The eyes of glass… Eyes of glass…

Dark eyes, darker for the vision that stole the light of consciousness from them, saw nothing of the interior of the coach. The ears of the dark haired man heard nothing of the urban nightlife, nothing of the clopping hooves, the whinny of a beast held still. Bernard F. Simmons beheld the past, dead contents, that cloaked his vision of the present – as if he had lifted the white sheet whose aim is to make the gore, the horror of a corpse vanish beneath it. Not yet a veteran of Scotland Yard, and destined to never reach the fantastic genius and fame of his literary counterparts, Mr. Simmons was a man supported by a strictly human nature and led by a raw human mind sporting a healthy collection of Victorian ideals.

Once his darkened eyes had brightened and the powers of his senses had returned him to the physical present, and his experienced reality had been planted on the cobblestones set before the doctor's madhouse, Mr. Simmons' character began to surface. The chronic indecision that had plagued him since adolescence sent the end of his cane tapping frantically against the side of a polished shoe, raised from the pavement by nervous habit. Abruptly the cane and foot swung forward together, meeting awkwardly before the first step ascending to the doctor's door, the right hand and right foot disagreeing with the unnatural synchronization. Bernard swallowed, pausing to wipe his brow with a clean handkerchief as his cane rested in the crook of his arm. Together with the dabbing of the cloth and a slight breeze, the poor man was soon stooping for his tumbling hat. He ended the chase, secured his possession to his head, and hurried to the door. The man who greeted him was met with a disheveled, red-faced and grinning gentleman he knew not what to do with for the first few moments of their acquaintance. Then the gentleman introduced himself, stating his business before entering, though the invitation had been given, and Bernard was soon led to the doctor's office.

The memory of the embarrassing spectacle that had occurred before the coach driver prevented Bernard from responding to the offer to give his coat, cane, and hat to the man who had let him in. So the anxious man was left to hold his hat and cane in his lap as he awaited the doctor, not knowing where else to store them. Now inside, he was beginning to feel stifled by his coat. But as refreshments were brought in and the doctor entered, these discomforts were forgotten and for the first time since his arrival, Bernard was capable of acting in a calm and professional manner. Lack of sleep, however, being unaware of the state of his own face, remained in the dark rings of the man's eyes that gave them a pitted, yet determined, appearance of one who needed but refused rest.

Since it had been some time since his last visit to the doctor, Bernard had expected Dr. Seward to require a second introduction, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that the doctor had not forgotten him and had indeed been thinking of him and his concerns, which had a reassuring effect on the police detective, who was able to relax and nod as the doctor quickly summarized their last conversation after the proper greetings and sociable inquiries after Bernard's health and family had turned to the purpose of the second visit.

"Your mind has not changed, then. You continue to suspect that the disappearances and assumed deaths of those who have been brought to your attention – as well as to the attention of others in your field, quite a number of crimes – are in fact being carried out by a single perpetrator? You continue to question what part my old friend and acquaintance has…in these cases?" Dr. Seward's hand stirred cream into his coffee, the tinking of metal on porcelain finishing with a few ringing taps against a saucer. He sipped from the pool of liquid caramel as his eyes noted the neglect Mr. Simmons' beverage was receiving. He encouraged the nodding man, who was agreeing with what had been said, to enjoy his hospitality. With a second push of encouragement, Bernard complied, swallowing without taking the time to dilute the coffee with any of the items he was offered. The beverage seemed to have lost its ability to influence the detective, a drug too much relied on in the past and now useless though the man's need for it continued and even worsened. Seward observed the exhaustion that an overactive conscious had pressed into the man's face, casting shadows on the markings left there by age, which made them more defined. Age became hard to determine when men reached this state, the depletion of energy depleting the reserves of youth – but this has been seen to work against the flow of time as well, making old men young when their faces become animated and their bodies exude energy. The caramel liquid warmed his throat as it sharpened his perception of the detective.

