I felt a twinge of panic until I realized that what he was doing was ridiculous. The ceiling of the first floor was huge. It was going to take them too long. They were never going to be finished by nightfall. But, of course, they didn’t know my uncle was coming to save me. They must have thought they’d have all night.
I scuttled back in the direction of the kitchen. My wrists were starting to burn. I couldn’t hang on much longer. A few feet away was a heating duct. The metal strips that held it in place looked flimsy, but I was out of options. I slipped my leg over it. The duct seemed to handle the weight just fine. Then I slowly shifted my whole body over until I was settled neatly on top. It made some noise, but with everybody shouting, I don’t think Johansson would have heard me if I’d torn the whole thing loose.
Soon the ruckus came to an end. I guess the thrill of screaming “He’s over here!” only lasts so long. Shortly afterwards, security and the nursing staff started herding people back to their rooms for lights out.
Johansson and his men continued their work. The bedrooms, the lobby, the reception area, the nurses’ station, they were all being done systematically. I didn’t care. Dusk was approaching, and my uncle was coming. Or so I thought.
As the police moved closer, I heard the dining room clearing below me. Soon it was quiet, and I decided to make a drop. I slid a tile all the way back and looked down. It was at least twelve feet to the ground.
What was I afraid of? I was a vampire now. Couldn’t most of us fly?
I let go and hit the ground with a soft thud. No broken bones. Not even a tingle. I crept towards the kitchen. A few night staff were cleaning up after dinner, rinsing dishes and putting them through the wash. Their backs were to me. Still, I watched for a few seconds to make certain they weren’t glancing around. They seemed pretty busy, so I managed to crawl over to the refrigerator without being seen. I opened the door as quietly as I could and grabbed the box of food Nurse Ophelia used to make my brain cocktails.
My uncle had said to pack the essentials. Well, this would have to do. It was time to get going.
I crept back into the dining room, grateful that the lights were off and the area was empty. But the only doors that could get me outside of the building were in the lobby. If I climbed there above the ceiling, which would have been almost impossible with the box I was carrying, I still would have had to drop down right in front of Johansson and his men, assuming they hadn’t finished that section completely by now. That wasn’t going to get me very far. And even though there were exits at both sides of the building, they were unlocked only if there was an emergency. I had to think of something else.
So I walked to the wall and pulled the fire alarm. Instant emergency.
As soon as it started ringing, I ducked under a table and waited. Almost right away, the two kitchen staff made their way through the dining hall. Neither saw me. Then I snuck back into the kitchen, grabbed an apron from the wall, tied it around my waist and walked out myself. I thought if I looked casual enough, with all the traffic in the lobby, I’d get out one of the side doors, no problem. I just needed my luck to hold.
It didn’t.
They say timing is everything. Well, I don’t even wear a watch, so mine could have been better. I strode out of the dining hall expecting to merge with a crowd of people, but the lobby was nearly empty. I hadn’t waited long enough for everyone to figure out what was going on and leave their rooms—assuming they could do all of this without an instruction manual or a personal attendant. To make matters worse, Everett Johansson was arguing with Nurse Roberta at the reception counter, so I practically bumped into him.
“Zachary, stop! It isn’t safe!” he shouted.
I ran for the closest exit, the lobby doors right in front of me. The police were close behind.
Did I mention that I was pretty quick on my feet? Running for a few hours every night is apparently very good for this. I’d never actually been in a race before, but as it turned out, none of the officers inside had a chance. I bolted through the outside doors so fast, all they could do was shout. I looked back over my shoulder for a second, and that’s when I collided with the officer waiting in the parking lot. I was so surprised, I dropped my box of food and tripped to the pavement. I’d totally forgotten there were men posted outside.
I tried to stand up, but someone had taken hold of my wrist. As I twisted away, a heavy weight pressed down on my back, flattening me against the asphalt. Someone started shouting at me, telling me not to move. At the same time, I felt another officer grab one of my legs. Then a third pinned my arm. And just like that, I was in the hands of the police.