The Van Helsing Resurgence

by Evelyn Chartres

  “You cunt,” Julia mumbled.

  She tried to spit at her father’s murderer, but she was too dehydrated to create an effective loogie. Instead, she succeeded only in drooling over herself.

  Clara giggled, before saying, “You’re one of his, aren’t you?”

  “How—How did—,” Julia attempted to ask.

  “You look like him,” Clara replied honestly.

  Clara turned and looked into a mirror to adjust the black leather bustier. It fit like a glove, although it took a bit of effort to put on, because she was a little bigger in the bust than the donor. Over the bustier, she wore a leather coat fitted with heavy industrial zippers, one big enough to accommodate her wings, or at least when tucked-in close to her back.

  “Hopefully I won’t need to fly on short notice,” Clara mused.

  Her new pants were a bit short, fitting more like a pair of black leather capris. Still they would have to do, just like the boots. A small miracle, seeing as most were wearing the equivalent of pontoons on their feet these days. A shame that everything had a distinct scent of dog fur and she wondered if that smell would ever fade.

  “Why?” Julia asked.

  Even in her weakened state, the venom pouring out from her mouth was obvious. Clara remained stoic. Instead, she smiled warmly as Julia’s world faded to black. The impact to the head had been an open invitation for the Sandman to pay her a visit.

  * * * *

  Despite the lack of police response, Clara had no desire to linger. She doubted the pack would take long to select a new alpha and come back in force. That problem needed to be avoided, but she made a vow to deal with them later, if the opportunity presented itself.

  Amongst the wreckage, Clara found a few basics for survival: shells for the double barreled shotgun which were stowed away in her coat; a black nine-millimetre pistol with four clips; a twenty-two calibre with five extra clips; and some sort of combat knife.

  She slipped the blade in her right ankle boot, while the pistols were safely stowed around her waist. The clips were easily concealed inside her coat pockets, a useful activity since she found the girl’s emergency bright-red lipstick. Clara was not worried about drawing attention; everything was stowed away nicely without leaving behind any telltale lumps.

  The last item she found was a phone, an item that she recognised from modern movies that she would catch a glimpse of in Heaven. Fortunately for her, that this particular phone had not been secured by its previous owner.

  “This might come in handy later,” Clara said.

  Clara paused before heading back out into the night. She looked at the young woman, sighed, lowered her head, and walked to the back of the bar. With a bit of rummaging, she found the chit book and quickly used that to scribble down a note.

  Her final act before leaving was to untie the woman and cover her up with a tarpaulin salvaged from some saddle bags. Immediately to the side, she left a set of scavenged clothes, although they were too big for either of them.

  “Better than nothing,” Clara said before walking out in search of that soul who needed her help.

  Atop the set of clothes, sat a note she left behind. One written in a clean and precise lettering that said:

  To answer your question, it was a matter of survival. I understand if you can’t find it in your heart to believe me, let alone forgive me. I’m not sure if I could if the tables were turned.

  I know you will be tempted to follow me in the hopes of avenging your father. Know that I will do everything in my power to defend myself. If we do meet in battle and you are victorious, then understand that I am sorry for any pain I caused you.

  On a side note, you have a wicked flair for fashion and makeup. Given different circumstances, we might have been friends.

  Clara

  * * * *

  Victoria opened her eyes and saw the perfectly flat surface of the marble floor. Every part of her body ached and even her hair hurt. She struggled to come to terms with the mechanics of that concept.

  Despite being in pain, she managed to peel herself from the floor. In that moment, every single muscle in her body screamed out in agony. Funny that when faced with a great deal of pain, concerns over her hair no longer mattered.

  “Where am I?” Victoria asked.

  Memories of her recent escape bled back into her conscious mind. With that came the realisation that she was still at the chapel of horrors.

  “Oh fuck me!” Victoria whined in desperation.

  With a bit more effort, Victoria managed to gain a solid footing. Her feet were unsure of themselves, which left her wobbling, but she persisted until her balance steadied.

  The first few steps were daunting, nonetheless she grew more confident. It was enough to grant her some freedom of movement, and look for an exit.

  Despite the atrocities depicted in the stained glass works commemorating sin and murder in frightening detail, this place was quite beautifully designed: marble walls, supported by Corinthian columns, all adorned with gold. This chapel had a decidedly Art Deco style, one that seemed more authentic than current facsimiles.

  Her eyes ran over every visible surface, and yet, she was no further ahead in finding an exit. Once she shifted her footing, her eyes caught a glimpse of a landmark behind one of the columns. Victoria strained her neck to spot golden doors, and approached carefully. It seemed appropriate to assume there were traps.

