Diaries Of The Family Dracul - Lord Of The Vampires Part 9

"She is dying," he said, in his blunt, matter-of-fact Dutch manner. "Ulcerated tumour of the right breast. She has had it more than a year, but her time is short now; it affects her brain.

My concern is that she might die while I am away." I put a hand upon his shoulder. I have rarely touched him other than to shake his hand in greeting or parting, and he acknowledged the gesture with a grateful glance. (Does anyone like to shake hands more than his countrymen?) "I am sorrier than words can say. She was so very kind to me when you both came to visit; I came to think of her as my own grandmother, since I never knew either of mine."

At that last comment, he let out a soft gasp as if struck in the stomach, and looked away; I think emotion had finally overwhelmed him. After a moment of silence, he said, "I do not mean to burden you, friend John, with my own difficulties. You have borne more than your share in your brief life. You are too young to have experienced so much loss; too young. At my age, it is to be expected."

He referred, of course, to the death of my father some sixteen years ago, and my mother three years ago this fall. The family estate is too vast and lonely for a single heir to occupy, so now 1 share it with my patients.

At last we arrived at the two cells closest to my own bedchamber, which I prefer to keep unoccupied unless the asylum is filled to capacity. As we have only three resident patients at present, one of whom I expect to release shortly, the closest inmate was a good half- dozen cells away. Van Helsing will have his privacy.

"Here we are," I said, unlocking and then flinging open the doors to each room so that the professor could peer in. One cell was windowless and contained the standard furnis.h.i.+ngs: bed, night-stand, and a gas lamp mounted so high upon the wall that it could be turned on or off only by an attendant with a special contrivance attached to a long broom handle. The other I had personally prepared for the professor. The barred window looked directly down into the flower garden (which is particularly bright and lush this summer), and I had covered the bed with a quilt sewn by Mother. I had added, too, a writing-table and comfortable chair which faced the window, and beside the unreachable gas lamp had left a long pole so that the professor could control the light as he wished.

I removed two keys from the jailer's ring on my belt and handed them to him. "This is yours... and this is the key to the lady's chamber."

"Ah," he said, gazing down at them and then back up at the rooms. "This"-and he gestured at the sunnier, more cheerful room I had fixed for him-"I will let her have. The other is suitable for me." And before I could protest, he wheeled her past me into the cell, lifted her from the wheel-chair, and deposited her in the more comfortable seat looking out onto the garden. It was rather frustrating, for if the lady was indeed catatonic, the view would be quite wasted, and I was not at all happy leaving Mother's heirloom quilt in the safekeeping of a madwoman.

I followed them inside, wondering whether it would be too rude to speak up, when the professor reached down and removed his patient's hat and veil.

I drew in a breath. The woman was absolute skin and bones, but at the same time young and unnaturally pretty, with huge dark eyes and full dark hair coiled at the nape of her neck. And yet...

I blinked, and for a heartbeat found myself looking at a woman Van Helsing's age, one with streaks of grey in her hair and crow's-feet framing her eyes.

Another blink, and the lady was again young and beautiful, her hair a rich brown-black without a trace of silver. It was as if her youth was a veil which had lifted for an instant, then quickly lowered, masking the real woman beneath. The dreadful soulless vacancy in those half-closed, downcast eyes could not be hidden; yet beneath it I sensed a fathomless grief.I looked up at last to find the professor studying me, his gold-and-silver brows furrowed intently. When our gazes met-his knowing, mine questioning-he said, "You are a sensitive, John. You see beneath the facade, yes?"

I was too taken aback to do anything but gesture my a.s.sent. Did I understand him aright?

Was this a metaphysical case he had brought me, this strange, sad woman with the aged yet ageless face? The notion in itself was compelling enough. Still, there was more that drew me to her, some odd sense of kins.h.i.+p-a feeling that perhaps we two shared some secret sorrow.

To my disappointment, he revealed no more, but said, "And now we leave her to rest. I shall require some time alone with her at sunset." At once he bent down onto one knee at her feet, like a gentleman proposing to a lady (the painful memory of Lucy again!). Gently, he lifted her limp gloved hand from her lap; this he pressed to his lips with such pure, loving devotion that I was honestly shocked. Their relations.h.i.+p was clearly more than doctor and patient.

So piqued was my curiosity that when we exited and the professor shut and locked the thick door behind us, I demanded outright: "Who is she?"

