Chapter Thirteen: Wonderful
"The mark of a vampire," Carl started, skimming through the pages of the book in his lap, "In extreme cases the strengths and weaknesses of the vampire are passed onto the human they bond with, and vise versa. The human falls ill, the vampire grows weak. The human dies, the vampire is drained of life. Same were to happen if the vampire were to die, the human would then expire…so on and so forth."
"But Verona died and Rawnie is still alive," Charlie spoke up from his spot on the large sofa. "Isn't she?"
"Oh yes, of course. This case was much less potent, it was an accident after all," the friar mumbled and waved a hand around, "So perhaps the largest effects would be resistance to illness, slight sensitivity to the sun…on Ms. Valerious' part. Verona, perhaps, would have been unaffected, but I really have no clue."
"But Rawnie did fall ill, not too long ago. A terrible fever, nausea…"
"May have been the result of Verona's death," Carl guess and closed the book slowly with a small shrug of his thin shoulders.
"But you said it wasn't that extreme," Charlie glared, his mind trying to come to terms with the information he had just been fed from Van Helsing, who was currently pacing back and forth behind him, the heavy thump of his boots serving as a off beat soundtrack to the conversation.
"I am simply going off guesses, Charles, I've never seen this occur."
The larger man opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the loud, slurred voice of the woman being discussed in the adjacent room.
"Well that is fucking fantastic, isn't it?"
"Why don't you boys go and take a break from all this, huh?" Van Helsing suggested with a tight smile and patted Charlie's shoulder, "Go eat some lunch or something."
"It's going on 8 o'clock, Van Helsing."
"Then dinner, go and get yourselves some dinner," he pushed slightly grinning at the drunken sob that echoed from the bar room.
"But I'm not-" Carl began a protest but Charlie agreed silently and shoved the holy-man out of the chair and toward the dining area.
"Come now ol' chum, some food will do us good," the faux sophisticate urged on before glancing over his shoulder towards the warrior who was surely going to face the beast that claimed to be Rawnie.
After the babbling of Carl had disappeared leaving only a faint echo, the tired Roman turned on his heel and began his slow walk toward the bar. The soft mumbles of the woman could reach his ears more clearly with every step he took, preparing him for the kind of mood she would be in. Shaking his head, Gabriel removed the dirty hat from his head and placed it gingerly on the shiny table to his right. Judging by the choked moans, the mood was nothing that would send him walking away with a bloodied nose.
"Come to put me out of my misery, Helsing?" the queen goaned from her position slumped over the dark wood bar. The man chuckled and tossed his leather coat across a stool nearest to him.
"No, not yet," he answered and closed the distance between himself and the depressed female. Her head was face down on the surface, forehead resting in the crook on her arm, while her hand was gripping onto a crystal glass tightly. The jacket she usually wore was long since lost, leaving her shoulders bare, the gloves she was so attached too had disappeared an hour or so ago, and her hair was in more disarray than usual. Van Helsing had to wonder how many times she had allowed herself to be in this state in a public bar.
"Why not?" she spoke again, "Aren't you tired of me yet? Haven't you had enough of this shit I'm bringing you, Gabriel? Everyone else is…has…has become." The woman then allowed her body to bring itself into an upright position before she downed the rest of her drink. Her hand then swiveled across the bar in search of the large bottle.
"You'll find I'm more patient than I look," he snorted and snatched the bottle up before she could grip it, her face taking on an immediate pout. He figured it would take a while for her brain to figure up the anger she would be showing him in a similar but more sober situation. Bringing the bottle to his nose, Van Helsing took a whiff before jerking his head to the side to stare at the woman. It took one hell of a bad mood to bring a woman to down this much straight whiskey.
"But I'm sure I'll be wanting to shoot you in the head soon enough," the man sighed before slumping his shoulders and refilling her glass and pouring himself his own.
"Before or after you shoot Dracula?" she gurgled before sipping at the brisk liquid.
"Before and after," with that he raised his glass as well, welcoming the shock it sent through his body.
Rawnie's shoulders rocked gently as she allowed herself to laugh, the whiskey bubbling in the glass as her breath whipped over it. Her trembling hand reached up and messily gave the man a small slap across his poorly shaven face. As she pulled back and gave him a small wave of her finger, the woman shook her head.
"No, no, no, no, no," she slurred, "You want to shoot me now, I can see it. I can see it, Gabriel Van Helsing."
"I'm honestly surprised you can see anything right now," he admitted and watched as she downed another heavy gulp. Coming back up from it, she grinned and nodded.
"I know. You're wondering how a girl like me, can handle a drink like this," she announced and thrust her glass out, sending a few drops of its contents splattering onto the floor, "I'll tell you how, Gabriel…practice."
