The Van Helsing Resurgence

by Evelyn Chartres

  While the Tower denied the existence of ghosts or earthly spirits, she had found a codex that indicated otherwise, hidden away in one of the abandoned wings. In the beginning, she had steadfastly refused to believe the contents of that reference, or at least, until she was mortally wounded in an altercation with some ghouls. In that moment of desperation, she reached out to the dead.

  Had this been an actual spirit, the interaction would have sent a chill running down her spine, feeling as though someone had stepped on her grave. That was Edith’s mistake, another assumption which would cost her dearly. The moment they came in contact, an electric current flowed from the tip of her finger and rode through her nervous system into her left foot.

  The jolt repelled her at a frightening rate, hurtling through the air into the wall. On impact, plaster and slats of wood gave way until she reached the brick foundation. The remaining momentum was absorbed by her body, fracturing ribs and her left wing’s humerus. The concussive shock also served to knock the wind out of her.

  Her lungs burned, and she gasped for air, but the searing pain prevented her from taking in more than a few shallow breaths at a time. She tried to calm down, to heal, but the extent of her injuries was too great. As her body began to shut down, it dragged her conscious mind with it. Just before she slipped into unconsciousness, Edith heard a nearby window shatter into hundreds of pieces.

  SHELL SHOCKED

  Breanna looked out through the window as nearby stars streaked by. Those farther away moved at varying speeds, while others appeared to be fixed points in space. The harsh lighting of the overhead fixtures created a superimposed reflection on the surface of the window. She reached out to her mirror image with long and slender fingers. This was a rare occurrence, since their grey flesh absorbed most of the light. It was a defense mechanism for their kind, one that guaranteed unwavering uniformity.

  Her gaze shifted to that mouthless face, dull grey skin, oversized cranium, and reflective eyes. This image was mirrored in her eyes, the light bouncing back and forth to create an infinite number of copies. The only aspect not duplicated was her information overlay, courtesy of her cybernetic implants.

  Breanna dropped her head to get that image out of her thoughts and turned to her right. From this vantage point, she gazed down the length of the ship, a massive vessel that stretched out farther than her eyes perceived. The overlay included a map of the ship in the top corner of her vision, along with an indication of what she could see. She could see about a third of the ship with her enhancements and would soon see only a fraction of that.

  The ship appeared to be silent, although she knew that was nothing more than an illusion. The fusion generators were always operational, autonomous, and powerful enough to propel this vessel through the vast distances between stars. The sounds they generated had long ago been relegated to background noise.

  She again turned to the right and faced a series of glass panels that shielded the stasis chambers. There were rows upon rows of workers in a hibernation state. They would remain as such until they were needed for missions or upon arrival at the next star system. Normally, she was tapped into their thoughts, a feature of cybernetic implants. Alas, in preparation for her mission, the link had been severed. For the first time in her life, Breanna was alone with her thoughts. The sheer magnitude of that solitude weighed heavily on her.

  Soon, the visual overlays would be gone followed by the implants themselves. All of these steps were required before they genetically modified her cellular structure, all because her new configuration would reject the implants.

  “Breanna,” the ship’s public address system blared out.

  She turned around to face the control console. When travelling within a solar system, this place was a hive of activity, swarming with workers. This far out, the ship required nothing more than a few to maintain a vigil. Truthfully, the computer handled all day-to-day operations while travelling through deep space, so her presence was largely superfluous.

  She had been scheduled to return to stasis in a couple of cycles, but a new mission objective altered those plans. The ship was about to move beyond the range of a passing system, so they would no longer be able to send in quick insertion teams. They needed a long term presence to deal with the locals. To prepare for her mission, she was relieved of her duties to undergo a series of invasive treatments to alter her genetic structure.

  By the end of it, she would be indistinguishable from the native inhabitants of the third planet of that yellow star they bypassed. For now, it was not worth their collective attention, but after a bit of manipulation…

  “Breanna,” the public address system repeated.

  Breanna glided over to the nearest console and ran some diagnostics. The logs confirmed that the loud speakers had not been engaged since they left their home system.

  “Wake up,” came a voice from behind.

  She turned around, but saw nothing. This part of the ship was empty, or at least there was no one within earshot. To say she was confused would have been an understatement, but that quickly morphed into panic when a warm hand grabbed her shoulder…

  * * * *

  “Wake up,” Mason said.

  Breanna snapped up from the console, and left a puddle of drool on the surface. Her eyelids felt as though they weighed a ton, and with some effort she managed to pry them open. What a shame, the world turned out to be nothing more than a haze.

  As her eyes focused on Mason, she realised that her mind had been exploring a memory. Now she hated him even more for taking her out of it.

  “What?” Breanna asked annoyed.

