The Van Helsing Resurgence

by Evelyn Chartres

  What were her chances of being killed for simply throwing down that name? Hecate glared at Clara, a sore point to their kind, given how Christianity had usurped their dominance long ago.

  She walked away and made sure to have the bottle of coffin varnish with her. Clara stopped by Victor then giggled at the look on his face. He may have believed he was going to get lucky tonight, but that was a deal forged entirely in his mind.

  “What can you offer me that God cannot?” Clara asked.

  Clara’s demeanour was that of a woman who was drunk. The emotional upheaval, stress, and booze created the perfect conditions for Clara to lose control. To pull off a convincing lie, she needed some effects to seem authentic.

  As expected, the goddess’ reaction was more violent this time. The goddess split back to her three distinct entities and this time, the Ethereal entity took the lead.

  “This one is trying to rile us up,” the Ethereal sister said.

  For once, the Ethereal one was right. Sparky began to channel her powers which mimicked a tesla coil as surges of energy flowed along her length. Clara giggled. A goddess that was unable to conceal her temper was silly.

  “Now why would I do that?” Clara said while playing the role of a dumb dora.

  Clara pulled at her last pearl earring, then crushed it over the mouth of the bottle. The sleight of hand had been quick and expertly done, appearing as though she had been fumbling with the bottle prior to taking another swig.

  “See! See! She just did something!” the ethereal sister exclaimed.

  “What did you see?” the silvery sister asked.

  Clara saw how Sparky’s eyes were set aglow in a bright blue hue. This was the first time Clara had observed this behaviour, so perhaps her capacitors were fully charged?

  This was the perfect time for her to pretend to be scared. Her heart rate rose, and she backed away from the sisters until she tripped over Betty. Clara’s fall caused the bottle to fly through the air like some slapstick comedy. To think that all that time spent watching Charlie Chaplin movies would come in handy someday!

  When she landed hard on Betty, the bottle crashed on top of that monster’s head, drenching both of them in alcohol. God, she hoped the bitch could still feel that. The odour of alcohol invaded every one of her senses. It even made her eyes water.

  “Bravo!” the Silvery sister goddess exclaimed.

  “All part of the act,” the Ethereal sister added to keep the other two focused.

  Based on the hysterical laughter, the Ethereal sister’s words were having no effect. Clara needed them to unleash their wrath for her plan to work. That meant it was time to up the ante.

  Clara grabbed onto the hilt of her blade buried into Betty’s spine. As expected, the blade would not budge. Nonetheless, she hoped this act would force the goddess to play her hand.

  “She’s going to attack,” said the decidedly paranoid Ethereal sister.

  “Now wait—,” the Silvery sister managed to say just as a long and powerful bolt of blue energy made the air crackle.

  The beam struck Clara dead centre in her chest, spreading over her body while passing through the blade and into Betty’s spine making them both convulse. Whatever prevented Clara from affecting others in the room was easily sidestepped by the goddesses’ power.

  The other two sisters turned to look at Sparky. The look matched precisely what was etched on the Victor’s face. Of all the times to wish for a camera!

  The look on their faces soon dissipated when a bright yellow light filled the room. That bolt of energy had been enough to ignite the alcohol which engulfed both women in an inferno.

  “In nómine Patris et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti,” Clara said while making the sign of a cross.

  In a final act of faith, Clara closed her eyes, understanding that time was not on her side. This would be a painful and unpleasant death. So where were the effects? Her skin should have been burning, her flesh drawing tight while pain flooded her mind.

  Surprised, she opened her eyes and expected to see Hecate taunting her. Instead, she was greeted with a wall of flame growing in intensity.

  When Clara glanced at Betty, she saw that the flames licked her corpse with zeal. Soon enough, Betty would be nothing more than a collection of charred bones. That idea put a smile on her face, succeeding in her mission despite interference from a higher power. Betty would never again be a threat to anyone.

  So where was the sense of accomplishment? If her life revolved around revenge, then her goal had been met. To die doing God’s work was a good way to go and certainly better than Betty’s pot-roast welcome to hell.

  Then it dawned on her. Revenge had consumed her life because she was furious with these creatures for robbing her of a mundane life. Until that moment, she never stopped to think about her desire to find a good man, fall in love, and become a mother. The idea of existing like a normal person and carrying on in a world oblivious to what lurked in the shadows had been her idea of paradise.

  Clara felt some form of energy from within which was hard to describe. She humbly accepted her fate, even while this power kept the flames at bay. Despite this divine intervention, Clara knew she had mere moments before being overwhelmed.

  Clara finished off by saying, “Amen.”

  Her final word was followed by an intense shock wave of blinding light that knocked down the column of fire.

  “That bastard!” the Ethereal sister said before spitting on the floor.

  For the first time tonight, her voice carried a depth of emotion.

