by Lucas Thorn
“Do you think Polly told Lucy about you?” Doctor Seward asked.
“I don’t think so,” Harker said. “I mean, I can’t be certain, but my instinct says she didn’t.”
“She was angry with you,” Van Helsing said. “Women do unpredictable things when they’re angry. You should have drugged her, too. Brought her back to the house. We could have taken care of her, then.”
“Yes, I suppose I should’ve. But I didn’t get the chance. Anyway, I just can’t see her going to Lucy at all. Especially not about something like this. She’d be afraid of losing her job. Besides, I do feel she liked me. When we get back, I want to try speaking to her again. I can’t bear to leave her so close to the creature Lucy has become.”
“You’d be wasting your time,” Van Helsing said. Drew a lungful of smoke from his pipe. Held it for a moment in his lungs before releasing on a contented sigh.
“Well, I can’t stop thinking about Sloper,” Doctor Seward said. “What do you think she did to him?”
“You saw what Dracula could do, Doctor,” Van Helsing said. “Some vampires can control the minds of their victims. Especially the weak ones.”
“Sloper never seemed that weak to me.”
“No. But he has always been very single-minded. And that, too, can be a weakness.”
“Some might say the same of you, Abraham.”
“Oh, I think I’m very different from what you think, Doctor.” He turned away to watch a flock of blackbirds wheel up out of the trees. “I don’t believe I would fall for a vampire’s tricks. However, you could be right. Perhaps she has affected him in some other way. It might not be mind control, but it’s obvious to all of us that William was a changed man when he came to us in Whitechapel. You agreed with me he was different.”
“Short of temper,” Harker said. “And he seemed to despise what we were doing. Like he sympathised with the vampires. That’s not Sloper. The Sloper I know has always hated them. Always worked to destroy as many as he could. It was his life. His obsession.”
“They turned his heart to their cause. You heard what he said.”
“Abraham,” Doctor Seward closed his eyes and shuddered. “I don’t mean to question your methods, but if you put me through half of what you did to poor William, I’d tell you anything I thought you’d want to hear. I’d tell you I was fornicating with the Devil himself on a nightly basis if I thought it would stop you doing those… things.”
“They were necessary to get the truth.”
“But, it’s William, Abraham. One of our own.”
“Not anymore. His body is a husk. His mind corrupted and bent to the vampire’s purpose. He is no more William Sloper than she is Lucy Westenra.”
Harker offered softly; “Or my Mina is Mina?”
“Exactly.”
“You said you could cure them,” Doctor Seward said. Stopped short of grabbing Van Helsing by the cuff. “You promised.”
“I said I would try! Try, Doctor. That’s all I can do.”
“And, between now and then, where do we draw the line? What atrocity is too foul to commit?”
Van Helsing sucked on his pipe, but gave no answer as Mayberry came back, buttoning his trousers.
Took a look at them and noticed the tension. Didn’t seem to bother him, though. He scratched at a scar on his cheek and nodded. “Gentlemen. If you want to get back inside, we’ll be off quick as you like.”
The rest of the journey was colder than before. Not helped by the soft patter of rain or the sour grumbling of Mayberry up above.
When they finally stopped, it was almost midnight.
The clatter of hooves as the horses skidded to a halt made Harker start.
He looked up to find Van Helsing staring at him through the dark. The old man’s sharp face unreadable. Pipe long extinguished still pressed between his teeth.
“Keep your wits about you,” Van Helsing said, pushing the door open.
Doctor Seward moaned into wakefulness as the door let a gust of frigid air into the carriage. “What time is it?”
“Come on, Doctor,” Van Helsing said. “And try to be alert.”
The three men stood waiting while Mayberry tied the horses to a nearby tree. The rough-looking man wiped his wet face with the back of his sleeve.
Spat noisily into the mud. Jerked a head toward the trees. “House is up there, Professor. Ain’t far. From this angle, we shouldn’t be seen until we’re close. But it’s best to be quiet. Sound travels easy.”
“Yes, we know that much,” Harker said.
