Seras Victoria could've lost everything. She'd been in the hospital for over 3 months, hovering between life and death. Many doctors believed that she wouldn't make it. Many more optioned for them to pull the plug on her and let her room be filled with a patient who needed it. Only Edward Yates and Simon Bellmont, her two trusted partners and best friends, never gave up on her.
She became a small news celebrity. People all over Europe and America hung onto the fate of the brave little blonde that had singlehandedly helped solve the Cheddar Village homicides. If it hadn't been for her distracting the murderous madman—who had been masquerading as a priest of all things—the snipers wouldn't have been able to shoot him down.
Some said that Seras should be given a fighting chance. Some said it was too late—let her body rest in peace. It wasn't until the tides turned that everyone banded together and rooted for the young woman from London to wake up and join the ranks of the living once more.
And turn they did, when Dr. Phillip Beaumont walked into the hospital and all but demanded to be put in charge of Seras Victoria's health. The doctors were quick to hand it over, their mouths agape as they watched one of Europe's finest neurosurgeons walk through the double doors and bend down over the unmoving girl's body. Some say he stared at her the way Prince Charming stared at Sleeping Beauty. Others say he clucked like a sympathetic granny, stroking the unwashed blonde hair before turning without a word to the machines.
No matter what he did, he managed to reduce the swelling in her brain. And three weeks later, when no one was in the room and with the smallest of fanfare, she opened her eyes. Not only did she open her eyes, but her brain was, for all purposes, untouched. It had healed miraculously.
However, mentally something had gone wrong. She wasn't incapacitated, but she was delirious and very, very confused. It was a baffling thing; she recognized many people from the hospital—her night nurse, the doctors—even Eddie and Simon were in her dreams. But instead of being themselves she'd created a fanciful, vivid world complete with government conspiracy armies and vampires and a Nazi uprising. All of this, the doctors listened to with fascination, wondering at the marvels of the brain.
Seras was beside herself with the truth. She was absolutely unable to process it for a week at least, insisting that she had been a vampire and she was dead. But her Dorothy Gale syndrome slowly wore off and she began to take on an Alice in Wonderland effect as she slowly, ever so slowly, began to accept the world around her.
She was able to stay in the hospital without any worries—now that she was awake, the Chief of D-11 had visited to assure her that her position wasn't going anywhere. Her landlord had promised that there would be no rent due during her extended stay, since the police station had hosted enough fundraisers to pay for her rent for the next six months with no problem. So Dr. Beaumont insisted that she remain for at least a few more months in the hospital, so that her mind wouldn't be forced into any more shock than it had to be.
Her guide, anchor, and companion throughout her stay was clinical psychiatrist and hospital counselor Miss Integra Hasting. Miss Hasting seemed more aware of Seras' limits than the girl herself was, and slowly they both made progress in her rehabilitation as the weeks marched along.
Of course, there were setbacks along the way. She would have waking dreams of bloodshed, danger, and pain. She would sometimes have fitful nightmares, only to wake up screaming and clutching her arm, insisting that it had been cut off and only shadows were left. She would be talking and lapse into silence, staring at the world outside her fifth-story window for hours. She would have a week's worth of wonderful days, but then something would trigger her brain and she would be left a sodden, crying heap of nerves. She would lay awake all night, crying for someone she couldn't describe because she'd never met him.
But after a while those days became few and far between, and she began to look forward to her eventual release back into society. Miss Hastings allowed a news interview, and she was overwhelmed with get well cards and gifts sent in from many different countries.
Finally, after two months the media settled and both Miss Hasting and Dr. Beaumont gave her the okay to leave. They set the date and Seras began to eagerly await her resumed life, her mind pushing all thoughts of imaginary vampires and secretive organizations to the back of her mind.
Dorothy was finally back in Kansas; Alice had come up the rabbit hole intact.
"M-M-Miss Hasting! Slow down!" Seras screeched, her hands clapping over her eyes as she cowered down in the passenger's seat of the car. The counselor calmly ignored the cries of her patient, instead turning another 90 degree corner at speeds that would make cop second-guess his equipment. Seras prayed to whoever would listen that the vehicle didn't flip onto two wheels.
Finally they turned the last corner and Miss Hasting rolled smoothly to a stop. Seras peeked between her fingers and almost cried in relief as the familiar unevenly cracked bricks of her duplex loomed in front of her. The squat two-story building sat crookedly on the walk, looking as though it were about to cave in on itself. She'd looked at it in disdain when she first came back to London, feeling as though she could have done better. Now, she saw it as familiar; as home.
