by Cindy Winget
Chapter Twenty-Four
The following day, they made the trek back out to the cemetery. “What are we doing here? We already know that Lucy’s body is gone. Someone has stolen her,” grumbled Jack.
“Humor me,” Van Helsing implored.
Victor, unlike Jack, whole-heartedly believed Van Helsing was correct and was therefore unsurprised to see Lucy had made it back into her coffin during the night.
“There! You see!” crowed a triumphant Van Helsing. “Are you convinced yet?”
“How do we know that the same person who snatched her hasn’t now returned her?” Jack said.
Victor thought the two men would come to fisticuffs by the look Van Helsing gave Jack. “To what end? What possible reason could a person have for doing such a thing?”
Jack had no answer.
“How can you be so stubborn!? Do I have to knock you over the head with the truth? Look at her!”
Lucy was lovelier than ever, even more so than she had been in life. There was a healthy bloom upon her cheeks and her lips were as ruby as a rose. Her dark eyelashes reposed just above her high cheekbones in a most becoming way and her golden hair fanned out like a halo, adding to the effect that this was an angel that lay before them. The swell of her womanly features in her white gown darkened Victor’s cheeks. Her slender long-fingered hands lay one upon the other across her stomach.
“Don’t you see? She isn’t a rotting corpse!” Van Helsing nearly shouted. “She is as alive and healthy looking as I have ever seen her! It isn’t natural!”
To further his claims, Van Helsing reached out and peeled back the soft sumptuous lips, revealing a set of long pointy eye teeth. They all gasped at the sight, it looked so foreign in that mouth that used to smile so sweetly.
Jack broke down then, great hacking sobs breaking forth from his mouth, his chest heaving. “I wanted so badly for you to be wrong,” he said when he had composed himself enough to speak. “How can I desecrate my dear wife’s grave? How can I even conceive of murdering her! For that is what you want me to do! She lives, and you wish to end that life!”
“She is no longer your wife. She is a foul creature who has taken the shape and form of your wife but without her soul. Think of the harmless children she has stolen in the dead of night to feast upon their blood. She must be stopped! We need to cut off her head, fill her mouth with garlic, and drive a stake through her heart.”
Jack flinched at the imagery, shuddering at the very thought of performing such mutilations on the woman he loved.
Van Helsing’s voice softened. “I know this is hard for you, and none of us will blame you if you do not wish to bear witness to such a foul task.” His voice gained conviction. “But it must be done,” Van Helsing spoke fervently.
Victor placed a hand upon Van Helsing’s shoulder, non-verbally urging him to calm himself for the sake of his friend, who was still grieving for the loss of his dearly departed wife.
Van Helsing sighed deeply. “I am sorry, Jack. I don’t mean to be so callous. I know you are suffering. We all are.”
Jack wiped the last of the excess moisture from his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I can’t do this. I can’t be party to defiling my wife’s body. You do what has to be done. I won’t stand in your way, but I can’t participate.”
“We understand,” Jonathan said. “I could no more bear it than you had we been talking about Mina.”
“Or Elizabeth,” added Victor.
“I forget sometimes what it means to be young and in love,” Van Helsing said softly. “I have not held the affection of a woman in over thirty years, and I apologize once more for my seeming insensitivity.”
“I forgive you. I know you only have my best interest at heart,” Jack told him.
“I wouldn’t come here to help Lucy the way I have just to hurt you. I do this only because it is the only way.”
Jack nodded.
“Let us return to Whitby and prepare. We shall come back in a few hours and perform the deed,” proclaimed Van Helsing.
“I must check in at work and explain my absence to my employer. I don’t know how long it will take,” Jonathan explained.
“And perhaps we should give Jack a bit more time to mentally prepare,” whispered Victor in an aside.
Van Helsing nodded. “Fine. We shall return before sunrise, after a good night’s rest, and catch Lucy as she returns to her tomb.”
No one spoke as they walked back up to the house. Mina met them in the front entryway and ushered them to the dining room, insisting that they eat breakfast before preparing for anything.
“You have a good woman,” Van Helsing told Jonathan. “Don’t ever let her go.”
“I don’t plan to,” Jonathan said, grinning from ear to ear.
Victor’s mouth watered at the scent of still sizzling sausages, freshly baked bread, and hard-boiled eggs. “It smelled wonderful!” he told her as he sat at the table.
Mina smiled at him and walked to the sideboard where she poured him a tall glass of orange juice. Her steps were slow and deliberate as she made her way back to him, as though she could barely stand.
“Are you all right?”
“Oh yes, merely tired.”
Her dark hair hung lankly about her face, framing cheekbones that seemed more prominent of late. Poor girl, to have lost her best friend and to spend all her time taking care of others.
As soon as they had had their fill, Van Helsing informed them that he had written to a friend of his in Vatican City and gotten permission from the Pope to make use of some of the Host, having suspected from the beginning that this was to be the result of Lucy’s death.
“I will place some of the communion wafers about Lucy’s tomb, preventing her from leaving her resting place. We shall fashion a wooden stake into a sharp point and bring garlic to place about the coffin. I have some postmortem knives in my bag that will do nicely for the decapitation.”