“Course you do, Harker,” Mayberry shot back. Sneered. “Already heard you know how to creep up a hall to a lady’s room. Reckon if you can manage similar steps out here, we should all be fine.”
“Why, you-”
“Hush,” Van Helsing snapped. “Mayberry. Lead the way, please. And let’s have less talking, shall we?”
They crept through the dark. Each step sounded loud in their ears. But recent rain had made the undergrowth wet so most twigs creaked beneath pressure rather than snapped.
Mayberry led a crooked path, bent low and with a shotgun in both hands across his belly.
Of the others, only Harker was armed with a pistol. Which he kept in his right hand, held down against his thigh.
Van Helsing and Doctor Seward had their bags. Bags with mallets, stakes, and crucifixes of silver. A flask on Van Helsing’s hip might have been holy water, though the old man had grunted when asked about it. Would only say that when fighting the undead, every possible advantage should be brought to bear.
The house had a single light shining sullen from the rear. No lights in the windows.
An owl let out a screech which sent a chill down Harker’s spine. He thought the sound ghastly and reminded him why he hated being outside the city.
“Are you sure this is the place, Mayberry?”
“Don’t question me, Harker. And keep your bloody voice down. Told you sound carries far out here.”
Clearing the trees, the four men moved quickly across the flat ground and pressed against the wall near the back door.
“Now what?” Doctor Seward asked. Whisper small and hollow.
“Now we go inside,” Van Helsing said. “Mayberry?”
“Oh, Lord,” Doctor Seward breathed. “Breaking and entering.”
“Not breaking nothing,” Mayberry said. Pulled out a small set of lockpicks. “Entering, yes. But breaking? No.”
“Just hurry up,” Van Helsing said through his teeth.
The door opened without a click. Didn’t even creak on its hinges.
Mayberry put a finger to his lips and slid inside. “Wait here.”
He slipped into the dark interior like a rat, Harker thought. A sneaky little rodent diving into a sewer. Almost smelled like one, too.
The owl screeched again.
Doctor Seward hugged himself and shivered.
Van Helsing just stood there. Pipe between his teeth. Soft wheeze of his breath.
Didn’t seem bothered by anything. His gaze, scanning the dark countryside, was as cold as the brittle wind creeping across the hills.
Suddenly, the sound of a scuffle made the three men catch their breath. Followed by a pained yell.
Harker looked to Van Helsing who threw him a curt nod. “Go!”
But a shotgun blast erupted violently, shocking the younger man in place for a few desperate heartbeats. Then he was off. Sprinting through the house, taking stairs three at a time. Calling; “Mayberry!”
“Bastards!” Another voice roared. The metallic click of hammers being thumbed back. “You out there, Seward? It is you out there, isn’t it? And Van Helsing? I can smell your rotten skin. Show yourselves. Come on! I’ve got enough ammunition here to blow all your bloody heads off. Saw you coming in from the trees, I did. And after what you did to Lucy, I’m not afraid of you. Come on. Poke your heads in. Make it quick.”
Harker threw himself to the ground as another explosion sent a wave of shot splinter
ing through the wall.
Mayberry was on his back in a pool of blood.
Most of his head was missing and there was a large chunk blown out of his chest. The wall behind was wet and riddled with holes from the spray of buckshot.
“Dear God,” Harker croaked.
Then Van Helsing was there. He clapped a hand down on Harker’s shoulder. Craned his neck and saw Mayberry. Looked away to the bedroom door. Called; “Mister Westenra? I’m Professor Abraham Van Helsing. We don’t mean you any harm. We only came to talk to you.”
“Talk?” Westenra let out a bitter laugh. “Yes, I saw how eager you were to talk. You sent your little friend up with a shotgun. Well. I had one of my own. And more besides.”
“We’ve got guns, too, Mister Westenra,” Harker blurted. “But we didn’t come to use them. Mayberry was only going to hold you down so we could explain everything. We didn’t want to hurt you. We have to talk to you. It’s important.”