Miss Hasting jerked her out of her thoughts by opening the car door and stepping back for her to climb out. Mr. Mansard, her landlord, came running out of the front door. He hadn't changed any more than the building; plump, balding, with a thin sparse mustache and thick glasses that came straight out of the 1960s. If he lost half his body weight, he'd make the perfect poster boy for a pedophile in his flannel sweater vest and too-high starched khakis. His polished shoes clicked on the sidewalk.
He made it over to where Seras stood on the curb and grasped her hand in both his own. Seras fought to keep from wincing at the feel of his sweaty palms and instead forced her mouth into a half-smile. Miss Hasting watched him warily like a mother hen before deciding he wasn't a danger to her patient and continued getting the bags of gifts and Seras clothes that had been brought to the hospital during her stay out of the trunk.
"Miss Victoria," he gushed happily as he finally let go of her hand, one of his reaching up to push what sweaty hair he had left off his forehead. "I'm so glad that you're back." He had a breathy sort of voice, one that made people wonder if he was asthmatic or if he was just so fat that even talking took the breath right out of him. If that wasn't worse, the higher-pitched tone sounded like he'd been kneed in the balls one too many times in his life.
"Mr. Mansard," Seras said helplessly, unable to offer any further greeting. Thankfully, he must have took it as her being speechless from happiness and began to help Miss Hasting with the bags, filling Seras in on the happenings giddily and puffing as he pushed her ahead of him inside.
The duplex, being a duplex of course, only had two flats. Both of them were on the upper floor, with the laundry and office on the bottom, and Mr. Mansard living in the modified basement. It was a low-income housing, and so between the two flats upstairs Seras was the longest tenant he'd ever had. Most people had been carted off by the police, but after Seras became a cop the riffraff had died down a great deal. Of course, this meant that the flat across the hall stayed empty.
But now someone had moved in—a temporary position, but a position nonetheless. And of course Mr. Mansard was beside himself with excitement, having had no one else to talk to about this since Seras had been in the hospital. Seras wondered if he even had any friends. She highly doubted it, since his voice grated on even the most saintly person's nerves and he smelled like moldy basement.
"Vatican sent him, yes they did," he wheezed. "All the way from Italy and everything! The thing is, he's not from Rome originally; he's from right up in Scotland. And he's a nice fellow too, but a bit on the quiet side. He doesn't give me any trouble, just does his own thing. Of course, I don't talk to him much—he's an intimidating sort of man, and his height!" Mr. Mansard turned back to look at the two women following him. "He's the biggest man I've ever seen! He's a giant!"
Miss Hasting looked as though her patience was quickly reaching its end, and Seras took the opportunity to motion to the front desk. She opened her mouth, but the landlord cut her off and dropped the bags, hurrying around the side to pull an envelope from the drawer.
"I've had the locks replaced since you've been admitted. It was time for it, anyway. So here's your new keys," he handed them over. Seras shifted her bags to one hand and took the keys, mentally rolling her eyes. Mr. Mansard was paranoid about thieves (which made sense, seeing some of his old tenants) and often replaced window and door locks to make sure that no one could enter and steal. God forbid you accidentally misplace your key.
"Thank you, my good sir," Miss Hasting cut in, seeing as the always-polite Seras didn't dare interrupt his one-sided conversation. "My patient needs to settle in now. We'll take it from here." Mr. Mansard looked as though he were about to argue, but Miss Hasting glared at him over Seras' shoulder and he disappeared into the office with a cowardly squeak, locking the door behind him. "Goodness, how do you stand to live here?" she muttered.
"To be honest, you hardly see that much of him. He stays in his office, since that's the safest place from thieves. His basement's more fortified than a top government facility." She turned towards the stairs and grabbed Mr. Mansard's two bags. "I really do like it here," she said over her shoulder as she began to climb, the psychiatrist in hot pursuit.
They reached the second floor without a problem and Seras smiled when she saw her old familiar door, 2A, and it's shiny new tumbler system. The light from the window at the end of the hall spilled across the floor tiles, making the whole hallway seem lit from the ground up. Seras sat her bags down and was reaching for her keys when the light broke and the sound of a door opening and shutting made her look up.
