We sprinted across the narrow stretch of lawn and flattened ourselves against the stone wall of the house. Robert readied his gun, then nodded at Oscar and me. We positioned ourselves on either side of the door, stakes clutched in our fists. I twisted the doorknob, expecting to find it locked. It wasn’t. I pushed the door open and Robert swiftly and stealthily moved through, his rifle leading the way. Oscar and I followed, eyes darting around a small sitting room, which was quite uninhabited.
Following the same pattern, we moved from the sitting room into the hallway with still no sight of man nor beast. Yet my senses tingled for a moment, then nothing. My sixth sense does diminish with distance, and it was a very large house.
We continued, penetrating deeper into the house. There was some evidence of recent habitation – a discarded newspaper, muddy boot prints on the hall carpet – but we found nobody to rescue or to kill. Finally, we had searched the entire ground floor and were faced with the choice of looking either upstairs or below ground – neither would afford easy escape should it become necessary. And the day was growing late.
The cellar seemed the less desirable choice, and therefore that is where we headed first. I followed Robert down into a gloomy hall, which led to a kitchen in one direction and what appeared to be storage for wine and other household goods in the other. The kitchen was the most disused of any of the rooms we had seen. If Derrick was here I am not sure what they could have been feeding him because the only food in evidence were some withered apples and a pint of soured milk. We turned to explore the storage area, but it was then we realised that Oscar was no longer with us!
“Damn him,” I cursed as, abandoning stealth, we hurriedly searched the rest of the cellar. There was no sign of him. We sprinted back up the stairs and burst out into the back hallway, frantically looking for some indication of which way he had gone. We spent precious minutes on our search, fearing to call out loud for him as it might attract hidden vampires to our presence.
An open door was our only clue and we followed it through the formal dining room, then on to the drawing room and front hall. We could complete the loop of the ground floor again but going up seemed more promising and we mounted the grand staircase. When we were halfway up, a door opened in the hallway above and Oscar emerged with his brother Willie!
He had told me Willie was working for Wotton, but I was still astonished to see him there. Robert and I hurried the rest of the way up to meet them in the hall. I was immensely relieved to sense nothing untoward about Willie. I had feared I would have to plunge my stake into the heart of my oldest friend.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him in a fierce whisper. Robert was standing with his rifle at the ready, his eyes sweeping the hall, waiting for anyone – or anything – to emerge from a doorway.
“No need to whisper, they are all gone,” Oscar said. “Willie has confirmed it.”
Robert lowered his rifle and I introduced him to Willie, who nodded but remained strangely silent.
“Any word of your friend?” Robert asked.
“Yes,” Oscar said. “I am afraid we are too late. He has become….” His voice trailed off.
“And you, Willie?” I asked. “Are you unharmed?”
He laughed harshly at that, which I found most alarming. “I am well at the moment,” he said. “Quite sorry I ever joined their ranks, and I will continue to be sorry for a long time to come.”
“No reason for us not to return to London now,” Oscar said. “It will be dark soon and I, for one, would like to be on a train by then. Preferably with a drink in my hand.”
Now, here we sit on that train to London and Oscar does, indeed, have a drink in his hand, not his first of the evening either.
It is a hard thing, the loss of hope, the certainty of defeat. But at least he now knows. He is bearing up surprisingly well. I know that he will mourn his friend, but I find myself, to my own astonishment, hoping that the loss will not change Oscar too much. The darkness of this world can crush a man, but if Oscar can face it and emerge still as arrogant and vaguely ridiculous as he started, perhaps there is hope for us all.
Willie is also drunk, though it has done nothing to lift his morose mood. I wonder what he has been through here with the vampires. He is not one himself, of this I am certain. Perhaps once settled back in London I can persuade him to confide in me.
From the Diary of Oscar Wilde, 25th of April 1880
Dear diary,
I don’t know what drew me to the attic; perhaps I am developing Stoker’s second sight. I felt compelled to go, leaving the safety of our rescue party in the process.
We were searching the Wotton country house, which appeared to be empty, for clues to Derrick’s whereabouts. Stoker’s vision had not been triggered and I was growing more anxious that this was another dead end when I wandered off on my own.
I climbed the broad staircase, past portraits of Wottons from generations past – hard-faced men and bored-looking women and the occasional pampered child. The upstairs hall was richly appointed and lined with doors – so many, how would I choose? As I wandered slowly down the hall, I passed a small open door from which a warm, musty breeze flowed, followed by something floral. It triggered something in me, and before I knew it I was climbing the narrow staircase to the attic.
And to think I was giddy and full of confidence after our victory at Stonehenge. The Black Bishop has been thwarted, and the discovery of the Wotton estate nearby had raised my hopes to new heights that we would find Derrick. Instead, I found only despair and heartache.
The faint, sweet smell of opium was in the air, the attic dark except for tiny amounts of daylight coming through narrow windows.
To my shock, Willie was sitting on a cot in the corner, his back against the wall. He looked rumpled and bereft, lacking coat and cravat, with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his legs drawn up in front of him, his arms wrapped around them.
