Mad Bride of the Ripper

by Lucas Thorn

  “I can’t.” Her fingers dug into Harker’s arms. Tears formed glass rivers. “No. You don’t understand. I saw her. I saw her!”

  “How many people are in the cellar, Polly? Did the policeman go there? Did he take Doctor Seward with him?”

  “I don’t know who Doctor Seward is,” she said, sniffling. “But I heard them all come back. Just before you came in here. But they went upstairs.”

  “Are you sure?” Van Helsing’s eyes narrowed. “They took him upstairs?”

  “Yes. I heard them. The stairs, you see. They’ve very loud. I could hear everything. They were laughing. They’re always laughing. That horrible little girl. She’s got the Devil’s eyes.”

  “Do you know if there’s anyone else downstairs, then? With her?”

  “No. There was the Angel-maker, but she’s gone out.”

  “Angel-maker?”

  “Yes.” Another violent shiver. Gushing words between sobs; “She’s evil, too. Oh, they all are, but the Angel-maker is pure evil. She’s been bringing the children. They’re only babies, George. Just babies. But she eats them! Their cries! They cry and cry as if they know what’s going to happen. Oh, I can’t say any more.”

  “I’ll go alone,” Van Helsing said.

  Harker shook his head. Tried to untangle himself, but the woman gripped him harder. Holding tight with no intention of letting him go. “No, Abraham. You can’t.”

  “I must. You should stay here. It’s sensible in a way. I know her powers won’t work on me. I can control my passions, you see. And it will be easier if I don’t need to worry about you. Don’t be offended, Jonathan, but I’m sure I can do what needs to be done better if I am alone. You can guard upstairs. Let me know if anyone tries to come into the cellar. And if they do, perhaps you can stop them from behind.”

  “I suppose so.” He looked down at the sobbing woman. “It must have been terrifying. Simply terrifying.”

  “It will be over soon,” Van Helsing said. Reached into his bag and gave Harker a small cross. “Here. Put this around her neck. It will protect her.”

  “What about you?”

  The old man’s lip curled a little into a near wolfish smile Harker had never seen before. “I have other protections. Wait here. And if you don’t hear from me soon, get her out. Try to contact the others before you attempt again. You will need every man you can get. But do not approach Lord Salisbury. We wouldn’t want to repeat the mistakes of tonight.”

  Harker nodded.

  Found he didn’t know what to say.

  Instead, pulled one hand free and stuck it out. “It’s been an honour, Abraham.”

  The old man took the offered and hand shook it once. “And for me. Should we survive this night, Jonathan, I hope you’ll join me in returning to Austria. There is still much work to be done. So much work. I could really use your help.”

  “You only need to ask.”

  Van Helsing gave a quick nod, then turned away. His bag at his side, he strode defiantly out into the hall.

  Leaving Harker to comfort the young woman.

  Who, he had to admit, felt very warm. The wetness of her tears had leaked into his shirt and pressed to the skin under his neck. And instead of finding it uncomfortable, he began to like it. It lifted his own flailing bravery to know she depended on him.

  “What’s your real name?” She asked softly. “Please don’t tell me it’s George. Not now. Tell me the truth.”

  He hesitated before; “It’s Jonathan. Jonathan Harker. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. I’m sure you understand why it was necessary. You see, I couldn’t know if you would go directly to her and tell her everything.”

  “I wouldn’t!”

  “I know that now.” He pulled her tighter. Felt her soft body melt against his. It brought a smile to his face.

  “I’m frightened, Jonathan.”

  “You really don’t need to be. Abraham will destroy her. You’ll see. He’s an expert vampire hunter, you know. He’s killed dozens. More, perhaps. He doesn’t talk about his past, but I know he’s been hunting them for most of his life.”

  “That must be awful. To see so much killing.” Her voice was softer. Steadier. As though their closeness had worked some kind of magic and calmed her fear. He wanted to lift her head and kiss her gently on her lips, but he wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

  Also, another part of him wanted to wrench her neck back.

