There was no one to offer comfort. All that remained was the occasional trip of seeping water on ancient stone and harrowing memories. Try as he might, Dennis could not cast away the last view of his family as he was dragged away from them. Most strongly in his mind was his mother in her last moments and the painful torment of knowing that he had caused it. His mind raced with options of anything else he could have done. There had been no time to think, all he wanted was to keep the Court away from his family. Now he was paying the price for being brash.
His clothes were wet. The room hadn't been built for luxury so keeping out the damp was the last thing on the architect's mind. No, this place was made for prisoners and undesirables. A strange place indeed to lock away someone they had fought to claim. It was another sign to Dennis that they didn't really care about him, or anyone else that denied them. He couldn't fathom why exactly they wanted him. Was he meant to do something for them? Maybe he was just a tool for the Eldritch King's tinkering on life. He didn't want to help them. All they had done is wreck his life.
After several sounds of clattering, the metal door opened up in front of him. He sat in the darkness at the back of the room as light hit him. A figure stood in the doorway. With a hand gesture, the door was closed behind him. Dennis was reminded of how much they wanted to keep him locked away when he heard the same clanking of locks again. The figure looked at him inquisitively, as if analysing every inch of him.
"I've seen many of my kind throughout my lifetime. All of different ages of course, but never have I seen one look so innocent. It's odd that you of all people would be our last chance."
The voice was undeniably that of the banker.
"I hate you."
Dennis wasn't in the mood for small talk. If it were not for the poison they had continued to give him, his strength would have been put to efficient use against the man in his cell. The banker let out a quick murmur.
"I would be very surprised if you didn't."
The vampire took a small stall from the corner of the room and sat down. He didn't approach the boy any further. The distance between them still wasn't good enough for Dennis.
"I can imagine the thoughts that are going through your mind right now. Not a good sight, seeing your own mother die."
Dennis sniffed, fighting to keep the composure to hold a look of anger rather than grief.
"You don't know… you're just-"
"Just a vampire?" The banker cut him off. "It's your family with the old lineage, Dennis. Mine, my real family, it was nothing like yours."
The usual look of mockery or that of an amused tormenting nature wasn't there anymore. The vampire almost looked genuine in his words.
"What is it like? Can you feel the conflict between each half of you?" He scoffed, thinking over the notion of his own question. "I suppose there is no comparison for you, having been like this all your life. It's not like that for everyone."
Dennis started to sit up straight when he saw what he interpreted as a short by noticeable moment of weakness on the cruel man's face. His tone was so different to the man who had enjoyed seeing the boy's family home burn to the ground. If he wasn't there to gloat then Dennis had no idea why he was even talking to him.
"The other hybrid was an interesting fellow, much like you. Human and Monster is a strange concoction. I hadn't seen so much determination in one boy until that night. It was a shame he became what he did, he could have been a marvel."
Dennis watched his hands shake with a mixture of anger and shock. Adrenaline was filling him with every second his head played out his mother's fate.
"It's a jolt, isn't it? The sudden upheaval. The other boy felt the same. Emotions run strong in a body not ready for them and in a mind not shielded from its own daft decisions. He killed his own zing. After everything he went through for her, I couldn't help but laugh when I heard."
Dennis began to drag himself towards the vampire.
"No use in that. This is your room for the time being. Not up to your usual standard, I bet. You grew up in luxury."
Dennis continued to grow closer. The banker had spent much of his life in rich buildings and mansions, yet he seemed almost at home in that dank, ancient cell.
"Your family has battled against its nature. Eustice battled against his nature. Even his father did. Look where they ended up. They haven't got a damn clue what fighting for your nature really feels like."
Dennis stopped for a moment, seeing the hint of regret on Lebeau's face as he looked down at him.
"I hate them all. Humans, vampires. All of them."
The boy wasn't sure what he meant. He knew very little about this man but for the few mentions Vlad and Jeremiah had made of him. The banker rubbed his neck by instinct.
"You've been given nothing but love, haven't you little bloodsucker?"
Dennis bore his fangs at his remark. Vincent laughed, partly hoping that would be his response.
"Boo hoo for little Dracula. Such a hard life. He lost his zing. Pathetic. If he knew what suffering really was, he'd know why I do this."
He stood up and pushed the stool aside. Kneeling down to the boy, his deathly eyes stared into his.
"You know what it is like to be part Human. Your father knows what it is like fully. For a time, so did I."
He sounded hurt. Dennis backed off, trying to figure out what the hell the man was up to. He placed his hand on his heart, finding the stillness as horrid as the first day he felt it.
"My father didn't love me. My father wasn't like yours. If I didn't do what he desired, he made sure I did it next time. As a vampire, old scars and bruises heal. I guess that is one blessing."