All she saw at first was a mass of black locking the door to 2B and she blinked in confusion. Then the mass straightened up and turned into a behemoth of a person. The person turned and looked at her. Seras froze, her hands trembling as they held the envelope. She felt like a gazelle in a lion's gaze. An emerald gaze at that.
Priest's outfit, complete with the shiny cross hanging in the middle of his chest. Short blonde hair, darker than her own and barely streaked with lighter, almost gray strands near the temples. Tiny, circular glasses that had fallen to the end of his nose, ragged stubble that spoke of sleepless nights, a mouth that formed a natural frown—the man who haunted many a nightmare stood before her. She couldn't believe it.
"Ah, you must be the lass that lives across the hallway. The landlord told me about what happened to you, being in the hospital and all. Shame, really." She saw his mouth move, heard the words, and the accent that was familiar to her ears as anything else in her world. But she couldn't put it together; instead, her knees knocked and her eyes were trained on his cross, waiting for something to happen. But why was she so scared? What was going to happen to her?
The man took a step forward, one hand out as if to stop her as a concerned, confused expression crossed his face. She heard Miss Hasting ask her a question, but the words didn't mean anything to her brain. Her ears began to ring and her heart pounded in her chest—her lungs couldn't take a good breath, she felt like her torso was constricting and a pain began to throb in the back of her neck, although she didn't know why….
"Just settle down, now—"
Just settle down now…Ye God-damned monster. She saw him in her mind's eye, in the dark hallways with rotting, bloodstained floorboards with glasses reflecting the pale light and hands clutching blades—she felt the pain in her back, the god-awful agony in her neck and on her fingers as she was touched by the blessed weapons—she heard his awful laughter, echoing through the carcass-filled corridors and the ching-ching of blades being slung together, ready for carving her up like a roasted Christmas turkey—she heard the prayers uttered in that accented tongue; the "Amen" that spoke of death and misery and no rescue—
She heard the high-pitched, terror filled screams, but in her panic she didn't recognize her own voice. She backed away, both hands held out in front of her though whether she meant to fend him off or plead for mercy she didn't remember. She stumbled over the bags and fell, her feet still kicking as she tried to crawl away from him.
"No! No, don't—please, don't! Sir Integra! Stop him; I can't—no, no please, don't kill me!" Her voice broke, exhausted from the screaming. She saw Sir Integra drop to her knees beside her and reach for her. She held out a quavering hand, knowing that that the female Knight had saved her from the maniacal priest once before and could do it again. Two black boots stopped in front of her and Sir Integra touched the side of her face, and then everything slipped into darkness.
"Integra, then?"
"Yes, well; my father wanted me to grow up and be something a bit more useful, like a lawyer. He'd flip in his grave if he ever knew I went into psychology. Integra must have seemed like a good lawyer's name. Of course, I had to be the black sheep. My sister Laura was always the good one. She's an engineer."
"It's hard to imagine you as a black sheep. But then again, we've only just met."
Seras opened her eyes, blinking the blurry edges away and Miss Hasting leaned forward and pressed something cold to her face. She opened her eyes all the way and realized that she was in her own bed, in her own apartment. Miss Hasting had a cold cloth to her forehead and across the room her new neighbor was standing against the wall, looking as though his courage would fail and he'd run out at any given second.
"Don't jump up; relax," Miss Hasting said. It sounded cruel in her no-nonsense tone, but Seras was used to it by now and obeyed. She lay back, breathing deeply. "Something triggered you again."
"I'm sorry," she said honestly to the priest. "I'm so sorry." Tears pricked her eyes and she worried about crying in front of everyone. That's not how a brave policewoman was supposed to act. But she wasn't feeling very brave at the moment.
"Dinnae worry about it, lass. Yer counselor's already explained the whole thing to me. I'm the one who should be apologizing for scaring ye." Seras shook her head and sat up weakly. Miss Hasting opened her mouth, but Seras held up a hand to make her pause.
"It was your clothing," she lied. She felt horrible, lying to a godly man, but then again, it wasn't a lie, was it? That priest, that memory—it was a figment of her broken mind while she lay safe in a hospital. But how did she know the priest, what he looked like? She didn't know. But she knew that this man in her room wasn't a bad man. And she felt horrible for behaving so badly.
"The man who chased me, in Cheddar—where I had my accident; he was dressed in vicar's clothing. I saw the robes and it made me remember, so I became scared. That's all." She wiped her eyes with the cold cloth. "I really am very sorry, Father."