  Slam her down onto the bed. Tear the clothing from her body and beat fragile body until bruises exploded under her skin.

  Until her bones cracked and burst.

  The fiery ribbon of hate had always been there. He didn’t know when it had begun to manifest inside him.

  Knew only that, every now and then, he had to sate it as he had in Belfast.

  Her shoulders trembled as if she could feel the violent urge beginning to reach up from his belly like a clawing hand. If it got its fingers around his throat, he’d need to do it. Need to. He’d never be able to deny the terrible lust.

  His eyes flicked around the room.

  This wasn’t the place.

  Not now.

  He swallowed, mouth dry. Pushing the feeling away. Closed his eyes and let out a long regretful sigh.

  “They were vampires,” he said. Voice hollow in his ears. “It’s not really killing. It’s more like healing. We’re saving their souls, Polly.”

  “Are you?” Polly looked up at him. Eyes shining bright. Like a doe. Innocence making the urge claw at his chest. “Then who’s saving your soul, Jonathan?”

  “Mine?”

  “Let me do it,” she said. Her breath held the spice of desire. Her mouth rose to meet his. “Please, Jonathan. Let me save you.”

  “Oh, Polly,” he said. His hands grabbed her shoulders and he tensed. Only seconds from throwing her against the wall. “Yes!”

  And then he felt the pain stab into his belly and he looked down in shock to see her hand fisted around a knife in his guts. His blood pouring out into her lap.

  Her bottom lip pressed between her teeth.

  Coy.

  “Why are you so shocked, Mister Harker?” She asked him gently. “Isn’t this how you save souls? By killing?”

  “Polly,” he managed to gasp, sliding down off the bed and onto the floor. He was on hands and knees. Barely holding himself in. Agony ruptured his thoughts and he tried to push himself as far from her as he could get. Trail of blood slithering in his wake like a gushing red snake. Numbness creeping through the pain, swallowing him in a cold hard blanket of ice. “Polly.”

  “You hurt him, Jonathan. William Sloper. Remember him? You hurt him so bad. He’s still in the hospital, but he’s smiling now. Because I promised him I’d get you. And I did, didn’t I? I got you.”

  “Polly.”

  “There’s a funny thing, Mister Harker,” the woman said, her voice suddenly so very different. Stronger. Darker. Hissing in his ear. “That’s not my name, either.”

  Clamping her hands across his mouth so his screams went unheard, she bit into the flesh between shoulder and neck.

  And began to eat.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Doctor Seward couldn’t move.

  Thick leather straps bound him to the uncomfortable hospital bed. The same kind as those he used in his asylum. The straps were sturdy. Leather. Shining buckles glinting in the light.

  If he struggled too hard, they cut into his skin.

  Wrists. Ankles. Across his torso and thighs. Forehead.

  He couldn’t turn his head. His eyes rolled to their limit as he tried to look around the room.

  Clean white walls. No window. A sink to his right. Door to his left.

  The gas lanterns on the wall slowly dimmed and the soft chuckle of the policeman and his crew faded as they shuffled out of the room and back down the stairs.

  Leaving him alone.

  With only the sound of his ragged breathing and soft drip of the leaking tap.

  The room was
cold. His breath exited as mist.

  But he wasn’t afraid.

  She’d be coming for him soon. He could feel it. Feel her presence like an unspoken word on the tip of his tongue.

  Her face was in his memory, infecting his mind. A face he knew so well. How long had he spent staring at her in Whitby? Hours? Days?

  He remembered the first time he’d met her. She’d walked into the room and everything stopped. The floor felt like it’d been spinning and he felt, for the first time in his life, a heady mix of awe and hunger. When she looked at him, he was sure she’d felt it, too. The spark of two souls meant to be together.

  “Lucy,” he whispered through cold lips. “Lucy, are you there?”

  “I’m here, John.” Throaty chuckle from behind. Where he couldn’t see her. “I wondered how long it would take you to notice.”

  He writhed on the bed, trying to catch a glimpse of her.