  “Come on Vicky,” Victoria said to calm herself. “Don’t let your imagination get the better of you.”

  There was a golden button located at the side of the door and she gasped when she got a better view. The door was meticulously engraved in solid gold; a relief depicting a scene from Dante’s Inferno gleamed in the artificial light.

  She pressed the button, half-expecting a trap door to drop out from beneath her. Instead, a pleasant chime rang throughout the chapel, as the doors parted.

  Without hesitation, she stepped inside, then searched for a control panel only to find there was none. Either this elevator was programmed based on the identity of the passenger, or there was only one stop.

  “Only one way to—,” Victoria said.

  Her knees nearly gave out when it began its high speed ascent. In a panic, Victoria grabbed onto a golden rail with enough strength, that her knuckles were white.

  There were no dials nor displays visible in the elevator car. It appeared that she was just expected to enjoy the ride. In her current state, this experience was anything but pleasant leaving her to wonder how long this moment would last. The answer came when the elevator came to a complete stop. Once the doors opened, Victoria was faced with a change of scenery.

  Had Victoria’s mind not been on the verge of exhaustion, she would have been enraptured by the beauty of it all. She knew of the existence of abandoned subway stations underneath the city, those left behind when new lines came into service or once stations no longer served a purpose.

  Never in her life did she expect to be standing in one, let alone one so beautifully maintained. Every tile was in place and the grout was an immaculate white, a miracle since the floor tiles had to see some foot traffic from time to time.

  As Victoria stepped away, the elevator’s doors slid shut. Dead ahead, there was a subway car of modern design, which lit up when she approached. Just her luck, the doors were open.

  Now she was curious because this all seemed to be far too convenient. Victoria walked up to the platform’s edge, looked down the line at both ends, and saw nothing suspicious. The steel tracks shone in the station’s light and from the looks of this car, this was operational line, although clarity on serviceability of the line at its destination and where that happened to be was a different matter.

  She turned around to look for clues. Victoria remembered that most stations had a map to direct visitors. Then again, elevators also had panels to indicate what the elevator was up to.

  “This is getting tedious,” Victoria said with an exasperated sigh.

  Un
able to come up with another option, Victoria stepped through the open door of the car. This was her first time being in a subway car fitted with leather seats or one lined with mahogany and brass.

  “Not exactly what you’d find on the blue line,” Victoria remarked. “So what now?”

  As her question rang out into the train, the door closed behind her, and the car lunged forward. Victoria reached for one of the seats and sat down. It should not have been a surprise that this contraption was also automated.

  Out back, a series of lights appeared, a fresh car activated to replace this one. Victoria watched in awe, barely able to imagine the expenses associated with running such a system. As the train moved on, the somniferous clickety-clack of the tracks embraced her mind. Soon, Victoria was sound asleep. Meanwhile, back at the station, a slick trail of blood led directly to the platform’s edge.

  SHADOWS AND ECHOES

  Angela’s mind could not stay focused on a single thought. She re-examined every detail of what was witnessed, rearranging the scenes over and over to make sense of it all. Yet, she was no further ahead in understanding what happened. How could she? What she knew to be real was no longer so.

  The young redhead sighed while leaning against the railing. From this vantage point, she watched two angels fall from the heavens. So why was it that only Clara was visible? Her eyes naturally focused on the nude and confident woman and she enjoyed that fight. The battle featured a woman of grace and beauty against a creature that plagued humanity for millennia.

  “I thought we managed to contain them in our time?” Angela pondered.

  That fire and drive had been on display the day they saved Edith from the ghouls. It was not a stretch to see how the love of her life had roused her from the dead to warn that particular hunter. Nor was it difficult to see how Edith could fall for her alluring and daring protégé.

  “Where are you?” Angela asked while a wave of emotions overwhelmed her.

  It felt as though she were underwater, trapped under the unforgiving sea, starved for air while fresh air and freedom were just beyond reach. She could see the white caps of the waves and how their unforgiving size would put ships in peril. Was breaching the surface any more merciful than drowning beneath its fury?

  When a tear rolled down her cheek and onto an arm, she was roused from this storm of despair. Her training kicked in enabling her to realise how this was getting her nowhere and that she needed to focus.

  From her vantage point, she saw Clara leave the bar and head towards the epicentre of the disturbance. If Edith was down there, she would be doing the same, inexplicably drawn to her objective. These ladies were both devout and faithful, their senses finely attuned to the whispers from beyond.

  For now, it did her little good to linger here. Very few people did. To do so risked drawing the attention of a natural born angel. That group was probably already concerned over her last exchange with Gabriel.

  “Home for now,” Angela said.