Dr. Seward discarded a rueful smile before the detective was allowed to see it, and then placed his cup on the low table that separated Mr. Simmons from himself. His expression had become more professional, though still open and friendly when he addressed his visitor again. But soon a rapid knock sounded at the door, jarring the detective as the urgency behind it grated against his nerves and widened his eyes. His neck snapped as he followed the darting form of the doctor - Seward strode to the door and promptly excused himself. There were muffled voices outside that were replaced by the sound of running feet.

There was nothing more unsettling to Bernard Simmons than the sound of a doctor sprinting down a corridor. The civilized atmosphere had been shoved aside to make room for the recollection that this was a house for the clinically insane.

Sitting as still and straight as a cactus with needles growing inward to attack the self rather than outward to protect him, and in an environment that had gone from comfort and calm to alarm and fear at the drop of a dime, it took Bernard several moments to realized the hat which he had placed on the handle of his cane in his lap was now coated in hot coffee. Juggling with his alarm and the mess before him, hesitation prolonged by an attack of indecision led to a hasty grab for a cloth napkin and a flutter of motions towards dabbing at the hat, which were stopped by the memory that he had once been advised to use water for these sorts of things. But Bernard was unsure if 'these sorts of things' specifically included spilling hot coffee on this particular accessory to his person. However, as was usually the case, the fit of insecurity subsided and the man had dabbed and soaked up the dampness until he was content to leave it as it was. Dr. Seward returned when Bernard was again calm and settled quietly in his chair.

Apologizing for the sudden abandonment, but without offering an explanation - which seemed peculiar to Bernard - Dr. Seward resumed his position opposite to the detective and was again displaying an easy, reassuring countenance which consisted of a genuine, though not strong, smile and a warmth that brightened the man's green eyes. Specks of yellow seemed to ebb from the eyes, as if a part of the man's character were receding, subsiding to bring forth the man that smiled at the detective. A sip of coffee seemed to profess that all was well and that business should be seen to before the detective lost more time to another unexpected rapping on the door.

Bernard's curiosity would not let him rest. He asked Dr. Seward rather directly, making sure their eyes met, "What was the emergency?" He blinked at the curving lips, straightening a bit in his chair as he paused to reflect on what he knew and thought he understood about John Seward. "I assume that I am not in your way…as long as you have yet to ask me to leave…" The slow speech was finally rewarded.

"A patient wanted my attention."

"I am not interfering with your work?" Bernard continued, though the doctor was shaking his head. Verbal response. I want a- "You are not needed elsewhere, Doctor?" Easy questions that receive answers will loosen his tongue…hopefully. …His type-

Bernard began to listen as Seward spoke.

"I believe that I am needed in this room at the moment. If there was another who could replace me I am sure that you would have gone elsewhere, Detective. My assistants can act without me for now, but you seem to need something from me." The tone was kind, as was the outward nature of this scientist. Bernard watched closely, a blunted finger rubbing unconsciously over the wet remnants of coffee on his hat. However, Dr. Seward still possessed the intellectual round-about speech that always strained the detective's patience and left him with a throbbing pain that never resulted from exchanging words with more down-to-earth, direct folk. Though the scholarly men were more articulate with their word choice and perfectly sober –in the sense that they had not been drinking, some seemed capable of detaching themselves from the world without the help of liquor- Bernard felt that he could gain more insight from a drunkard's undirected ramblings than an intellectual's response to a question. There was nothing intimidating in what Dr. Seward had said so far, but the wordy responses…the vagueness reminded Bernard of his last visit. It also reminded him of the man he sought to know.

Bernard took a moment to cough into his handkerchief and then tucked the cloth away, all to hide a grimace his thoughts had caused. "Again, since I was unable to grasp what you said before, could you (precisely and plainly, please) describe to me Sir Hellsing's occupation?" The finger rubbed at the damp coffee. Dr. Seward watched before showing faint amusement for the detective's expression, which had been purposefully deadened by willpower and concentration.

