Cannot sleep to-night, 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 passed 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 passionate fury and had sworn, “He has left! The bastard has left!” Of this she would say no more, except to describe the sight of large, sturdy wagons outside the castle. I took this to mean that Vlad had abandoned Zsuzsanna.
But to-day, 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 assumed. 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 sunshine. 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 assume 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 to-day, 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 to-day—because I had credited it to a combination of anxiety and hero worship. 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, embarrassing). 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 reassured 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 brimming 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 sunligh
t 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 of 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 I 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 embarrassment has just occurred here, I will not see you rushing 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 shifted 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 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 cluster. But he listened quietly, respectfully, and gave not the slightest sign of skepticism. I 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 assured, I shall not leave to-night, but will give you my decision in the morning.” He paused then and went over to his suitcase, from which he retrieved a shining 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.
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 God 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. And that is what I feel like—a child on holiday—when I visit the pretty dress shops, the cobblers, and sample all the new fashions. In the course of my entire existence, living or undead, I have never owned so many dresses or hats or slippers or gloves as I have bought this week.
And in the process, I am tended to like a real lady, embraced into the social bosom of those who are my prey. Nay, not a real lady but the princess that I am, for Elisabeth and I go by our titles, the Countess Nadasdy and the Princess Dracul. How everyone fawns over us!
Lord of the Vampires Page 14