He looked ahead into the distance and sighed. "Gerda Van Helsing. My wife."

I could not have been more astonished. I had known the professor for more than seven years, since I first arrived at university at the tender age of fifteen. A difficult situation: my first time away from home, and I so much younger than the other lads that I was constantly the b.u.t.t of jokes and taunting. (Nor did it help that I looked far younger than my actual age.) Only the professor looked beyond my immaturity, at my talents, and took me under his paternal and professional wing.

We were very close, perhaps because I had lost Papa early on, and I was grateful to find a father-subst.i.tute; of course, there was also the fact that we shared a pa.s.sion for medicine, and that he saw much of himself in me. He, too, was a boy genius who had taken his medical degree at a very early age; thus he encouraged me greatly to pursue my medical studies, though I was surrounded by men almost ten years my senior. (The professor is also licensed to practice law in Holland, but he ruefully admits that was a mistake.) Yet during our years of a.s.sociation-and during my brief one-day visit to his home-I have never heard him (or his mother, for that matter) speak of family or wife. In fact, I had always a.s.sumed he was a bachelor. I had never asked for a tour of his bedchamber.

"Professor," I said, in a low voice, although we were quite alone and beyond anyone's earshot, "what is going on? I get the perception that your wife's malady is more than mere catatonia. Something else is involved; am I wrong to think it is metaphysical? Mrs. Van Helsing seems so young... yet I believe that she is not, that it is all illusion."

He released a sigh of infinite weariness, and all his cheeriness fled for good. "We are both men of science, John, trained to rely on our eyes and our logic to explain how the world operates. But there are instances where modern science fails utterly. We must adapt and, like Democritus when he postulated the atom, must accept that there is more to this universe than eye can see or brain can fathom." He paused, and seemed to consider whether or not to tell me everything all at once. To my disappointment, he apparently opted for the latter. "In time, I will explain more. But sunset will come in less than two hours; before that time, I must tend to Gerda."

"First," I said, "you must have a proper tea." And so I led him off and we ate together. He seemed deeply preoccupied, and spoke no more of his wife or mother, so I did not press.

Afterwards, he disappeared into the garden cell and did not emerge until supper. Again, he was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his purpose in being here.Cannot sleep tonight, and so I have risen to record this: My mind keeps returning to the image of Mrs. Van Helsing's face. Why does it haunt me so?

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing 2 JULY.

An uneventful journey, and both Gerda and I pa.s.sed a quiet night. Unfortunately, I missed my opportunity yesterday for a successful hypnotic session with her- we were both travelling at the time she was most receptive, and when I returned to her later in the afternoon, she would not speak.

How strange to indulge in the luxury of sleeping at night! First, I carefully secured each cell-put a crucifix over each door, and one over Gerda's window, in addition to a small medallion of Saint George. And of course, there is the cross around her neck-on a thick chain like mine, that neither she nor an attacker can easily break.

For the first time in many nights, I slept soundly. The realisation that the worst had already happened-that Vlad and Zsuzsanna had grown suddenly stronger and escaped the castle- was oddly calming. I had nothing more to worry about.

Except for John; he has always been like his mother, a sensitive psychic. When he stared at her face-to-face for the first time yesterday, I feared that he had indeed surmised the truth-and that I had made a fatal mistake in bringing Gerda here.

For I have worked all my life to spare the boy pain, to protect him from the Impaler's attentions. I wanted him to have a normal life, the life I and all my ancestors could not have, the life our sweet little Jan was so cruelly denied.

(And how horrified and moved I was to hear that his adoptive parents bestowed on him the English version of his dead brother's name: John.) No one knows but me-and Mama, who took the infant with her to London and gave it to the best and kindest people she knew, who had long been denied children. They were never told the truth of the child's origin. Even poor Gerda does not know of his existence, for during her pregnancy and delivery she was quite unaware of her body's condition, and I worked hard to keep this knowledge from Zsuzsanna and Vlad.

Have I succeeded? I do not know; the question will be answered soon. I agonised long over whether to come here and expose him to danger-but not to come and watch over him might be even more perilous. He is too close to London now that Vlad is headed here. My only link to the vampires is through my poor wife, who tells me little; how else can I be sure that John is safe, and that Vlad and Zsuzsanna have not learned somehow of his existence?