Dennis rubbed his hands together, trying to steady them.
"You were Human?" He began to put what he was saying together.
Vincent grimaced at the word.
"All I wanted… was his approval. Some things are beyond your reach. I was never out of his. Pleading and begging was useless. The only way to stop the wounds… was to give the same back to him. The fool, keeping that knife so close to my grasp. Years vented out. So many years. So many… it killed him."
Such a thing was hard for Dennis to hear. He hated this man. He wanted him to suffer, but what he was saying was hard to ignore.
"Things got no better after that. I ran from one vicious hand to another. Human to Monster. I was a tool for a conqueror. Battered and left to rot, he wanted me to become something that would never stop. Only when he deemed me ready did he make me what I am today. The first Lebeau had his little prize. Still, I was never enough. Just like my father, he would never let me forget it."
Lebeau's hand formed into a fist strong enough that it began to shake.
"He idolized your great-grandfather, the 'mighty' Vlad. I was a mere henchmen. When the time came, I learnt something that no one else on Earth was able to teach me. I had to find it for myself. I had the power of choice. I made it in that moment. Vlad was our target, but I re-formed it. I took Lebeau by the neck and ended his putrid existence. I took what he had and wanted more. The whole world said to me that I was too weak and pathetic to achieve anything! I say, the world is weak!"
The banker's breathing was heavy, as if a thousand years of pain was venting from him.
"You see what I am saying, boy? The world tells you that you have no choice, because it knows that if you believe it, then the reality will end. The truth is, that choice is still there. It's all a front. A crown on a man's head is there as long as everyone else allows it to be."
Dennis questioned what Lebeau was doing. His position was in complete contradiction to what he was saying. He served under the Eldritch King. What exactly did he mean by all that he was saying?
"Why are you saying this? I still hate you, you trying to hurt my family!"
Vincent's demeanour returned to his usual, calm composure.
"Yes. You would be a fool to do otherwise. I'm just a demon, aren't I? Just like that other hybrid, the world forged me. Why, I ask, should I do it any favours? Just know why I am what I am."
He turned away and knocked three times on the door. As rusty locks clicked once again, he turned until one eye was visible to the boy in the darkness.
"There are ways of bringing the dead back to this world… loyalty is often rewarded."
He left the boy to ponder over his words, and his own situation. In the corridors of the ancient ruins, Lebeau thought over what he was doing himself. He lent against the wall. Not a word of his true past had slipped from his lips until that day. Now they had been heard by the ears of his enemy. He knew why he had done it but he couldn't believe that he had managed to. Feeling the Eldritch King's grasp around his neck, feeling the power that couldn't be stopped, he had felt Human again, weak and only of flesh. His body had crashed to the floor and reminded him of his abusive father and the vampire that had made him into a demon. He feared being low again. He had let his past be revealed to someone in hope of destroying the conscience he had long thought murdered centuries prior.
"Except what you are, little bloodsucker… it's easier that way."
He walked away from the cells and left his doubts behind him. Ever since the hybrid had been in their possession, his master had not left the inner chamber. He obsessed over the paintings on the walls and the statue of five guardians. There was much of what he had planned that Lebeau had little knowledge of.
"You spoke to the boy."
The Eldritch King's remark was a statement, not a question. He knew full well what his pawn was doing.
"Little harm in that. He is locked away."
The necromancer gave him a disapproving glare.
"Two death's Lebeau. Have they made you soft I wonder?"
That quiet confidence Lebeau had for his place in life was gone. The necromancer that had brought him back, the man who had pretended to be his butler, he was someone that Lebeau felt a growing fear towards. It was a putrid feeling, similar and just as disgusting as the one he had once had towards Vlad. Unlike then, there was no way out.
"Soft… I don't know the notion." He showed a look of determination.
Without answering, his master changed the subject entirely.
"I need the last of the equipment from the laboratories. The old hunter will show the last of his use, then I want him eliminated, along with the rest."
After all his talk of the Dracula lineage, the Eldritch King was now making his true opinion very clear.
"They are of no use then?" Lebeau was more careful about his choice of words.
The necromancer gazed towards the statue.
"I have the feeling my emissaries are closer than we know."
…
The passing years had brought many changes with them to the tranquil town, but there was still a painful familiarity to it. Each building may have looked more modern, but like an aging person, regardless of their physical differences their past cannot be erased. There was barely a sound besides the patter of a small cat that passed by Jeremiah's feet. He hadn't seen a single pair of Human eyes through the place. He couldn't help but feel that the cat's eyes were judging him, but he very well could have thought that about anyone. Deep down it was more his own self that was doing the judging.