“It’s about Lucy,” Van Helsing called, pushing Harker aside. “You want her to be safe, don’t you? Believe me, Mister Westenra, so do we. Doctor Seward is here. You know him. He’s a good man. And you know how he feels about Lucy, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Westenra snarled back. “I know exactly how that pervert feels. Jealous! He wants my little girl for himself. Couldn’t bear it when she chose another man, could he?”
“That’s not how it was,” Van Helsing said.
“And I suppose now you’ll say you didn’t murder my wife?”
Harker’s slitted eyes shot to the old man, whose face didn’t change expression. “Why would we do that, Mister Westenra?”
“She found out what you were doing to Lucy. You were feeding her poison. To make us all think she was dead.”
“That’s preposterous!” Doctor Seward gasped. He’d come up behind the other two and was kneeling beside Harker’s leg. “Poison her?”
“Is it? If it’s so preposterous, why is she alive when you clearly told everyone she was dead? You signed the papers, you bastard. And she told me what you were doing in that bloody Sanitorium of yours. The horrors you were inflicting on other girls. Cutting them up? By God, man. You’re more insane than your own patients.”
“They’re not girls!” Doctor Seward shrieked.
“You admit it, then.” Westenra gave a disgusted bark of a laugh. “Cutting them up. You’re evil men, and may the Devil take you all.”
Doctor Seward shouted over anything Van Helsing was trying to say; “Westenra, listen to me. They’re not girls. They’re monsters. Monsters the like of which you’ve never seen. I know what it sounds like. But we can prove it to you. I swear to God Almighty we can. Please. We need your help if we are to end this.”
“Help?” Westenra pulled the trigger of his pistol and sent a bullet through the wall. It missed Van Helsing’s nose by a bare whisper, but the old man still didn’t flinch. “Only thing I’m going to help you with, Seward, is a quick journey to the Hell in which you belong.”
Harker whispered to Van Helsing; “What are we going to do?”
The old man shook his head. “Someone will have heard the shooting by now. There’s nothing we can do, Jonathan. I think we should leave immediately.”
“We can’t just leave!” Doctor Seward groaned. “We’re being hunted by vampires, Abraham. Hunted by police. There’s no one we can trust. We need him on our side if we’re to convince the authorities of the truth in any of this.”
“No. I thought there might be a chance if we could incapacitate him. Then we could talk some sense into him. But he’s armed, and his blood is up. We won’t make it through the door. I think it’s best we leave.”
A sharp whistle cut through the night.
“You hear that?” Westenra was rushing to reload his shotgun. Shells bounced and clattered across the floor as he fumbled. “I wasn’t alone here. Had a coachman who was going to drive me back down to London. Had him run for the police as soon as I saw you skulking in the trees. Throw your weapons down and they might take you in without shooting you.”
“We do that, and you’ll shoot us in the back,” Harker said.
“Probably,” the other man called cheerfully. “But it’s what you bastards deserve, isn’t it?”
“Out,” Van Helsing snapped. “Now!”
The three men ran. As soon as they made the bottom, Westenra rushed from the room and aimed his shotgun down. Pulled both triggers to send a wide spray of shot which disintegrated parts of the wall and stairs. A piece plucked at Harker’s coat and he felt another rip into his arm.
He let out a yelp but skipped toward the back door.
Ran out the house.
Toward the trees and waiting carriage.
As Westenra smashed the window of his room. Aimed his pistol.
Shouted; “I’ll see you all in Hell!”
And sent six pistol shots pinging into the grass behind them.
When the three figures had made it to the trees, Westenra felt a mix of exultation and disappointment. He’d survived their attempt on his life but only managed to kill one of them.
“Bastards,” he spat. Headed to the door as he heard boots rushing up the path.
“Mister Westenra! Hoy the house! Police! Police!”
“Up here!”
The constable kicked the front door and rushed inside. Pistol in hand. Truncheon in the other. Looked up at the stairs. “Where are they?”
“Off into the trees! After them.”
“We’ve got a small army of stout fellows circling around,” the constable said grimly. “Another heading back up the road. We’ll cut them off. Dogs on the way, too. Yes. Plenty of dogs. You’ll hear them barking soon enough.”