"I'm shocked, Rawnie," he smiled with sarcasm and quickly placed a hand out to her side as her body swayed over and back. Snorting at the gesture she batted his hand away before sliding off the stool and placing her feet carefully on the floor, drink still in hand.
"You worry more than Charlie does, Van Helsing. I am perfectly stable," she murmured and slapped his shoulder and to prove her point stood up straight and sent the remaining bit of alcohol in her glass down her throat. Slamming it down on the bar, she smiled drunkenly at the man before slipping past him and making her way towards the doorway. However, it didn't surprise him when she came sauntering back to claim the bottle for herself. Taking in a deep breath, the man sighed roughly and spun on his seat to watch her retreating figure.
"Where are you going?"
"Takin' care of something," she offered and disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.
"At least she's not going downstairs again," Van Helsing whispered and forced himself up to follow her. The stressed Carl and Charles did not need to find Rawnie passed out in the middle of a hallway. Dragging his glass off the bar to accompany him, the tired male copied her path and turned the corner that led to the large staircase.
"Get sidetracked?" he asked amused at the sight of the gypsy queen leaning over the railing boarding the sides of the open hallway that began at the top of the stairs. There she stood, head staring down, feet at shoulders width for balance, and bottle dangling from her fingers.
"I almost fell from here once," she said without looking up, only staring at the hardwood floor twenty feet beneath her, "It was funny."
"I'm sure it was," Gabriel replied with a tilt of his head as he took a few steps up the stairs. With another one of her gurgled snickers, Rawnie finally raised her head to look at him, claiming another sip in the process.
Finishing his own drink, the warrior from Rome cleared his throat softly as his eyes, sleep deprived and growing heavy, slid across the bare region of the woman's neck, shoulders, and chest that was currently all too noticeable to him from the pressure her arms were placing on herself from both sides. Popping his jaw once or twice, Van Helsing continued his ascension of the stairs, forcing his eyes to remain focused on the clean carpet beneath his feet. It wasn't until he reached the top that he allowed himself to look back in the woman's direction. He wasn't completely surprised when he found she was no longer there.
"Damn woman," he hissed and sat the empty glass on the railing before following the clattering sound that rang down the hall. As he grew closer, Van Helsing could clearly see the maid, Mrs. Danmonet standing off to one side gazing down the hall toward the room which he assumed held the drunk woman. As he passed the older lady gave a small grin before walking off, presumably to go clean something or another while the man finally came to a halt near the wide open door of the queens room.
"Thank God you're here, Gabriel," Rawnie exclaimed from in the room, suddenly appearing in the doorway and grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, "I need your help."
"With what, dare I ask?" he questioned as he was yanked into the room. For an answer, the woman pointed the bottle she still possessed up at the painting that was hanging on her wall.
"Help me get this down, Gabriel," she demanded, "I've been meaning to. I've been meaning to get it down, but I just don't have the TIME anymore, Gabriel."
"I see," Van Helsing clenched his jaw as he ran his eyes over the painting. The happy family portrait that had been staring down at Rawnie each night she had been here, constantly reminding her that she was never apart of that happiness.
With a quick nod, the man dragged a chair over to the fireplace and carefully climbed up to take the painting into this grasp. It took some jerking and twisting for the nails to finally release it, but eventually the portrait was torn from the wall to show the square of dirty wall that no one had seen in years. Stepping back onto the floor, Van Helsing turned the picture so no eyes could look upon it and leaned it against the wall. It was a tad difficult to set aside a picture of his Anna like an old toy, but the sight he saw when he turned back around told him it was the right thing to do at the moment.
Rawnie sat on the floor legs folded beneath her with the bottle of whiskey spilt over to her side, half it's contents soaking slowly into the rug. Again, her head was tilted down her shaggy hair hiding her face from anyone who looked at her and her shoulders slumped in a sort of defeat. The scar that glowed in the dim light did nothing but worsen her downtrodden appearance. The man hesitated on his side of the room for a few moments before slowly moving across the floor towards the woman. When he stood not two feet from her, he bent at his knees to become eye level with her.
"Rawnie?" he spoke deftly, his fingers coming up to brush her shoulder.
"Anna," she said in such a tone that made him pull his hand back, "Was she wonderful?"
Van Helsing stared at her, his mouth opening and closing in an attempt to form an answer that would not ignite her rage. When he came to no solution, he took a seat on the floor across from her, one leg thrown over to her side, perhaps to give her a bit of security.
"Do you not know?" she spat, the hand holding the dripping bottle shooting up to wipe away the tears he was sure was staining her face. "You have to know Van Helsing, that's why I asked you. You loved her, so you have to know."
Again he said nothing, only gently took the wet whiskey bottle from her shaking hand and sat it aside.
"Are…are we so different, Gabriel?" she stuttered, her throat squeezing back a sob. Demanding an answer to her questions Rawnie shot her head up, her tongue angrily snapping out to lick away the stray tears that had dripped along her lips. "Are we that different?"