“Hello, Oscar,” he said. He did not seem at all surprised to see me.
“Willie!” I exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing here?” I rushed over and sat beside him, sensing he needed help but having no idea what that might entail. Up close, I could see the desperation in his eyes and the sheen of sweat on his brow.
“I am Wotton’s employee, remember?” His eyes met mine only briefly before looking away again. “He has taken to helping me in my career, but he decided that journalism is not my strong suit, so for a time, I became his personal secretary. Turned out to not be much of a promotion. I think I shall resign.”
“Why are you hiding in his attic then?”
“I thought I’d have a go at killing myself, but I have run out of opium so I may have to find another method.”
“What have they done to you?” I feared the worst. “Oh, Willie, they haven’t turned you into…a vampire?”
He laughed. “I should be so lucky! No, nothing as glamorous as all that. They merely cursed me and left me to die. They have all gone. When you killed Sundry, that sent them scattering like rats. I think they are afraid of you, Oscar. Good for you!” He laughed weakly.
“Have you seen Derrick? Derrick Pigeon?” I asked him.
“Yes. He is one of Wotton’s vampires now,” Willie said.
My heart turned to stone in my chest, then, traitorously, back into a heart that ached.
He saw the pain in my eyes. “Have you really been looking for him?”
“Yes,” I said. “Where did they go?”
“They were talking of leaving the country. Italy, I think. Apparently, that is where vampires go on holiday.”
I forced my brain back to the here and now. It was too late for Derrick – too late! simply writing those words fills me with bitter regret – but my brother was still here and needed my help. “You said they cursed you,” I said. “What do you mean?”
Willie laughed bitterly. “It’s a funny story. You
like funny stories, Oscar. Seems they have been trying to open a portal to hell, or some such thing. There is a ritual that requires the blood of a half man, half monster. They have been trying different man-monsters – you would be surprised how many there are. I will have to let Mother know so she can update her books. They felt a werewolf just might do the trick. Didn’t work. But there was a bit of a tussle when we were moving the animal into place and the damned thing bit me.”
“My God, no!”
“My God yes, and it was a painful bite. One that will hurt me every time the moon is full. So that is why I am doing the proper thing and killing myself, although I have several weeks yet in which to do it so I am taking my time. Perhaps I’ll drink myself to death; it’s how I’ve always wanted to go, really. And, yes, I see the irony in the fact that I helped kill a werewolf in Greystones and now I am one.”
“That is the first time I have heard you use the word irony correctly,” I said. “Perhaps the bite has improved your grammar.”
He chuckled. “Can things be so bad if you are still insulting me?”
I grasped his arm. “Willie, we can break this curse. I hear tell the Gipsies are working on it even as we speak. We can return you to normal,” I said.
“Not an incentive, Oscar. I wasn’t much of a person when I was uncursed.”
“Stop that, you are stealing my lines. And you know I only mean half of what I say.”
He smiled faintly, then we heard Stoker calling my name. I started for the stairs to call down to him, then realised he might be able to see Willie’s condition. How would he react? Or Robert? Well, I would just have to take a chance and find out. I returned to Willie’s side.
“Don’t do anything rash,” I said. “You have nearly a month to the next moon. Please keep yourself alive until then. If not for me, then for Mother.”
“I am all bark and no bite, Oscar. I haven’t the courage to actually kill myself. In any event, they say you learn to enjoy being a wolf.”
“Stop talking nonsense,” I scolded. “We shall bring you back to London. You can stay with me at my flat and we shall decide what to do next. If we have to chain you up once a month, then so be it. It can’t be any worse than how we tortured each other as boys.”
He gave me an unexpected and uncharacteristic hug. “Thank you, Oscar,” he said, his voice breaking a little.
We went downstairs and I told the others we were too late to save Derrick. With that, we returned to London.
Willie came with me to my flat. I was happy to have the company now that Frank was in the sanatorium. But when I awoke the next morning I found Willie had gone. He left a note simply saying, I can’t put you or others in danger, Willie.
I fear I will never see him again. And even worse, I fear that one day I will see Derrick again. It is almost as if I can sense him, circling my soul like a vulture.
From the Journal of Bram Stoker, 27th of April 1880
11:13 a.m.
I am in the grips of great joy and tremendous guilt.
I am in love.
I am married.
These two facts do not fit together as neatly as one would hope.
I have feelings for a woman who brings out the best and worst in me and I feel myself lost in both extremes.
After that day at Stonehenge, perhaps it was inevitable. When we encountered the vampires, I felt certain we would all lose our lives. I have never known greater fear. And yet, never have I felt greater joy than when we survived and defeated the Black Bishop. More than that, it felt like it was a sign from God that, together, Ellen and I could achieve anything.
Arriving home in London after the search for Derrick I felt like a soldier returned from battle. My ordinary life seemed foreign to me and I felt a hunger for something I could not name.