But yesterday, when I saw him peer profile-to-profile into his mother's face, I was horrified: How stupid I have been to think that John, psychically sensitive, would not know he was staring directly into a genetic mirror? The resemblance between them is that marked: same nose, same eyes and chin, same colouring. Yet in my desperate haste I had failed to consider this problem.

Any harm that comes to him is entirely my fault. I am contemplating departure-for his sake.

At dawn this morning, an ominous sign from Gerda. Under hypnosis, her mood was gay and chatty. To the question "Where are you now?" she replied, "Moving." This confused me; the day before, she had radiated pa.s.sionate fury and had sworn, "He has left! The b.a.s.t.a.r.d has left!" Of this she would say no more, except to describe the sight of large, st.u.r.dy wagons outside the castle. I took this to mean that Vlad had abandoned Zsuzsanna.

But today, the news is changed. "Moving," Gerda says. "I hear rattling and the snorts of horses." Zsuzsanna was riding in her coffin in one of the large wagons, I a.s.sumed. Yet, to my surprise, there followed: "A bright, sunny morning; I had forgotten how beautiful the countryside is in summer. I am sad to leave my home forever, but at the same time, I am overjoyed!"

Impossible, of course, for Zsuzsanna to be peeking out at the suns.h.i.+ne. I do not understand the report; has she realised that Gerda endures my questions each day, and is she intentionally attempting to confuse me with false information?

I have taken such precautions that I strongly doubt it. The vampires are indeed on their way. I can only surmise that Zsuzsanna thought she was being left behind-but that Vlad decided, perhaps at the last moment, to take her on the journey. The rapturous description of morning I cannot explain.

If they travel by land, they will arrive here within a week; if by sea (which poses fewer risks) I have a month to prepare. I will a.s.sume the former, in order to be ready.

Thus I must make my choice concerning John quickly. Do I leave him, and pray that he will remain safe without my interventions? Or do I remain?

Dr. Seward's Diary 3 JULY.

As sole proprietor of a lunatic asylum, I am accustomed to the strange; yet today, I believe, has featured the strangest events I have ever encountered, here or elsewhere.

It began in the wee hours of morning. I had lain awake for some hours, unable to return to sleep after another bout of what I've come to call my "disturbing dream." I have been reluctant to record it-until today- because I had credited it to a combination of anxiety and hero wors.h.i.+p. And, frankly, to a submerged bit of mania within myself which glorified the professor and me as two brave occult knights fighting against a great Evil that wished to overwhelm the world. The dream is rather simple, consisting of an image of myself and the professor wielding silver swords against a vast encroaching Darkness. That part of it is rather pleasant (and, in full consciousness, embarra.s.sing). But the "disturbing" part comes when the professor disappears abruptly from view, and I am left alone in the struggle. The Darkness quickly enlarges and engulfs me, devouring me in the same way an amoeba does its dinner. This I have dreamt several times since receiving Van Helsing's telegram.

Enough of that! Silly as it seems to say the words aloud, it still terrifies me-especially after my encounter with the professor this morning.

So I lay awake for some time in bed, reluctant to return to sleep (perchance to dream), reluctant to rise and accept fatigue as my lot. At last, when the darkness had lightened to grey, I rose, made my toilet and dressed, and went out into the corridor to see if the professor was awake. My intent was to invite him to a hearty breakfast, for he has missed supper and breakfast both days, leaving me concerned.

His cell door was closed and locked. I gave up hope and had just turned to head for the staircase when I caught a sidewise glimpse of his wife's door-slightly ajar. I moved to it, thinking to knock, but instead remained silent a moment, listening. From within came the professor's voice; its tone rea.s.sured me that the conversation taking place was not an intimate one.

And, in reply, there came a second voice-a woman's, no doubt that of his "catatonic"

patient. My physician's curiosity got the better of me, I confess; I knocked lightly, swiftly, then pushed open the door with such care that it made no sound.

Van Helsing was far too intent to pay me notice. His gaze was fixed fast upon his wife, who sat up in the chair, which had been turned away from the window to face the professor.

She wore such an animated expression that for an instant, I thought I was looking upon a different woman. Her dark eyes were open wide and br.i.m.m.i.n.g with mirth and charm, her lips curved upward in a dimpling grin. She was dressed like a matron in a sedate black dress and shawl, with her hair pulled back into a severe, unflattering bun- but her demeanour was that of a giggling debutante. This morning, the illusion of youthful beauty was so strong that I caught no glimpse of the older woman beneath.