"Dr. Van Hellsing – as you know, this is how I tend to address him, though I am well aware of his new title – is a man who serves Great Britain."

Bernard's head throbbed, and he jerked as if from a pain. He was frowning sharply when he gave a curt nod. "As you have told me."

"His income is paid for by Queen Victoria."

The detective nodded, eyes closing for a moment, his finger now tapping instead of rubbing his hat. "Yes, as you've said."

Seward was smiling brightly, both kind and disturbing as he knitted his fingers together in his lap as if that was all there was to be said. The gesture did not seem to suffice, so he spoke. "There you have it, Detective. His occupation lies within the Queen's service."

There was another, deeper, sigh from Bernard, and he took to rubbing his temple instead of his hat. His eyes squinted shut. "I am interested in details, Dr. Seward. Not many seem to know them, so I have come to you, again, for the purpose of uncovering them. What is it the man does, Dr. Seward? I know he is wealthy. I know of his connections. I want to know what it is he does with his time."

Seward interrupted, humored again. "You suspect that Queen Victoria has coerced this man to kidnap and murder her subjects, Detective?"

Annoyance was clear in the sharp look that was thrown at the doctor, but Dr. Seward seemed to receive it with indifference. Bernard's teeth dug into the fleshy interior of his cheek as he held back his feelings of frustration and the budding distaste he seemed to be developing for the doctor. His body moved as he spoke, restlessness concentrated mostly in his arms and hands, while his teeth barely parted. "I want to know what it is Sir Hellsing does to earn his livelihood. If it involves no dishonesty, then why is it so closely guarded? Why has it become a secret? I've heard rumors tell of a private army or of unethical experimentation on animals. Of the creation of weapons. Guns and chemicals are shipped into a private establishment. The police are waved off as if they have no authority –as we do not, in fact, seem to have any authority, any means to pry or question, when it comes to Sir Hellsing's business." His eyes were bright, his voice sharp as his blood heated. Seward watched in silence, no smile warming his features though he showed no signs of hostility. But in Bernard's mind, he had gained more of the doctor's attention, and this motivated him to continue as his back left the cushions of the armchair – he leaned forward, almost crushing his hat.

"This man is a foreigner, who appears suddenly, apparently in response to your invitation, and is, in a matter of months, corresponding with the ruler of the most powerful nation on Earth. He seems to have accomplished everything a scholar might wish to achieve, looking back at his education and the impressive string of letters he has earned beside his name – a doctor of all sorts, as I've seen it. A Dutch man, well established, and yet without a wife or a family to account for at his age-?"

The detective flinched at the unexpected edge in Seward's voice. "Detective." There was a short pause which permitted Bernard's uneasiness to sprout once more. Shoes, dulled by a cane, shifted nervously. "Dr. Van Hellsing is married. Unfortunately-" green soaked in the man's surprise, "-unfortunately, Mrs. Hellsing…is not in a state that permits her…to have contact with society."

Puzzled and made uneasy by the doctor's halting speech, Bernard tightened his jaw and waited. "In more exact terms-"

"In more exact terms," there was a pitch of mockery that faded as Seward examined the detective's genuine confusion he had misinterpreted as distaste, and he forgave him, "She is mad, but not due to some fault in Dr. Van Hellsing. She was not a woman of…a strong constitution. …She could not withstand the loss of their only child. …Dr. Van Hellsing, understandably, does not wish to make this common knowledge. He is not ashamed of her –it is not that. He pities her, and he suffers due to the love he had, and perhaps, still maintains for her. Others do not know Mrs. Hellsing, and do not know who she once was. They would not be able to understand, to be able to see the soul of a madwoman. Preconceptions regarding the insane prevent a general understanding of their situation. I have had my patients make attempts on my life-" Bernard showed both alarm and amazement. He continued to listen with a sort of disgusted awe. "-but I cannot hold it against them. I may not possess the same feelings of patience and pity for a time, but then I will be filled with more compassion, more than before, because I know that it is not within their nature to be violent. They do not wish to kill me. They are lost, unable to reason, unable to behave appropriately, to give the appropriate responses that truly communicate what they are feeling. An insane man still has emotions. The personality is not lost completely – or else recovery would be unconceivable, and then we might just as well disregard the advancements made since Pinel and lock away the disturbed minds so the sane do not have to be bothered with them. Since it would be impossible to retrieve the person they were before the madness set in – before they had lost control – they might as well be pronounced dead."