Jack’s complexion had turned green by this point.
Van Helsing assigned each of the others their tasks and left them to their own diversions, followed by sleep, until they would reconvene at five o’clock the next morning.
*****
“Are you certain you want to accompany us?” asked a concerned Jonathan as Jack put on his coat.
“If this has to be, then I cannot live with being a coward who lets other men do what must be done.”
“It isn’t weakness or cowardice,” insisted Jonathan. “No one here would dare call you that. Or even think it!”
“He is right, my boy,” Van Helsing said as Victor nodded his agreement.
Jack’s eyes filled with tears. “I know you wouldn’t. You are all the best friends a man could ask for, but this is something I have to do.”
With that, the men once again made the journey to the graveyard. Jonathan loitered on the veranda to give Mina a farewell kiss. An owl hooted ominously in the distance, and Victor could swear he could hear the fluttering of bat wings. Was Dracula out there somewhere, watching in silent delight as these men prepared to do an unsavory deed to one they had loved? Is this what he had intended? If so, he was diabolical indeed.
When they reached the family crypt, Van Helsing pulled a wad of putty from his bag and began rolling it out into long strips. “Crush these up,” he said, handing an envelope to Victor, who opened it to reveal the crisp wafers of the Host.
Victor dutifully crushed them into a fine powder and handed it back to Van Helsing who then pinched it into the putty that he had prepared. Carefully he laid the putty full of the Host into the cracks underneath and around the door.
“Now we wait,” he said. Just like the night before, they all found as comfortable a spot as they could manage and started their vigil. It was nearing dawn before they finally heard a rustling in the dark.
Victor’s eyes, that had formerly been fighting to close, shot open with a sudden influx of adrenaline.
“Perhaps it’s simply a rabbit or a squirrel,” Jonathan
whispered.
Van Helsing shushed him and pointed to the far corner of the cemetery, where a woman had just come into view.
It was Lucy. Victor was sure of it. The whiteness of her funeral clothes seemed to glow in the moonlight. Her sunshine hair fluttered in the slight breeze. They all held a collective breath as she slowly approached. Victor’s first thoughts of Lucy’s sweet appearance vanished as he saw the body of a small boy, cradled in her arms like a babe. The Madonna-like image was marred when Lucy dipped her face to the young child’s neck—as though to nuzzle him with sweet affection—her mouth coming away bright red and dripping onto the white gown, forever staining the fine cloth as the image stained the hearts and memories of the men who watched.
Van Helsing carefully peeling away a section of the putty that enclosed the tomb. Lucy looked up and Victor was shocked at the stare she laid upon them. There was so much malice and coldness written in those eyes. Gone was the benevolent light that used to permeate them. Her mouth twisted up into a cruel smile that displayed the sharp teeth normally concealed by her ruby lips. She tossed the child away like so much rubbish.
“Jack, my love,” came a haunting voice.
It took a second for Victor to realize that it issued forth from Lucy’s lips, for it was in a voice very unlike her own.
“Come to me,” she beckoned to Jack as she had the night she died.
Unlike that night, however, Jack made no move toward her. His face had gone pale, and his lips trembled as he gazed upon the woman that had once been his wife, blood still dripping off her chin. She was crouched down, ready to pounce, like a large cat taking down a running gazelle.
Van Helsing hurriedly held aloft a silver cross and she stopped, growling in protest.
As the first rays of morning sun peeked over the horizon, Lucy’s sneer faded and she hurried to the mausoleum, hesitating when she reached the door. Her nose wrinkled and she looked around as though trying to find the source of her disgust. Moments later, as the sunlight began to brighten by degrees, Lucy transformed into a fine mist before their very eyes and slipped inside through the crack left by the removed putty.
Van Helsing hurried to the door and replaced the putty, full of the holy wafers, effectively locking Lucy inside. “Let us give her a few minutes to make it back into the coffin, where she should descend into a deep sleep.”
They waited what felt like an eternity until Van Helsing finally waved them forward to the vault. He removed the putty enough to open the door and they all entered. The light was dim, and Victor was glad that he had thought to bring a few candles along. He pulled them from his pack and lit them, setting them into holders and placing them strategically around the room to maximize their usefulness. Lucy’s coffin came into sharp relief, the lid securely resting on top. Once more the crowbars came out, and with effort, the four men removed the lid to reveal Lucy in all her loveliness, fast asleep in the coffin, no trace of blood upon her face. The crimson drips that stained her white gown were the only testament to what they had previously witnessed.
“As the one who loved Lucy most, I think I should perform the ritual,” Jack said.
Jonathan gasped as Victor asked, “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Were she in her right mind, she would be appalled at the very thought of her crimes. If Van Helsing is to be believed, this will free her soul.”
Van Helsing nodded in understanding and handed Jack the pointed wooden stake and a mallet. “Free her. But once you start, you must not falter,” he warned.
Jack hesitantly took the tools from him with trembling hands. “I understand.”
“Good.”