The residents had abandoned their homes as the impending tide of Monsters approached. Some houses had been sacked, leaving scattered household items littering the streets. It was like walking through a tunnel made of his own past. Once he had brought the same destruction to his foes. Even to this very town he had brought despair. It was not the shadow of Eustice Chaise on the pavement now though. Jeremiah Constantin looked on, slightly marvelling at the familiarity of it all. It was as if hundreds of years had never happened at all. He could still imagine the heat of torches and the chanting of distressed Humans as they marched towards the last home of Lady Lubov.
This was his last hope, yet as he drew closer to the infernal building, his resolve was drained from his body. This was where he had destroyed so much and set the course of history. He really was stepping back into his past, but he knew it wasn't just his anymore. The original had burnt to the ground before his eyes, paralysing him until the last piece of ash fell. He was surprised to see how similar its replacement was. On the very plot where his zing had died by his hand, there was another house, mocking him. The door had been barged open and Jeremiah had no doubts why.
His feet came to rest against the front step as he hesitated. He didn't know what he was walking into but he was sure that he couldn't go back. He needed the strength to carry on through his past mistakes. Swallowing hard, he took a single step inside and felt the soft mat under his boot. His hunting instinct kicked in, causing him to pass through as a near silent being. Dracula's desperate pleas to keep the townsfolk back played out once again. They haunted him even then, clinging to him as he took each slow step upstairs. Each door was closed, say for one.
It lead to a small, barren room. A bookshelf and a small cabinet were the only things that made the room part of a lived-in home. Leaning against the cabinet was a lone figure. His black cape covered him, leaving only his shoes in view. There were no words that Jeremiah could find. The window glowed a dim orange as the sun set. He could see the garden outside and the woods beyond the fence. He stood right where she had. This was where he had ended it. He imagined the bow, its string taut and aiming right at him. A single movement, the sound of screaming and the sudden stop of his arrow were all clear to him again. He took a hastened breath.
The figure in front of him moved, having discovered his presence. His cape fell from his face, revealing the Count. His eyes were red, not from his power, but from despair. At Jeremiah's feet was the image of a broken man. In his grief for Martha he had not acted in such a way. With Mavis, it was incomprehensible. He breathed through gritted teeth the whole time as Jeremiah feared to say anything. The next few moments would decide it all.
"When you lose… the very thing you fought every day for… your reason to exist…. When it's gone…"
Every word was forced out as Dracula fought the primal beast that stirred. Jeremiah's own mouth opened but no words escaped him.
"…what do you replace it with? What do you become?"
The hunter had no answer. Dracula on the other hand had made up his mind.
"What did you become!?"
He screamed in a rage. Jeremiah took a step back. It was like looking at himself in the darkness of grief.
"A killer." He whispered in response.
"Let me take a page from your book."
Jeremiah felt all the air in his lungs escape him from the impact of Dracula's fist. It was met with a second one to his face, strong enough to send Jeremiah spinning and resting on his back. It was like nothing he had felt from the man before. There was nothing left in the Count's eyes but the strength he unleashed. His grip wrapped around the hunter's neck and in a daze he felt the wall behind him cave in at full force. Plaster covered his body as he landed in a heap next to a double bed. He couldn't even stand up before he felt another attack. He left a visible hole in the brick in another wall as he at last got back to his feet.
His will to survive kicked in. he didn't want to fight the grief-stricken Count, but dying now would do him no favours. He met Dracula's next strike by grabbing hold of his fist in a tight grip. As a second fist swung round to knock him aside, Jeremiah blocked its path with his left arm. Rather than follow up, the Count dived forward at him, using his momentum to crash through the damaged wall and into the hallway. As the two of them tumbled along the carpet, leaving a trail of plaster in their wake, Dracula quickly lashed out at the stairway and pulled a wooden railing free. Swinging it round, it collided with Jeremiah's head, leaving him defenceless.
Rising to his feet, Dracula kicked the hunter across the hallway. He span through the air and tore the door behind him off its hinges. He landed straight on it and was blinded by a cloud of dust. He blew what he could away and rushed to regain a grip on reality. He saw Dracula's silhouette tinkering with something. At first Jeremiah was perplexed. That feeling was replaced with dread when he tapped at his belt to find his archaic pistol missing. Dracula's arm rose up towards him. It waited for a second for the smoke to clear. When Jeremiah saw Dracula's red eyes pierce through the dust and his own weapon aimed straight at him, he realised that nothing was going to stop him.