Bernard rubbed the damp mark on his hat, waiting, as if he expected the stain to suddenly dry. Intellectuals, scholars, all of them seemed to have ways of being swept off their feet, like young men in love, but with the topics that impassioned them instead of a pretty girl. Or like a captain questioned about his ship... -Interesting, to him it was certainly interesting, but it was not in the direction he had hoped the conversation would go. He wanted to know about Abraham Van Hellsing. But now he had not the heart to force the change in topic.

…These men always made his skull ache. Simply ache.

But Dr. Seward took reign and turned the conversation back towards the man in question, reading the detective's hesitation and resuming his pleasant tone. "Dr. Van Hellsing is a good man."

A look was exchanged between the men. The statement was simple, but there was emotion, there was faith placed behind it. This was truly Dr. Seward's impression of the mysterious man. Bernard's face creased as his brow scrunched and his mouth folded into a deep frown. He breathed in deeply. A wave of fatigue swept over him, but he stood fast, his feet planted level on the rug while he sat up straight. "Why- What makes you think of this man so highly?"

When there was no response. Bernard's attention flicked away from the coffee cup it had settled on, and reached Seward's pensive expression. He caught the analysis that was in progress as Seward studied him for a time. "I would like to know what makes you suspect him of these crimes. If it is simply the vicinity of their occurrence and their distance from his estate…or simply the mystery that has engrossed you… But I will answer you." His gaze was direct; not cold, not hard, but honest. "Dr. Van Hellsing is a good man. I owe my life…and much more to him." Dark eyes had narrowed at this. Seward noticed. "I was wounded and expected to die, and if not for his actions, I would have. Now, that makes me partial, more willing to accept any faults the man might have. But there is no evil within him, nor any madness. And he would need either one or the other to commit the atrocities you suspect him for. He is not an unethical man. He is a strong Catholic – perhaps not ideal, yes, not for this time, not for here, but it is what it is. He has few friends, but each and every one of those relations might as well be blood ties. He is respected. And he is admired."

Yes. Certainly by you, he is. "But what is it he does? What are his habits? Actions are better at providing an impartial description of a character, Dr. Seward. That is what I need."

And it is clearly not what you are getting. Dr. Seward sighed quietly and took a moment to either recover from his lengthy speech or to collect his thoughts. "Dr. Van Hellsing is a tinkerer."

"Pardon?" The detective squinted and leaned forward.

"A tinkerer." Dr. Seward repeated, full of patience. "He will play with any oddity, dismantle it and put the pieces back in place, create his own copy of it, make adjustments or improvements – he is a man brimming with a thirst, perhaps not always for knowledge, but for the ability – to have an understanding of the world he perceives around him – the world he does not know. He is a scientist at heart, an intellectual, as well as a child."

This interested Bernard, having not expected to find such a disagreeable trait in the doctor's description. He was expecting the man to paint him an idealized figure, a shining idol, as he had witnessed admirers do for others they believed deserved to be exalted with words.

"Dr. Van Hellsing has a very simple curiosity, and a strong-willed, self-motivating way of reaching an answer. If something is unproven but accepted, he will attempt to provide it with either physical evidence or logic he might agree with. He does not aim to explore himself, but instead aims to explore others, to solve problems that are not his own. He is future oriented and unconcerned with monetary gain – though he is wealthy, and though it may be expected of him. He can be methodical and precise, as well as spontaneous. He understands himself enough to recognize when his instinct can be relied on. He possesses a deep sense of self-acceptance, and is not troubled by self-doubt or other constraints that may restrict most of mankind."