  Not even her shadow.

  “I can’t see you.”

  “I know.” She didn’t move. “How are you, John? Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?”

  “I can’t move.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s for your safety, John. I didn’t want you to hurt yourself. You’ve been very ill, John. Do you know that? Very ill. But we can cure you. All you need to do is relax. Can you do this for me, John? Can you cooperate with me? For the sake of your soul?”

  He shivered at the sharp mockery in her voice. “Lucy, please. You have to listen to me. There is a demon inside your head. A demon put there by Lucifer. It’s infected you. And I know it’s difficult, but you can fight it. You really can. Fight it, Lucy! Don’t let it control you.”

  Her laughter was as he remembered, but different.

  The glorious cascade of chimes which used to leave him breathless, now made him want to cry. The monstrous being had torn through her like a cancer. And, though he firmly wanted to believe some of the beautiful woman he knew was left, the sound of her laugh chilled him to his core and left him suddenly empty of hope.

  “Oh, John. You are an utter fool.” She glided into view. Weightless, toes dangling just above the ground.

  When he could clearly see her face, he bucked inside the straps. Desperate to be free.

  Pallid skin chalk white. The colour of her eyes even more striking than before, glittering like gems. Red ruby lips gleaming and moist. Promising the kind of kiss which would leave him craving.

  “Lucy!”

  Her fingers tested the strap across his chest.

  Tapped the heavy buckle with a hard fingernail.

  “It took a long time to find these,” she said. “Do you recognise them? They were made by the same company who made yours in Whitby. The bed, too. And the linen. I wanted it to be just right. And it is, don’t you think? It’s perfect. Tonight, everything is perfect.”

  “Fight it, Lucy,” he moaned. “Please don’t let it destroy your soul.”

  “Destroy my soul?” The smile curved with deep amusement. “What a charming idea. Do you really think that’s what happened?”

  “Remember who you were. Remember. You must hold onto what you were. You’re not this monster. You’re a woman. Your name is Lucy Westenra. And that means something. Especially to me. I love you, Lucy. And I know you feel the same way about me. If only you could hold onto that, you might break the control this evil thing has over you. You can do it. Fight it. I beg you, my darling Lucy. Fight it, please!”

  “Can I, John?” Her brow lifted. Eyes glazing over. Words trembling loose. “Can I truly fight it?”

  “Yes!” He struggled in the straps. He wanted to pull loose. Grab her. Hold her. Squeeze the vampire from her and be left holding the woman he adored beyond anything else. “Lucy, you must let me free. Let me loose, and I’ll help you. I swear, all I want is to save you from this horror. You can see that, can’t you?”

  She put her hands on his cheeks and leaned in close. “Oh, John! I can almost feel something. Really, I can. Tell me more. I felt something. Right here. In my heart. Be firm, John. Cast the vampire out. Cast it out of my body!” She reared like a snake, hands pressing against her breasts. “Oh, John. I feel it! Yes. I feel it.”

  “Lucy, don’t let it win!”

  Hands down to her crotch. Then smirked. Softly; “I feel it, John. Right here.”

  Silence thundered in the room for a moment before she burst into a long bubbling laugh.

  “You’re a monster,” he said. Bitterness in his mouth. Tears in his eyes. “A foul creature from Hell. Van Helsing was right. You can’t be saved, can you?”

  “A monster.” She dropped down again, hunching over him. “Do you even know what the word means? I brought you to London, John. And I made you hunt for me in Whitechapel. Did you enjoy the slums? I hear you slept on a whore’s kitchen floor. With the cockroaches.”

  “How did you know?”

  “About the cockroaches? Well, Renfield is always interested when cockroaches are involved. He likes cockroaches, you know. Although, he prefers rats now.”

  “Renfield. You kept him with you.” He slumped back. “He’s been working for you all along.”

  “Yes. He’s a delightful man and I love him with all of my heart.”

  “He’s insane!”

  “I know. And it makes him beautiful.” She patted his cheek. “You’re not beautiful, John. Not at all.”