“Good man,” Westenra said. Started down the stairs, his slippers squelched. Soaked in Mayberry’s blood. “I’m coming with you. I don’t want them to get away. They can’t get back to London. They’ll go after her. No doubt about it. They’re after my Lucy.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her. She can look after herself.” The constable pushed the helmet up off his face and smiled cheerfully. “Tell me, Mister Westenra. What do you think of my get-up?”
“What?”
“Is that a body up there? You shoot someone, did you?”
“Yes.” Westenra frowned. Something wasn’t right about the man. There was something feral about him. “I shot one of them as he tried to come through the door.”
“Hoo hoo.” He went up a few steps and stared at the body. “Bloody shame it is. All this death. Brains all over the wall. Blood down the stairs. Such a terrible shame. Don’t you think?”
“Look, shouldn’t you be out there trying to catch them?”
“Never you mind about them, Mister Westenra. I told you my boys are already doing their business. I’m here to make sure if they come back they get mouthfuls of bullets.” He grinned widely. “Well, well. Looks like good shooting, Mister Westenra. You took off half his head. You shoot birds with that thing?”
“I’ve done some hunting,” he said. “Not very much. It’s not really something I enjoy.”
“I enjoy it. Birds. Rats. That sort of thing. You know, the things I’ve seen would horrify you.” He hummed to himself as he turned on the stairs. Singing gently; “When to the cab the policeman went, he saw a woman sat inside. To search the bundle he was bent, she said she’d been asked to a ride. In a bundle there he found a head, and pieces of the body as well. She’d been cut up after she was dead. What a dreadful crime to tell.”
“Stop.” Westenra took a step back. Pulled the shotgun over his chest. “Stop it. That’s awful.”
“No, guv’nor. This…” His arm came up quick as finger squeezed the trigger to send a bullet ploughing into Westenra’s face. Just before the bullet hit, Renfield could see the man’s shock. Could see the eyes swell as if sighting Death’s reaching hands. Then everything imploded in a mess of blood, bone, and meat. He grinned as the body dropped to the floor. “This is awful.”
CH
APTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The gag stopped his screams from being heard but couldn’t stop him screaming in the first place.
The big man. The one called Kipper. Was on top of him. Knee pressed into his back. Hand fisted into his hair.
Pushing him down.
His hands were both tied behind his back.
Eyes wet with tears. Nose drooling snot which soaked into the gag.
Breath coming in ragged wet snorts.
His head was a scattered riptide of thoughts, each clinging desperately to a single prayer to a god he’d never quite believed in. Flashing through his brain were a hundred clustered moments. Times he’d been to church when he was young.
His mother slapping his thigh to make him pay attention.
Eyes heavy-lidded.
Half asleep as the priest’s voice droned and droned.
Flickering candles lined to attention. Drooling wax like pale blood.
What were those words he’d forgotten? The words left to Man by God? At the time, they’d been insignificant but, as pain shot through his shoulders under Kipper’s weight, they now seemed vital. Like they possessed the kind of magic which would ignite a miracle into being.
He didn’t hear her approach. Didn’t hear the swish of her bleached white nightdress. Didn’t hear the soft intake of breath. Or the gentle touch of her feet as she lowered herself to the ground after gliding into the room.
Didn’t hear a thing.
But he felt her. Felt her presence inside his mind like countless knives cutting sharp points into his brain. Sliding with ease through the visceral wall and into the shining light which was the seat of his self.
His soul.
She entered him.
And he screamed.
She was a monster. A creature of utter darkness whose hunger lanced his sanity.
He arched his back, trying to thrust loose.
Kipper’s chuckle was a horrifying sound curdling the desperate need to stay alive. Mocking his hope that God was working on that miracle.
A meaty hand cuffed the back of his skull.
“Hush down,” Kipper growled. “The Mistress wants a word with you.”
The knives of her presence punctured the edge of his sanity and his screams became the whimpering of a dog as Kipper rolled him over onto his side. Blinking fast, he peered through tears into a face so beautiful it made him forget to breathe.