Bernard had reacted self-consciously to this and bit his lip. But Dr. Seward did not know him well enough to have intended this to be an attack on his own person. The detective's fingers thrummed against the black hat. "Is Sir Hellsing a scientist then, Doctor? Does he run a lab and conduct research on his property?" Brown eyes reached green, only to have them look away in thought.

"Yes."

Bernard froze. The confession – rather, it was not really a confession, but instead an answer…it bore the same weight as a confession… An answer. ...His mind was muddled and then blank, but it quickly sprang to life. Hope fueled the man and the circles beneath his eyes seemed to become fainter as years dropped from his features. His eyes burned. "Can you describe his research? Why does it demand steel and so many other metals? Why is a percentage of the silver mined throughout Great Britain and her colonies sent to Sir Hellsing's estate? What is he making? What is this man producing?"

Dr. Seward had directed a distant look to the detective who sat across from him in his office, making a careful study of his intentions and what knowledge he might already have – what he might be hiding. But he found no outward trickery. "I suppose it has something to do with military work."

The detective almost reached a frenzy of excitement. Finally! Finally! Yes, finally I have something! "Weapons? Machinery? Why silver? Why the other chemicals?"

Dr. Seward laughed, startling Bernard who realized he had lost all sense of composure. The embarrassed man was derailed for a moment, but he recovered and forged on, though now a bit more collected. "What is he developing for the Queen, Doctor?"

"He is giving her nothing, personally."

The man's face fell at this response, and his pulse slowed. He felt as if he had hurtled into a wall, and some part of his brain was dazed, while the other part was kindling fire. The muscles in his arms and legs tightened. His fists clenched for a moment, and he even scowled to himself. "What military contribution, or contributions, is he making?"

"I haven't said that he has made any contributions. What I have said, is that he does research."

"Research." Bernard hissed darkly, causing green eyes to narrow, to await the new approach. The detective looked away, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. His teeth appeared to be clenched. "I suspect Sir Hellsing," he began abruptly, his voice hard, his tone cynical, "because I have witness accounts telling me that a man of his likeness…has at times appeared at the scenes of these crimes."

Dark eyes found Seward. A single brow was arched as the doctor returned the gaze. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Reliable witnesses?"

"…I have a number that would be listened to... Yes, re- some are reliable."

"Some?"

The man's face scrunched with frustration and a flush of aversion for the doctor who seemed to be mocking him. His fingers tapped out aggravated beats against the armrests. The doctor has what I want, but he refuses to give it to me! Blast, these- this- this breed of infuriating men! If he were coarse and mean, and not so well-bred, I would gladly hate him! Disguised in good manners- That's all it is! "These crimes occur late at night and in questionable…districts… But I have two witnesses who were sober, who are educated men – men who are in the habit of reading, one even writes to the paper - who give a description of a foreigner in a red trench coat that matches Sir Hellsing."

Seward's eyes showed some of his pity, instantly sending Bernard's eyes into his lap, his teeth clenched. But that wasn't all he had. And when his eyes met with the doctor's once more, John Seward stiffened.

"I found a gun engraved with his name."

The response was immediate. "Anything can be engraved on a gun, Detective."

Bernard was quiet, and then he nodded slowly. "If he is producing weapons, then it would be an alternative explanation. But for what reason would a gun bear his name if it did not belong to him?"

"You expect me to answer your questions for you, Detective?"

The study was silent. Mr. Simmons checked his pocket watch and winced at the time. The coach would have left by now. When he looked up he realized Dr. Seward had just done the same. However, he was not asked to leave. But a change had overcome the doctor. He was tired.

Dr. Seward was on his feet and he invited his surprised guest to step over to his desk. As they stood together, Seward opened a drawer to reveal its contents. Before Bernard was able to recognize what he had seen in the drawer, it was shut, and a revolver lay on the desk.