  “Abraham will destroy you, Lucy,” he said. Couldn’t hide the sorrow. “You won’t be allowed to further corrupt the city.”

  “Corrupt the city? Me?” Incredulous, she whirled a full circle before peering into his eyes as though searching for humour. “How disgusted were you when you entered that whore’s house, John? Did you sit in her chairs? Did you touch her table? Did you touch anything at all in the street? Drink from her cup? Eat off her plate? Did your shoulders brush against a beggar? Did your fingers touch when you gave coin to a child? Did you give all your coin, or just one? And when you made it to your fancy Club, did you wash immediately? I didn’t corrupt the city, John. It’s already corrupted. By you and your kind. Look what you’ve done with it. Your kind has gorged itself on the misery of others more than mine ever could.”

  “Why, Lucy, that’s madness. London is civilised! We have railways. Gas lighting. Soon, there will be electricity! Imagine the wonders of it.”

  “Imagine the profits, you mean. Profits for a few of you. Slavery and hunger for the rest. All this was for your kind of people, John. Not mine.”

  “Your father was rich!”

  “My father struggled. He would always struggle. He wasn’t born to power, John. And when his own daughter was abducted, what did they do? Nothing. Van Helsing is friends with the Queen. And you were a highly respected doctor.”

  “The police came after us,” he reminded her miserably. “I can’t ever go back to my life now.”

  “Because of Renfield,” she grinned. “My Renfield. He killed all those women for me. So the Inspector could think it was you. So he could use that pressure to have you hunted down. But when they found you, what would they do? A public trial? I think not. A nice quiet retirement to India, I should think. Or the Americas? You could open a hotel, Doctor. Be rich all over again. No. I won’t allow it. I won’t.”

  “I was trying to save you.”

  “You were trying to possess me.”

  “That’s not true. I only wanted to cure you. Bring back the Lucy I know. The Lucy I love.”

  “Let me tell you a secret, John.” She leaned so close her nose almost touched his. Her mouth achingly close to his own. And whispered; “There was never any such woman. You made her up. Inside your head. You’re mad, John. Mad and insane. And that’s why you’re here now. Because only I can cure you.”

  “I don’t care anymore, Lucy,” he said. Tears slid down his cheeks and wet his ears. “Whatever you do to me doesn’t matter. I know the truth. I know who you really were. And I shall always love you, no matter what. This demon who inhabits your body and twists your
memories will never change that fact. One day, you’ll be cured. Or you’ll be destroyed and your soul returned to Heaven. Either way, my work has ensured you will find peace one way or another. And I want you to know, I don’t blame you. I forgive you.”

  “How very gracious. How very noble.”

  “Do what you want. My love for you shall sustain me through whatever torture the monster inside your skin wishes to inflict.”

  “Do you remember that night when you took me to the opera? And afterward, you took me home. My father invited you inside, and we spent the evening in the study?”

  He smiled. “I remember it well.”

  “You drank brandy and talked about the latest theories in mental science.”

  “You sat beside me. You smiled like an angel.”

  “You joked with my father.”

  “Your laughter was my reward.”

  “You talked for an hour about fox hunting.”

  “You wanted to join me on the next hunt.”

  “I was bored. Your jokes made me want to throw a table at your face. I laughed because my father told me to be polite. I hate fox hunting. I don’t see the point of it. It’s just an excuse for very rich men to celebrate the killing of something which cannot fight back. I’ve discovered rich men are cowards and seek the experience of watching something helpless struggle for life because they’ve never had to struggle and find it to be an almost erotic pleasure.” She showed her fangs at last. “Soon I shall give them a quite different taste of this experience, John.”

  “No. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t. You’re lying. You’re not Lucy. You’re a creature. A fiend. I shan’t let you corrupt my memory of one of the most generous and gentle women I’ve ever known.”

  “Oh, John. You haven’t known any women.” She smiled. Merciless glint in her eye. “Have you?”

  “I won’t listen to your vile tongue, monster.”