  Once firmly within the grasp of familiarity and freed from the distractions of reality, would she be free to delve into the matter. The steps she needed to take were as yet unclear, although she did have allies.

  That brief recall to Earth had stirred other souls from their stupors. Gone was the idea that permanent detachment from the mortal realm was ideal. A few even voiced such opinions in her company, but no one dared risk it publicly. This may have been Heaven, but there were still guards lurking about, and that was a clue to the true nature of their existence.

  Perhaps some of them could be leveraged to help? She might even be able to rouse sentiment from the collective, although that would shatter their concept of reality. Most were not even aware that they were in Heaven, or that they could interact with other souls.

  “Choice and self-determination,” Angela muttered.

  The right to choose, wreaked havoc on the ability to predict the future. Not even Saint Peter knew the precise time and death of those who toiled below. The same applied here as well, so what did she witness earlier?

  “How and why?” Angela asked.

  For now, she needed to create the illusion of being an average citizen. What a shame that her stubborn mind had yet to accept her conclusion.

  * * * *

  Edith wandered the city aimlessly. She felt so disconnected from this world. To top it all off, there was no guiding presence nor could she draw from experience to show her the way. Gabriel volunteered nothing that could have helped her to chart a course nor were there any clues offered when asked.

  At least she found some clothes from that shop adjacent to her landing site. It was a bit formal for her tastes, a long flowing evening gown and overcoat, but it was warm and fit in well with her surroundings.

  Edith had been pleasantly surprised by this neighbourhood, the home of a vibrant community nestled within a historical industrial park. She might have felt right at home in better times, but for now, all it did was remind of her absence from Angela and that weighed heavily on her heart.

  Her high heeled stilettos echoed in the empty streets. The shoe’s leather had not stretched so they pinched her toes, and in time, would make walking difficult. Odd how all of these quirks and annoyances were so easily forgotten in the afterlife. Pain, cold, discomfort and hunger had all been a thing of the past, but now she struggled to remember enough of her training to cope.

  It was one thing to think back over her countless lessons back at the Tower. Academic knowledge was easy to recollect, but that did little to remedy the problem at hand. She needed to bring forth all of that experience and push it to the forefront of her conscious mind. People said that one never forgets how to ride a bicycle, but Edith knew that was a gross oversimplification. The concepts remained, but muscle memory and the ability to balance faded over time.

  On her travels, Edith passed a couple of bulls handcuffing a man over the truck’s hood. Whatever his crimes, she wondered what would happen to the vehicle. Unfortunately, Edith missed the answer by turning away. Moments later, the truck slipped into the ether, which sent the driver to the ground with a heavy thump.

  Eventually, Edith came across a store and despite the crescent moon being high in the sky, it was still open. A quick look through the windows showed rows of items, ranging from confections to household goods.

  A wry smile came across her face, as this was exactly the type of distraction she sought. Edith opened the door and was greeted by an electronic chime. The sound was hollow and artificial, and she immediately disliked it.

  To her left, there was a young woman behind the till. The clerk, dressed in filthy oversized clothes, was furiously tapping away on a glass and metal device. The woman appeared mesmerised by this contraption, so much so that it took several attempts to rouse this woman from her stupor.

  “Yeah?” the clerk asked annoyed.

  Edith kept smiling, despite the urge to slap the girl. She could not put a finger on where that desire stemmed from, although it might have been related to the complete lack of civility.

  “Where can I find some munitions?” Edith asked.

  “Huh?” the clerk asked.

  The look this girl’s face was a combination of confusion mixed with the certainly that Edith was all kinds of idiot. The desire to slap some sense into this girl gained momentum, but Edith did her best to keep smiling. A shame that did nothing to disarm the other.

  “Powder, rouge, and lipstick?” Edith clarified.

  The clerk sighed as though she were being asked to give up her life for king and country. To be fair, she did point out an area in the far corner of the store.

  “Thank you,” Edith said.

  “Whatevs,” the clerk replied.

  By then, the temptation was very much front and centre, but a naughty little though brought forth an alternate solution. She headed towards the back of the store and found a cache of cosmetics. A quick glance at the glamour shots did a lot to point out how fashion changed, so much that it made finding the shade of li
pstick she wanted difficult.

  “Why was carmine dye no longer a thing?” Edith wondered.

  Nonetheless, she picked up powder, rouge, and lipstick that suited her style. Perhaps she would look out of place with a cupid’s bow. So what? She swiped the items and moved farther back towards the rest rooms.

  “Figures,” Edith said upon discovering that the door was locked.

  She tightened her grip around the knob until her fingers deformed the metal and twisted with enough strength to shear the mechanism. With the door open, it was time to put her face on.