"You're different," he finally answered with an individual nod.
"So does that mean I'm not a wonderful person, Gabriel? Does that mean that since I'm not like her, I'm not a wonderful person? Am I not a wonderful person because I have this shit on my shoulder?" she shrieked, sitting up on her knees, "Is that why those fuckers sent me away?"
"I don't know, Rawnie," the man calmly said still sitting in his spot in front of her, allowing her to scream in his face.
"Yes you do!" she accused, "Everybody knows, but nobody tells me, Gabriel!"
He only continued staring at her, the calm look over his face and hand hovering over her arm to catch her whenever the rage sent her tilting to one side. A few seconds passed before she said anything again, her voice tighter and less angry.
"Was she so wonderful, Gabriel? Was she?"
"She was wonderful, Rawnie," Van Helsing nodded again, his face morphing slightly to show that his body was taking in a bit of the sorrow that she was emitting. The woman slowly shook her head as she lowered herself back down.
"I'm not that wonderful…am I?"
A long pause answered her. Rawnie bit her lip hard and moved her gaze down towards the floor, her hand caressing the carpet lovingly.
"Then why does he think I'm wonderful, Gabriel? Why am I so wonderful to him?" she asked and looked to him like a lost child, her eyes filled with confusion and hurt.
"He doesn't think anyone is wonderful, Rawnie, only himself," the man tried to tell her, pulling her hand from the floor and held it in his own, "No one is wonderful to him."
"Then I'm wonderful to no one?" she whispered and winced as if she were coming to a realization.
The man opened his mouth praying that he would be able to form words that would stop this woman's self torture, but nothing inspirational would come. The hand he kept on her for balance tightened around her arm slightly to give some form of comfort that his words could not.
Craning her head back up to where she could see him, Rawnie raised a hand that was slightly sticky from spilt whiskey and ran her fingers over Van Helsings jaw in a wobbly fashion. Clumsily scooting across the rug, Rawnie gently thumped her cheek against the mans before pulling back and letting her lips tap along the corner of his mouth.
"I'm not Anna?" she breathed, the smell of the alcohol racing into Gabriels senses, reminding him that the woman running her lips over his flesh was very, very drunk. He attempted to draw away, but found his head heavy, too heavy to move from her touch.
"No…" he answered, his voice just as airy as her own, his hand slowly unhinging itself from her arm in an attempt to create some distance. This was not Rawnie. Rawnie wouldn't be doing this if she were in the proper state of mind. She would not have allowed any of this to happen if she were sober. She would never have cried, never have collapsed, she would never have left herself this exposed to the world in any other situation. Her lips would not be drifting across his own if not for that whiskey, nor would her fingers be tangling themselves in his hair.
"And I'm not him," Van Helsing said, sending out his mental message through words. Immediately Rawnie reared back a few inches, eyes suddenly narrowed in confusion, not lust. Through the locks of thick hair that fell in front of her face, the Roman was able to tell he had struck some sort of chord in her sensible mind. For a second, yet only that, she sobered and a flash of anger spread over her face. She knew what he meant, she knew who he meant. But as quickly as it had came, the sensibility drifted away and left the woman to collapse down into a fit of tears once more.
Van Helsing let her bawl. He wrapped his arms around her flinching form and stroked her back and her hair. He whispered that it was all going to be alright into her ear and subtly kissed her shoulder wear the scar tore over her pale skin. Gabriel Van Helsing sat with the Valerious woman as long as she cried and as long as she gripped at his arm. He wasn't quite sure which issue in her life she was crying about; her family, her loneliness, the vampire downstairs, or perhaps all. All he concerned himself with as he sat and consoled her was the look she gave at his last words. She was surprised at the silent accusation of any sort of feelings she would be harboring for the monster, and he was just as surprised at himself for saying anything toward it.
She didn't give any denial, she didn't scream at him…just confusion. He had brought it to the surface and now she was weeping. That made him worried. It concerned him that she may not be crying for her loss of family or of normal life. He was worried that she was crying because, indeed, Van Helsing was not him.
Emotional one here. Short one, but emotional. I felt all through the last few chapters that Rawnie was just waiting to have some sort of major melt down and I just didn't think that her showing of weakness during the telling of her story was enough. This is the raw, drunk, Rawnie. Notice how she keeps saying Van Helsings name after nearly every sentence…heh, I love those kinds of drunks. Oh, and I feel like I should really thank my best reviewer, REMEMBER. That review was epic. EPIC. I love long reviews like that. Hope you like this chapter as well, like I said, it's a bit different from the others since it's just Rawnies little breakdown, but she needed to let it all out I think. You all know what to do, right? REVVVVIIIIEEEEWWWW!