  “Ab-so-lute-ly,” the Silvery sister said before she turned to look at Sparky. “Someone just had to go and stir up enough shit so that egomaniac would save the day,” she added with a hint of disdain.

  “What did I do?” Sparky said while feigning ignorance.

  Tired of this party, Sparky casually strolled towards the exit. However, that did nothing to diffuse the situation.

  “You know full well what you did,” the silvery sister said following suit.

  “You always fuck things up!” the Ethereal sister threw in to get one last dig in.

  “Me?” Sparky asked while her eyes were aglow.

  “Just ducky,” the Silvery sister said.

  The latter knew this would take a while to fix. The last fight that broke out between those two had taken the better part of a century to resolve!

  OMEGA

  2019

  Incense hung in the air, and the burned particles irritated her nose as the smell grew more pronounced while Victoria came to. There was something peculiar about this odour, something that made her think of death and decay. In fact, the link was so strong that it evoked images of an ancient crypt hidden away under a city forgotten by time.

  She struggled to open her eyes, feeling as though they were glued together. Was this just a case of fatigue? How long had she been unconscious? Was she even alive? Perhaps this was a dream? No, this felt far too real. Besides, people rarely experienced pain or discomfort in dreams.

  Something brushed up against her lips. It was cool at first, like water trickling out from a frozen waterfall. Victoria struggled to open her eyes, but saw nothing more than an impenetrable darkness that filled her with dread. This sensation of cold spread, pushed past her numbed lips, and probed beyond. She considered biting down, but feared there would be repercussions.

  Only when the tongue withdrew, did Victoria gasp for air, and find her sight restored. The images that flashed before her eyes were blurred at first, confined to a world that moved with a mind of its own. Her sight eventually settled, but what she saw only confirmed her fears: this was in fact, not a dream.

  There was Evelyn: her character, her inspiration, her role model. This time, she was dressed in a long flowing gown of white satin. Her face was adorned with a warm smile, and locks of long flowing hair hung around her shoulders. This complemented Victoria’s image of an idyllic angelic figure, and she was, without a doubt, the same woman she met on that bea
ch thirty years ago.

  This was the woman who blessed her as a child, employing some sort of prayer. Did that mark the moment when Evelyn established a connection between them? Did this imply that Victoria was nothing more than a secondary character in Evelyn’s play?

  Evelyn licked her lips as though relishing the echoes of that kiss, and said, “Welcome to the world of the living, ma chère. Have you gotten your affairs in order? Indulged in your last meal perhaps?”

  The musical highlights in Evelyn’s voice were so familiar. It was eerie how much she knew this person, in spite of this being the first time they ever spoke.

  Victoria did not say a word. She was far too lethargic to formulate a proper answer.

  “Is there a correct response?” Victoria whispered.

  She knew that either decision would end in death; only the method of her death differed. Would her death be quick and merciless, or would her character’s sadistic nature come to the surface?

  Evelyn’s smile changed to one that stripped away her angelic traits replacing them with a cruel harshness. Her character was truly skilled at human emotions, an expert on how to leverage them against others. How else could she convey so much based on the shape of her smile? Would Victoria be able to manipulate others like that?

  Before the question was answered, Victoria found herself being dragged from the altar. The world swirled nauseatingly as vertigo muddled her mind. Would she have the strength to stop herself from vomiting all over the floor?

  Once the world settled, Victoria noticed the pool of dark liquid. The surface was so dark that it reflected back her image. Tired and weak, Victoria lost her balance, dropped to her knees, and instantly became mesmerised by the reflection. She seemed to be looking at an ideal version of herself, one immune to the ravages of time. Did she ever have such a youthful glow about her?

  Victoria reached for her chest to check for a heartbeat and sighed once the familiar rhythm registered. She was still alive, and yet her reflection implied that she had already crossed the threshold between life and death.

  “How can my reflection seem that much more confident and full of life?” Victoria muttered to herself while the shadow of death approached.

  As it had been with the Apostle Thomas, doubt reigned supreme in her mind. How was it possible to reflect back an image that differed from reality? At a snail’s pace, Victoria probed her face, seeking those familiar features, and was soon astounded by the gravity of the changes. Her cheeks were sunken and features sharper, with noticeably unhealthy skin. When was the last time she had a bite to eat?

  “It’s been a week, love,” Evelyn said, knowing that in Victoria’s current state, the full depth of those words would have no effect.

  Victoria turned around to look upon her character, her eyes brimming with fear. She then turned back to look into the radiant pool and noticed an unnatural red hue surrounding her reflection.

  “B-B-Blood,” Victoria stuttered out as her reflection winked back in response.

  Why was her doppelgänger mocking her? The same way that her parents would when she did something innocent or amusing. The kind of mocking that was invariably accompanied by a dreadful laugh which managed to dismiss and ridicule the child. Innocence? Was this an element her character sought? To what end? To destroy in another, what had been denied in life?