I brought Florence home from Mrs. Burton’s care and we embraced, but without the warmth that either of us deserves. I told her that we had killed the Bishop and she seemed pleased but distant. I know she has never truly forgiven me for the supernatural secrets I kept from her, and likely regrets having married a man who has brought such darkness into her life. She excused herself, saying she was exhausted and wished to retire for the evening. As she was departing, she laid a hand on my shoulder and said, “I really am happy for you, Bram.” Then she kissed me on the cheek and walked away.
The unnamed longing in my soul grew feverish and I paced restlessly about the house. From my window, I saw a light shining warmly behind the closed curtains of Ellen’s sitting room and decided that I should tell her of the events at the Wotton estate – a perfectly normal thing to do, after all. Only polite, really, after all she had been through on our monster hunt.
I strode across the courtyard, my pace quickening the closer I got. I rapped on her French doors and after a moment her hand drew back the curtain and, seeing me, she quickly opened the door and stood aside to let me in. As she closed the door behind me, I turned to her and started to say, “I wanted to tell you about what we found….”
But the look in my eyes told her far more and in a moment she was in my arms. Her hands were in my hair and my lips were on her mouth and my arms were around her waist holding her tightly. Before long, both hands and lips started wandering and, as clothing became an obstacle, it was pulled aside. I protested feebly that her sitting room wasn’t the place for such actions, but the curtains were closed tight and she assured me we were quite alone in the house and so that is where we stayed. She undid her hair and it tumbled around me as we coupled before the fire. But with this ecstasy came something darker. Soon I found my will and humanity burning away!
The monster in me started to take over, filling me with primal urges and animal instinct. I no longer cared if I physically harmed her. I saw fear in Ellen’s eyes and it only increased my pleasure.
Horrified, I fought the demon within and it is only by the grace of God that I was able to pull my humanity back before I was fully consumed. I forced the monster to retreat into the shadows. Still, it grinned at me, knowing it had almost taken over fully.
She claimed I did not harm her physically, yet even by the firelight I could see scratches and bruises on her alabaster skin. I began to cry uncontrollably like a lost child.
She comforted me and this only increased my guilt, yet I knew that I needed her and had not the strength to end our newly kindled affair.
Eventually, I had to leave and told her so regretfully. She smiled, with only a hint of sadness, and said she understood. I left through the front door – in case Florence happened to be looking out a back window – but not before Ellen kissed me again and said, “Bram, I have no wish to hurt Florence, but you and I can still be something to one another, can’t we?”
“Everything,” I murmured into her ear as I held her close. “I feel you could be everything to me.”
At that moment, I felt not a shred of guilt for what I had done. That came later, as I stopped in the nursery to kiss my sleeping son.
I know I have betrayed my vows and my family. It would be easy to blame my fall on the curse I bear – a little bit of demon nature forcing its way out. But I know this failing is all too human. And besides, what I feel for Ellen is too pure, too joyful to be demonic.
Florence and I married in haste, I know that now. I do love her, but it’s not the same as what I feel for Ellen.
What I will do about this, I do not know.
From the Diary of Oscar Wilde, 29th of April 1880
Dear diary,
I was too late to save Derrick’s soul, but my search for him continues. He was last seen in Salisbury, en route to God knows where, and I know that it’s a near impossibility that I would get some clue to his whereabouts here in London.
But I must do something. I am sure other vampires are still in the city, perhaps having fled here when we killed the Black Bishop in Salisbury. Derrick may be among them. I dare to
hope – foolishly, I suppose, and yet I cannot help myself – that he may be on the side of good as Henry Irving is, and I wish to meet this new incarnation of Derrick to see for myself. If he is a monster, I owe it to my friend to kill him and release him from this existence.
My hunt has taken me throughout the city, from the posh gentlemen’s clubs of Knightsbridge to the seamier parts of the East End. Today I found myself in Whitechapel.
It was there I spotted that vile creature, Leech! He was coming out of a butcher’s shop on Goulston Street, in one of the less seamy parts of Whitechapel. Although it was a cloudy day, he was dressed to protect himself from the sun, in a filthy trench coat, a ridiculously wide-brimmed straw hat, and rose-tinted glasses like Italians wear for a day at the beach.
I recognised his slimy, pale face straight away as he wove through the pedestrians on the busy pavement. The large burlap sack he carried wiggled, so I am sure it held something living.
His presence gave me both fear and hope: fear that these hideous monsters were once more in London, and hope that Derrick may be among them.
I followed him for quite a long way, being careful to stay far back and hidden in the crowd. I was almost too good at this for I lost sight of him from time to time and he almost slipped away entirely.
The comfort of Goulston Street was far behind me and the buildings were becoming more dilapidated as we went on. The crowd was still thick, but now it was full of the unwashed and poor.
He eventually stopped at an abandoned building, a former ‘Dry-Cleaning Factory’, according to the faded sign. One could still smell the solvents and it was most unpleasant.
Knowing vampires are acute of hearing, I did not venture over to the building to peek into the windows. (I still have nightmares of the three vampire women that attacked Bram and me so viciously.) I am off now to gather forces to destroy this foul nest.
Stoker's Wilde Page 29