"Looking through the window," she said prettily, chin resting atop her knuckles. And, indeed, she had turned her head and seemed to be looking out a window (whilst the real one was at her back), as if she were sitting on a train staring out at the scenery.

"Is Vlad with you?" the professor asked, with such intensity that I realised I had stumbled onto a hypnotic session. I remained absolutely still, lest I disturb either of them and cause Mrs. Van Helsing to emerge too swiftly from trance.

She tossed her head and gave a disparaging laugh. "Not him. I'm with my lover." She sighed. "The sunlight on the mountains is so beautiful..."

At this, Van Helsing's thick blond brows rushed together in alarm. "Sunlight! Are you in your coffin? Sleeping?"

Again, a playful laugh; astoundingly, it was not directed at the preposterousness of the question. "No, no, I'm awake. The scenery is so delightful, I wouldn't want to-" A fresh burst of giggles. "Elisabeth, stop! Someone will see..."

"Who is Elisabeth? Mortal or vampire? Is she someone you have bitten?"

At this, I could not repress a small gasp. Despite his earlier inattention, Van Helsing glanced up sharply; all animation left his wife with the terrible abruptness pf a house of cards collapsing, leaving her once more the dull-eyed, slack-jawed creature.

As for the professor, he rose with the speed and mindless determination of a whirlwind.

With startling brusqueness, he seized my arm and pulled me from the room. Still clutching me as if to prevent my escape, he closed and locked the cell door; then at last released me and whispered fiercely: "Never do that again! Never! Do you realise how much harm you might come to, listening to such things?"

For a moment, I was too astonished to reply; I had never seen the professor so red-faced with rage. And what did he mean, I might come to harm? Was he threatening me? When at last I found my tongue, I managed, "I-I merely wanted to invite you to early breakfast, seeing that you were awake so early. I apologise for any inconvenience, but because the door was slightly ajar and I could hear you speaking, I took the liberty... I did knock, but you were too intent to hear me." "Then it is my fault!" he thundered-I say thundered even though he still whispered, for the anger still shook his voice. "You have heard things which you should not have heard-"

"About mortals and vampires," I said, unable to entirely restrain my amused skepticism. I was interested, to be sure, in occult phenomena, and solid evidence might persuade me of the existence of vampires... of a psychic variety. But a vampire who bites with sharp teeth -this was a topic straight from the pages of a penny dreadful. I looked askance at him, inviting a rational explanation for such an irrational question, an explanation that would set me at ease and provoke from us both a smile. Indeed, I had in my own mind volunteered one for him: that he was indulging for some reason his wife's delusion, in order to learn enough about it to help her.

But the fierce intensity in his blue eyes did not abate, nor did he reply; he merely averted his gaze and folded his arms, still troubled. Or rather, troubled afresh by his inability to provide the answer I so yearned to hear. Had there been a chair in the corridor, I should have collapsed into it, for I was suddenly overwhelmed by the sickening and unmistakable realisation that the professor had posed the question in all seriousness.

I released a short, gasping laugh of disbelief; the grin on my face began to metamorphose into a frown. All these years, I had believed my mentor to be the possessor of the deepest occult secrets. Could the secret instead be that he was a deluded madman? "Surely, Dr. Van Helsing, you do not be-"

In reply, he again seized my arm with such force that 1 broke off, startled into silence, as he pulled me along into his own grim chamber.

Once there, he shut the door behind us, then turned to face me. "John. I have indeed done a great disservice to you by coming here. I will stay no longer, but make immediate arrangements for myself and my wife to depart."

His mood was somewhat calmer but no less determined, no less angry-though I could see now that his anger was becoming entirely turned towards himself. And for some reason, that annoyed me more than his abrupt and inexcusable behaviour towards me.

"See here," I protested, trying to match his vehemence with some of my own. Although what I had heard remained unbelievable, it was becoming increasingly clear- just as Mrs.

Van Helsing's true visage had peeked out from behind the youthful veil-that the professor was acting out of grave concern, not lunacy. As odd and inexplicable as the situation seemed, I knew at that moment (with the most purely unscientific instinct) that I had not misjudged my most trusted mentor all these years; that I could still trust him. "Whatever misunderstanding or embarra.s.sment has just occurred here, I will not see you rus.h.i.+ng off.

You are my guest and my dearest friend, Professor, and the fault is mine, not yours. I swear to you that I will never so intrude upon you again; it was an enormously thoughtless act, for which I apologise utterly."