Jack placed the sharp end of the stake above Lucy’s heart, took a deep fortifying breath, and slammed the mallet down onto the other end of the stake. Van Helsing began to pray, pulling out a length of rosary beads. The thing in the coffin let out an unholy screech of pain and fury, writhing and twisting in wild contortions. Its sharp white teeth champed together until the lips were pierced and the mouth was once again smeared red. Crimson foam formed at the corners of her mouth as she let out another piercing scream. Blood from the impaled heart welled and spurted around the stake as Jack continued to rain down blow after blow. Finally, the thrashing stopped, and the creature lay still once more. There, in the coffin, lay no longer the unwholesome being that they had grown to hate, but rather Lucy as they had known her in life, with her face of unequalled purity. It seemed to Victor as though she smiled gratefully in her sleep, finally at peace.
Spent with both the physical exertion and emotional trauma he had just endured, Jack was content to stand back and let the others do the rest of what must be done. Jonathan grabbed a hacksaw and began to saw off the top part of the stake so that the tip could remain in her heart when they fit the lid back atop her coffin. Van Helsing took out his post-mortem knife and quickly detached Lucy’s head from her body. Victor removed garlic from the pack and began placing it around her coffin, being sure to also stuff some into Lucy’s mouth, grimacing as he did so. When all of these ministrations were performed, they replaced the lid on Lucy’s tomb and left the mausoleum—careful to replace the putty back around the cracks of the door. They walked back to Whitby with heavy footsteps and even heavier hearts.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The rest of the household had gone to bed hours ago, but Victor once again found himself unable to sleep, though not for lack of trying. The bed he lay upon was comfortable; the extra bedding to help ward off the chill of a damp English night being more than sufficient. Even so, he found himself awake at two in the morning. He worried constantly about the whereabouts of Dracula and the well-being of his friends, but it was more than that.
He missed Elizabeth. With each passing day he was afraid that some well-meaning gentleman would take advantage of his absence and sweep her off her feet, leading her to a life of ease in some far-off residence where she would forever be out of Victor’s reach.
His constant guilt was compounded by the knowledge that his father was getting up in years, and that, as the eldest son, he should be there to take care of him. Although he trusted Elizabeth implicitly to see to his father’s needs in his absence, it wasn’t fair that she take on the full responsibility of caring for the man. That was for Victor to do.
He had missed seeing William grow-up, and now here he was squandering his opportunity to watch Ernest turn into a man. Who would Ernest have to talk to as he made the transition from boyhood to adulthood? Surely not Elizabeth.
Victor sighed. It couldn’t be helped. He could not abandon his friends in their need. Especially when it was due to him that they were in this predicament. He reminded himself that he was here to keep Elizabeth safe from Dracula as much as anything. The sooner they found the creature and destroyed him the better. As accommodating and amiable as his friends were, he missed the impish nature of his friend Henry Clerval. Jonathan had been similar in this regard, but his stint in Dracula’s lair had made him more serious. Whereas Jack, in his grief—who had already been on the more serious side—had turned downright morose. He could hardly blame them, circumstances being what they were, but he longed for Henry to walk through that door and breathe fresh life and laughter into their lives. Always ready with a quick smile and comforting pat on the back. Dear Henry; his faithful companion since boyhood. A tear slipped from the corner of Victor’s eye and slid down onto his pillow.
The following morning, Victor voiced an idea for finding Dracula. “We know that he must have some sort of residence that he slinks off to during the day, or at least when he isn’t antagonizing us. I say we learn its location, catch him when he is asleep, and perform the same ministrations on him as we did Lucy.”
“Sounds good, but where do we start?” asked a pessimistic Jack, not bothering to even lift his gaze from the fireplace.
“Well, Jonathan, you mentioned that you caught him asleep in a churchyard that was attached to Bran Castle, so—"
“Bran Castle?” Jack asked.
Victor flushed with embarrassment. “Although it is not the same castle once inhabited by Vlad Tepes, I thought it aptly named thus for it is occupied now by that very fiend from whence it derived its name. Or would you prefer Castle Dracula?”
Jack waved away the question as inconsequential.
“Anyway,” Victor continued, “if we assume that Dracula holds onto his same eccentricities and habits here in England, he will have procured a residence attached to a churchyard. I thought that Jonathan could easily get us a list of residences that might fit that description that have been recently purchased.”
Jonathan was nodding. “Yes. I could do that. Very easily, in fact, since I was the person assigned to procure the Count a residence here in England in the first place, my employer should have no problem with me asking for such information. Although I admit that he is not happy with me for seemingly bumbling my job and being away longer than he deemed necessary. I could not bring myself to tell him the truth.”
“No one would expect you to,” Mina was quick to say from where she rested upon the divan.
A few minutes later, they were ushering Jonathan out the front door, hoping for his swift return. Victor and Van Helsing took a turn about the grounds, seeking fresh air and a chance to stretch their legs. Victor was far too anxious to remain indoors. Jack declined their invitation to join them and remained staring into the fire.
When the two men were a fair distance away from the house, Victor turned toward Van Helsing. “What are we going to do about Jack? I realize that he is grieving for Lucy, and I know it will take time, but I worry about him.”