  “Any updates?” Mason queried.

  “What? Oh!” Breanna said while she wiped the drool off her display.

  Her fingers glided over the display with more difficulty than usual, and she grimaced every time the wrong functions were triggered. Breanna’s mind was lingering on that memory and would not compensate for her smaller, thicker, and less agile digits.

  Eventually, she had the information they sought and said, “Nothing yet.”

  Mason asked, “How much time do you need?”

  “The system is running at full capacity,” Breanna said. “Since the shockwave really messed things up, we will need a lot of resources to unravel what happened.”

  Mason looked around the room. In the back corner, Brett was replacing the floor tiles one at a time. Every move he made was slow and laborious; his mind was clearly not in it. All of their minds were wandering.

  “Okay. Go home,” Mason said.

  Breanna blinked several times and was severely tempted to pinch herself. Nonetheless, she thought it best to confirm, “What?”

  “You’re running on fumes,” Mason said. “We all are. So let’s leave these systems on auto. We can check on them tomorrow.”

  Breanna did not need to be told twice. She grabbed her coat and phone before heading towards the door. Then it occurred to her that it was probably sensible to smile and thank him.

  “Thanks,” Breanna said with a meek smile. “Have a good night,” she added managing to sound sincere.

  Mason spotted Brett trying make a break for the door, “You’ll need close up this floor before you leave.”

  Brett looked as though he was about to toss out one of his witty remarks, but reason must have gotten the better of him. Without a word, he turned around and headed directly for the stack of tiles.

  Breanna smiled, and for a split second did not hate Mason that much. Although, this would wear off when that ass reverted to his regular charming self.

  * * * *

  Clara did not knock and entered the bathroom as though she owned it. It seemed appropriate considering that moments ago, relatively speaking, she received a first-hand demonstration on the use of modern razors.

  “Clara?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Who else?” Clara quipped.

  She walked over to the sink, and after a bit of experimentation, figured out how to make the faucet work. Behin
d her back, a cloud of steam rose out from the shower, followed by a yelp. That’s when the naked mass of a woman jumped out of the tub, all in an attempt to escape the searing heat.

  “Hot!” Elizabeth yelled.

  Clara wanted to laugh since this scene had all of the elements of a classic gag, but that would do little to prepare Elizabeth. A shame that she forgot to clean up before broaching the subject.

  Elizabeth’s skin was red on her back and side. Her hair was covered in conditioner, and she also managed to nick her leg. The wound was bleeding, although that would soon stop.

  “Sorry,” Clara said. “I figured they would have fixed that sort of nonsense by now.”

  The other was not paying attention, preoccupied with the cut and the application of toilet paper to slow the bleeding. Clara used this opportunity to wash her hands, clearing away the blood but not the memories.

  “What happened?” Elizabeth asked upon noticing the black feathered wings.

  Clara sighed and hoped that this reaction was muted by the running water. Clara grabbed the soap after a quick rinse, noticed there were streaks of blood everywhere.

  “What do you mean?” Clara asked in an attempt to stall.

  “Your wings,” Elizabeth said. “They are badass.”

  Clara contorted her body in such a way to get a partial view of her rear-end before saying, “I thought I had a great ass?”

  Elizabeth smirked. It appeared that this turn of phrase had not been in use during her time. How many ways could that be interpreted if one had no clue what the expression meant?

  “I meant to say your wings are cool… swell… the cat’s meow,” Elizabeth said while looking for signs of recognition on Clara’s face.

  “Now you decide to speak proper English?” Clara asked with a smirk. She then expanded her wings to their full size before adding, “They are the bees knees, aren’t they?”

  Meanwhile, Clara was busy wiping down every surface that had blood in an attempt to clean away the evidence. She only managed to dilute the mess. Still, it appeared more pink than crimson.

  “Yes…” Elizabeth began to say until she noticed the bloody footprints leading into the room. “What—”

  Before Elizabeth finished that statement, Clara folded her wings and moved to embrace the amazon. Given their difference in height, Clara had to do a quick hop to wrap her arms around Elizabeth’s neck and plant a kiss.

  Elizabeth was bewildered, but her sense of reason soon went down the drain. In response, she moulded her wet body into Clara’s and leaned into the kiss. The kiss was invigorating. Clara’s willing body and breasts radiated heat even through the leather. Clara willingly parted her lips, taking in Elizabeth’s tongue, and surrendered to the passion.

  Their embrace lasted for minutes. They danced using their tongues, since Elizabeth was hesitant to explore Clara’s exposed back. Every so often, they came up for air, and this separation only served to deepen their desire. So why was Clara crying?

  “What—,” Elizabeth tried to say.

  Lost in the moment, Clara wanted nothing more than those lips and was not about to tolerate any interruptions. For the first time, she was exposed, vulnerable, but unaware of it.