He sighed, and the determined anger on his features softened to sorrow. "Ah, my good friend, if only apologies could negate any harm done."

"How have I harmed you? Tell me, and I shall right things at once!" Even as I spoke boldly, I shuddered with a sudden chill, for the image of the encroaching Darkness came upon me with swift, distressing force. This is the meaning of the dream, I thought involuntarily. This is why I am called now, to help the professor defeat It...

All too similar to my madman's delusions, and even more disturbing to find myself persuaded by such a compelling mania. As I looked at the professor, my attention s.h.i.+fted to the lintel behind him. Just above it, he had hung a carved wooden crucifix, so large that I could see clearly the expression of agony upon Christ's face. From his many comments, I have always taken the professor to be an agnostic, or at the very most, a Deist. What was happening to us supposed men of science? I struggled, I fought to disengage myself from my delusion.

And yet, I could not disbelieve.

Van Helsing did not notice my swift internal dilemma; he had averted his gaze to shake his head. In the yellow lamplight, his expression once again composed itself into the calm, wise face of the professor I had always known. "It is not you who have harmed me, John, nor you who must make amends. I have no concern for myself, but you have heard too much.

And in this case, too much knowledge can lead to danger. How can I right this, other than to be sure that you are never again exposed to such opportunities?"

"Professor," I said, with such determination that he looked at me with frank curiosity. But words fled me again ISO as I flailed on the precipice of commitment. I could not help but believe what I was about to tell him; but if I did confess my most secret thoughts, would I be exposing myself to ridicule-or worse, to the diagnosis that I belong among those I profess to treat?

I drew a breath and continued in a rush, before my will left me. I told him of the troubling dream, of my overwhelming sense that he had come here rightly because I have always been fated to help him in some secret struggle.

I blushed as I spoke, for it is not easy to confess such private and irrational beliefs, especially to the one around whom those beliefs cl.u.s.ter. But he listened quietly, respectfully, and gave not the slightest sign of skepticism. 1 do think he accepted everything I presented.

I finished by saying, "I have always believed it all to be a silly, boyish notion that would leave me as I matured; but it has only grown stronger through the years. And as you noticed when I first met your wife, Professor: when I look at people, I know their hearts.

Yours is the purest and most trustworthy I have found. If there is any way, no matter how dangerous, that I can help you, I would be honoured to do so."

I fell silent, and for a time, neither of us spoke; Van Helsing's expression revealed that he was both touched and deeply troubled. At last he said solemnly, "I must consider carefully all you have said, my friend. Rest a.s.sured, I shall not leave tonight, but will give you my decision in the morning." He paused then and went over to his suitcase, from which he retrieved a s.h.i.+ning golden object. "In the meantime, would you do me the kindness of wearing this at all times?"

A necklace dangled from his fingers; I held out my cupped hand, and flinched ever so slightly as it dropped, cold and hard, into my palm.

A crucifix, this one on a long chain. I studied it, then looked up at him, intending to question.

But I feared the answer-and so I pulled the necklace over my head, and let the pendant slip down beneath my jacket, where no one could see it.

From his demeanour, I judged it time to take my leave -after first inviting him down to breakfast. As I walked to the door, though, curiosity overwhelmed me, and I spun about, demanding: "Professor! Do you really believe in vampires, the sort that go round biting people's necks in the night?"

He studied me unhappily before replying with a question of his own. "Friend John. Do you believe in lunatics?"

"It is not a question of belief," I retorted thoughtlessly, without pausing to consider his meaning. "Lunatics exist."

"Just so." And he would say no more.

Chapter 8.

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing 4 JULY.

He knows, poor John knows. Not details, perhaps, but he has been sent the same dream as I; it can only mean that Fate or G.o.d or whatever Power that works to protect the good is trying to warn both of us.

And such warnings must be heeded, for they indicate danger's approach. Despite all my efforts to spare him his heritage, he is drawn to it all the same. Perhaps the Buddhists are right after all; he is biologically and psychically linked to Vlad, and it is his "karma" to help his father free the family from its centuries-long curse.

So my original instinct in coming here was justified. I dare not leave him now; I dare not.

Zsuzsanna Dracul's Diary 13 JULY.

A week in London, and I have never felt so gloriously alive! Elisabeth is apparently infinitely wealthy, and she has indulged my whims like a parent indulging a dreadfully spoiled child.