  “We are perversions of life. We exist counter to what the Church and the laws of science dictate. We are the embodiment of those who turned away from the light of God in exchange for perpetual existence,” Evelyn rhymed off as though in prayer.

  Evelyn circled around the pool, and despite her light step, the motion created ripples in the pool. For a moment, her reflection’s taunting expression was disrupted, which gave Victoria a few moments of peace.

  Evelyn soon broke into a fit of laughter and added, “I’m just fucking with you. That was way too melodramatic!”

  She approached the altar grabbing the chalice upon it. Evelyn then lifted it to the full extension of her arms while staring up at the stained glass works above. After the imp uttered some sort of incantation, she brought the chalice to her lips and drank greedily, permitting any excess to spill onto the gown.

  With Evelyn’s satin robe stained in blood, she licked her lips and tossed the chalice aside. Now that her little spectacle was done and over with, she looked over to Victoria, the one who would soon be joining her in the afterlife. While Victoria was being judged, anxiety swelled from within, just like those awaiting the Emperor’s thumb.

  In the back of her mind, Victoria wondered if her character had a change of heart. Uncertainty would reign supreme until the end, never knowing if she were destined to live, or suffer at the hands of her executioner.

  Evelyn was attuned to Victoria’s mind and had not been surprised about the growing conflict within. Not only had she been the source of that woman’s inspiration for the better part of her life, but Evelyn also had a view of thoughts, and emotions that most kept bottled up inside.

  “Are you having a change of faith, ma chère?” Evelyn asked.

  Victoria looked up, bewildered that this question had come up. Was she being tossed a life line? How foolish would it be to even consider it, let alone acknowledge it?

  “I am not sure,” Victoria said in such a way that every single word uttered became a self-contained sentence.

  “The door is right behind me,” Evelyn said nonchalantly. “Only you can decide how to live your life.”

  Victoria’s eyes widened upon hearing those words, and that did much to betray her state of mind. As a glow of hope began to rise, her character rendered her verdict.

  The imp leaned in closer, so close that the cool breeze from her whisper sent a shiver running down Victoria’s spine. In that moment, she believed there was a path to freedom, one that led away from this crazy woman.

  “Crazy?” Evelyn asked.

  Before Victoria could say another word, Evelyn grabbed the woman’s throat, and with one brutal motion, tore it away from her neck. A stream of blood followed, which covered the immaculate floor in a splatter of crimson.

  “A shame,” Evelyn purred before she licked the fresh blood from Victoria’s windpipe. “In the end, you turned out to be such a disappointment.”

  At first, Victoria was unsure of what happened. Her body and mind were so disjointed from the prolonged trauma that she never felt any pain. She felt moisture against her skin, but before she was able to investigate the source, Victoria was greeted by sweet oblivion.

  “All that time and effort you put into the girl,” Marc commented from out of the shadows.

  Evelyn was tempted to betray her composure and lash out. However, that would be tantamount to confirming that her sire was right.

  Instead, she glided over to her gentleman, her every step a display of sensuality. She then folded into him as though they were one. The movement was fluid, sensual, and capable of evoking an emotional response in nearly everyone, except for this lone specimen. Either way, she did not care. With all the grace of a lady, she slipped out two wedding bands from her pocket.

  These rings were unique, a pair that represented night and day, commissioned to celebrate the twentieth wedding anniversary of Victoria’s parents. Without a second look, she crushed them with her bare hands and tossed them onto Victoria’s corpse. By now, the author’s skin was pale, her eyes glassy, and what was left of her blood flowed leisurely into the pool.

  CAUSE AND EFFECT

  “Sorry I’m late!” Mason exclaimed.

  He walked into the lab and came face to face with a world that was sterile by design. Everything in this room, including the walls, was a bright white with no style or flare of any kind. To most, this room would have evoked images of an early twentieth-century sanatorium. For him, this room had all of the comforts of home.

  Located within the depths of an office high-rise, the lab was invisible to those who worked and visited this building. The illusion that protected the access to the inner
sanctum was simple and effective. It took a very powerful mind to see past the deception, although that was only the first level of defence.

  “About time you showed up,” Brett said.

  Brett was physically perfect, they all were, because that had been the goal of their genetically designed appearances. Each of them could have walked off the pages of a glamour magazine: Brett, a blonde Adonis; Breanna, an Irish lass; and Mason, the embodiment of Casanova.

  “We got an indication on a divergent event that will swing the balance of power our way,” Breanna said.

  “What are we looking at?” Mason asked.

  “There is better than a million-to-one chance that this will result in a step back,” Breanna said.

  “Seems too good to be true,” Mason said. “So how did we come across this gem?”