  “What—,” Elizabeth repeated.

  “Don’t,” Clara said and tried to place a lone finger over Elizabeth’s lips.

  “W—,” Elizabeth attempted to ask.

  “Please,” Clara pleaded.

  With the knowledge that this would go on as long as there was proximity, Elizabeth tore herself away. Despite her smaller stature, the perky brunette was the embodiment of strength. Not entirely unexpected, since Clara could wield a heavy truck door like a baseball bat.

  Clara fell to her knees and began to cry. All of the emotions that were bundled up and concealed over the years chose this moment to make an appearance. As judged by the severity of Clara’s reaction, they had done so with a vengeance.

  Elizabeth sensed that something life altering had taken place in the last five minutes. The change in her wings, the bloody footsteps, the need for an escape, and emotional breakdown were all indicators of trauma.

  For now, there was nothing to be done about her hair, so she grabbed a towel and approached Clara cautiously. She gingerly knelt beside Clara and placed a hand on her exposed shoulder.

  Clara’s reaction was immediate; she fell into Elizabeth’s arms. Tears streamed from her eyes, which would soon become puffy and red. Elizabeth held on tight and let this wave of emotion take its course. No matter how hardened an individual appeared to be, there were limits.

  “I— killed her—” Clara managed to say through all of that sobbing.

  “Who?” Elizabeth said in a calm and soothing voice.

  “Goddess—” Clara blurted out, showing frustration at her own loss of control.

  “Shhhhhh,” Elizabeth repeated. “It’s okay.”

  Clara went on crying for a good five or ten minutes. Elizabeth stayed with her the entire time, realising that a fresh towel would be needed after this.

  Eventually, Clara pulled away, took a deep breath, and smiled awkwardly. There was still much for her to deal with, but that moment of vulnerability had done a great deal of good for the soul. She had killed a lot of creatures in her years, many who pleaded for their lives. They were the worst, often looking so innocent before she performed the coup de grâce.

  Every kill, beginning with Jack, her first love, the one who tried to torture her for information, had been one more drop of water held back by a dam. Hecate had been one drop too many, and despite the shock, this incident had been a boon for Clara.

  “Thank you,” Clara said in a nasal voice, before she sniffled to breathe better.

  Elizabeth smiled but realised that her bathroom was now a sauna. Steam permeated the air while humidity clung to the walls, turning into droplets that ran down every surface. The floor was also soaked and succeeded in washing away any evidence of blood.

  “Oh shit!” Elizabeth said, when the cause dawned on her.

  She jumped to her feet, shut the sink’s tap, and returned to the tub to ensure the water could support human life. Once the temperature was just right, Elizabeth jumped right back in. Still, it was too late; her hair needed another wash.

  Clara’s weak smile turned into a smirk; the light humour helped her settle back into her normal state of mind. When Elizabeth stuck out her arm to drop her sopping wet towel, Clara burst out laughing.

  There was still that mess to deal with, but Clara was more centred now and better able to think. Once a plan formed in her mind, Clara adopted the cat-who-ate-the-canary smirk.

  “Are there any empty units in this block?” Clara asked.

  While Elizabeth’s voice was muffled by the water, the answer came clear enough, “Units in the opposing block are being renovated… Why do you ask?”

  Clara got to her feet and opened the curtain to get a better view of Elizabeth before replying, “The less you know, the better.”

  With that, Clara left the bathroom, looked out the window, and quickly refined her plan. She would have no trouble reaching the fire escape on the other side, even under a heavy load. No one would suspect the bodies had flown across an alley.

  Clara looked at the sky and guessed there was a solid hour before the alley was bathed in daylight. Still, she removed her leather pants and bustier. That way, if anyone called in a sighting, the police would dismiss the call. Who would trust a witness claiming they saw some naked chick with black wings leaping between buildings?

  That meant she would need to pick the fridge clean to get her energy levels up and with luck, would remain accelerated. Clara concentrated until she could hear individual drops fall in the shower.

  “Let’s eat,” Clara said, but an errant thought crossed her mind.

  Clara reached down on the floor and picked up the amphora. Despite Hecate being no more, the glowing liquid was still filled to the brim. Clara had also been fortunate that the amphora had righted itself
rather than flood this floor in ambrosia.

  Clara did not dwell on that aspect. Instead, she poured three glasses and downed them all. It did not have the pep that Sparky’s bolt provided, but it was enough.

  “This should help,” Clara said while picking up the first body.

  * * * *

  By the time Elizabeth turned off the shower taps, the crime scene had been sanitised. The bodies had all been moved to empty units. Each was posed in an identical manner, all in an effort to create the illusion that these were ritualistic killings.