The detective took a step back, his face showing his thoughts. Dark eyes shot to the man, then to the gun, and back to the man and so forth.

But the doctor's calm and lack of action reassured the detective, and when he was told to inspect the gun, he approached. He soon identified the engraving on the side.

Clearly written, it read: Hellsing – accompanied by other details that identified the weapon.

Bernard recoiled when he realized Dr. Seward had reopened the drawer, and watched as several bullets were placed on the desk - one after another, slowly touching down on the wooden surface…lining up in a row like little armored soldiers forming ranks…but they glistened like jewels. Immediately the gun was abandoned and the detective was held over the bullets, his face hovering, a power drawing him closer. His eyes wide, his lips parting - unable to believe what his eyes sent to his mind, the man picked up one bullet, and then a second, trading one bullet for another as he turned them about in the light and smudged their shining surfaces with his fingers.

He stared at the doctor.

"Ornamental bullets?" He scoffed, the abruptness catching Dr. Seward off guard. A contemptuous sneer spread across the doctor's lips as he read the man's thoughts, but the expression soon became a grimace as the detective failed to hide his revulsion. He did not look Mr. Simmons in the eye for a time.

"Is this what Hellsing has been making? Ornamental guns?" For the blasted- For this breed of men-!

Dark eyes returned to the gun and then to the bullets in his hand.

Do these weapons fire? Could one of these have killed a human being? -But then he was too overcome with disgust to think. The bullets were dropped onto the desk, banging and clattering with the graceful flow of anger and chaos. Two rolled onto the floor, smacking directly onto the wood, but Bernard could not be bothered to give a damn about the bullets or about his actions, which were not unruly in his mind – he did not feel compelled to care about anything at this time. "A perfect waste of resources!" He scoffed aloud, something akin to hatred in his eyes. He scowled at Seward, brimming with disdain. "You call him a scientist! Is this his research? Is this what a genius mind creates? Is it, Doctor? Well-" he broke off, moving away as he wandered, examining the office as he expected to uncover more of these –these ridiculous absurdities. "-you are a customer of his, so it is understandable. You and Sir Hellsing are-"

"It was a gift." A stare which held emotions much darker than the detective's, shot through Bernard, causing him to pause. But the disdain rushed back into his face to fill out a sardonic grin.

"Oh yes, of course Doctor. I understand." Bernard sneered to himself, turning from the doctor. He heard the drawer open roughly, the gun and bullets swept inside – with a crack it was slammed shut. Before the sound of the drawer had left Bernard's ears, the doctor was shoving something into his hand, frightening Bernard, who tried to refuse the object. When he looked down, he found a silver bullet in his grasp.

"Ask Van Hellsing to explain its meaning-" green bore down into the startled man's eyes as he tried to pull away, but he was held firm by the unrelenting doctor's grip on his arm, "-once you understand this, you will have your answers."

Nothing more was explained, despite the detective's questions. Bernard was asked to leave, and begrudgingly, he did so. He was escorted to the door by the doctor himself. Just before the detective descended the steps to reach the pavement, fuming and damning the man behind him, he heard an apology.

But when he turned, the door had just shut, leaving him alone in the night.

And there he stood for quite some time, staring at the closed door, at the curtains obstructing his view into the madhouse. Mist crowned the figures of streetlights with halos. And he knew that he had gained no understanding of Van Hellsing, nothing of what it is the man does within the confines of his mansion.

Gritting his teeth, but strangely sullen and ashamed of his actions, Mr. Simmons pulled down the rim of his hat, tucked his cane under his arm as he thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and he set off at a brisk pace, making his departure from the madhouse. He passed the halos, flashing in and out of obscurity, as his aching brain battled with the conundrums that knotted the tails of his thoughts, pronouncing that he could have neither peace nor order in his mind. The sheet of the present was again raised, and he gazed upon the glass eyes once more.

...

I'm in the process of editing the next chapter. I've already written 11 additional pages to this story, so the updates should come quickly. (this chapter was 10 pages)