"Think nothing of it," he answered, straightening up and leaving the wall. He held out a hand and she shook it, although his enveloped hers completely and she was barely able to suppress a shiver as she realized he could crush her if he wasn't careful. "I hope you'll be feeling better soon. I'll see myself out." He turned and shook Miss Hasting's hand too and Seras stared openly, the part of her brain she'd been fighting to squash telling her that what she was seeing shouldn't be happening, because the two parties were supposed to hate each other with a vengeance.
But Miss Hasting only gave him her card and made some nonsensical comment about theological viewpoints, which Seras took to mean that they'd been talking while she was unconscious and found something in common. She waved goodbye and the priest smiled and nodded once more at her before leaving the room. A moment later the front door shut softly and she heard him walk down the hall.
"He's a nice sort of man. Then again, priests should be." Miss Hasting stared down at her, her mouth a thin line. "You should work hard on controlling these outbursts. People will start to think you've gone mental if you faint every time a clergyman passes you on the sidewalk." Her tone suggested she didn't fully believe Seras' explanation, but she didn't press the issue.
"I will," she said softly, looking down and playing with the fraying edges of her bedspread. Miss Hasting grabbed her purse and pushed a bag out of the way with her foot, making a path to the door.
"I want you to come back to the hospital on Tuesdays and Thursdays, just like we planned. You shouldn't miss these sessions," she warned. "But I think the worst is behind you."
"I sure hope so," Seras said truthfully. "I just want to live my life normally again." Miss Hasting offered her a rare, gentle smile.
"I think you shall," she stated. "I'll see you on Thursday. If you want to stay and rest, you should get up and lock the deadbolt behind me." Seras obligingly got up out of the bed, her knees still weak as she let the counselor out and locked the door as she listened to the woman's boots clicking on the tiled hallway.
She leaned against the smooth wood of the door, a migraine starting to pound behind her temples. This has to stop, she told herself firmly. I can't live a normal life until this nightmare ends. She turned and went back to bed, laying on her stomach and burying her face in the cool pillow. No more Hellsing, no more priests, no more vampires. I am Seras Victoria, the youngest member of D-11. I was in an accident, but now I'm alright. I am Seras Victoria, the youngest member—she chanted to herself until she fell asleep.
o-o-o-o 3 Months Later o-o-o-o
"Hey Kitten! Some of us are going to the pub. Wanna tag along?" Seras turned and waved back to the small group of men.
"Sorry Jack, I can't!" she called back. "I have to be at the hospital in an hour." She gave them a thumbs-up. "It's my last one! I can't miss saying goodbye to everyone!" The men groaned good-naturedly and turned to pile into Simon's car, heading for the bustling downtown area.
Seras checked her watch before taking off at a jog to the bus stop. She was making good time today. She had just enough time to get home and change before making it to the hospital, provided the buses weren't late. Thankfully, everything worked out and it wasn't twenty minutes before she was running up the stairs of the duplex.
She changed in record time and fluffed her hair in the mirror before heading back out. Father Anderson, who was working with England's Catholic churches, passed her on the way down and offered her a hello and a nod. She waved cheerfully to him before heading out the door and down the sidewalk. It was a pleasant day and she had desk duty all day, so she couldn't enjoy it. She was going to take advantage of the gorgeous weather and walk to the hospital.
"Excuse me, Frauline?" She turned, hearing the familiar voice. She didn't know where she'd heard it before. She looked behind her and for a moment thought she was looking at her reflection. Then she realized how silly that would have been. It was only a boy.
He couldn't have been more than fifteen. He was wearing a strange looking set of shorts that made his legs look like sticks, and a button up shirt that was perfectly pressed. A baseball cap sat on his head, squishing his long hair down. And his eyes, his eyes were the strangest indigo color. He let her gawk for a moment, his mouth stretching out into an embarrassed smile as he became the center of attention.
"I—er, I'm not used to this country yet, and I'm lost." He held up a map. "I'm looking for this hospital; my tante is ill and staying there. Could you point me in the right direction?" he asked slowly, his accent slurring the words. Seras nodded and looked at the circled name on the map.
"Oh! I'm going there myself; come along with me and I'll show you the way." He nodded and she made room for him to walk beside her. "I'm Seras, Seras Victoria. How long have you been in England?"
"Here? Not long at all, in fact," he replied with a secretive smile. "You can call me Schrodinger."
Afterword: Ooh! Cliffhanger~ This is my favorite part. Because now it starts getting really psychological. Which world is the "real" one?