History was going to repeat itself if he didn't time his jump properly. He swallowed hard and transformed. With a load bang, the weapon unleashed its payload. Stopping as far as the wall on the opposite end of the bedroom, the enchanted projectile exploded in a cloud of eldritch energy. The room was engulfed in flames and a burst of energy that sent both of them crashing through the banisters behind them and down towards the ground floor. Jeremiah lost his concentration and reverted back to his original form, losing all sense of gravity as he did so. Dracula used his cloak as a shield from the blast but Jeremiah wasn't so lucky. Smacking his head against the hard wooden floor, Jeremiah felt his body roll over and land next to the living room couch.
There was nothing but ringing in his ears and the brightness of the growing blaze in his disoriented vision. Blood began to trickle down his forehead but it was the least of his worries. Somewhere in the room, Dracula was getting ready to strike again. Where that could be, he needed to find out quick. He gathered himself, taking a number of quick breaths while he was still low to avoid the approaching smoke. He held onto his arm as a pain shot through it. He pulled out a large splinter and grimaced.
"Don't do this Dracula! We have to stand together or you will lose everything you have left!"
He didn't believe that Dracula would listen, but he couldn't let this madness continue in silence.
"Tell that to Mavis!"
He darted back to put Dracula in his front vision, but his movement was too slow. Another strike sent him hurling back into the kitchen. He slid across the tiled floor and rolled under the table, using it for protection. He felt a rush of air against his skin as the Count entered the room and immediately tossed the weak furniture aside. As he did so, he opened himself up to Jeremiah. With a punch to the gut to break his guard, Jeremiah continued by throwing a flash bang at him from his belt, looking away as he did for the moment it took to paralyse him. Taking him in his grasp, he pulled the Count outside as fire crawled towards them.
He barely got him out in time before the back wall collapsed, bringing half the house down towards them. He pushed Dracula away and jumped backwards, landing in one of the many flower beds that were scattered around the garden. Broken brick crushed all in its path, but the two of them were safe, from the house at least. The event had not tarnished Dracula's resolve, if anything he looked more determined. The spreading fire brought it all back but now Dracula had the power to change the outcome. He was right where he wished he could be all those years ago, with the hunter in his sights and barely a few yards between him and his wrath.
Jeremiah was at a loss. He could defeat the Count, possibly, but he didn't want to. This wasn't about that anymore. For the first time, he had no ill towards him.
"This is what you wanted! My life torn from me!"
"Not anymore! I was a fool blinded by my own grief!"
He tried to reason with him but it was no use.
"Then I guess we have more in common than we thought!"
Using his telepathy, Dracula lifted a large chunk of rubble and sent on a collision course with Jeremiah. It was a ploy and the hunter knew it. He would avoid it and open himself up to the Count. Surprising him, he took the hit, using his arms to block it. It broke apart against him. He suffered the pain and carried on, knowing it was far from the worst wound he had taken from a Monster. Dracula still took his chance but Jeremiah was ready. He grabbed Dracula's outstretched arm with both hands and swung him round, rolling him over the fence. He crashed into a nearby tree. Leaves fell around him from the impact and covered his cloak that now blocked his vision.
No matter what happened, he refused to give in. Jeremiah was running out of options. He knew how strong his kind could be when grief and rage fuelled them. It would outlast him. All he could do was weather each hit and ignore the pain. The experience of each fight, the primal fury he had used was of no use now against a foe he did not intend to hurt. His equipment was useless after giving Dracula resistance to the Eldritch King's magic.
"Your family needs you Dracula! Don't let it take you like I did!"
"Shut up!"
He was in no mood for hearing his voice. Strike after strike, Jeremiah felt his strength failing. Throughout the whole skirmish, he would not let himself slip into his past and bring Dracula down. In the end, his mind began to fail him. More and more he started to believe that this was always inevitable. Maybe it was his fate to feel the pain he had wrought upon the man who was now beating him into an inch of his life. More and more, he thought he deserved it.
A distance came between them. The hunter took two steps back and saw the unrelenting anger on the Count's face. He was gone, utterly imprisoned by the loss of his daughter. What could he do now? He was not the right one to console him. All he was, was the enemy. He sighed, feeling the bruises and cuts on his face. His clothes were stained with sweat and blood.
"Alright… Alright. I don't deserve to live, but I made a promise to protect Martha's legacy. You're part of that. If you want me dead, then fine! If you spare me, I swear I will do all I can to keep everyone you love safe. Yes, I'm flawed, I couldn't save Mavis! I'm not the knight Martha thought I was, but whatever strength I have, it's all yours. Make the choice, it's your family. Kill me if you wish, but I'm not your enemy anymore."
Dracula stopped in his tracks. He considered his words. His mind was a war-torn battlefield of emotions, unwilling to let him think clearly. His nature was betraying him. The desire for slaughter, for vengeance, it was all born from the Eldritch King and it was in him in that very moment. Standing alone in that garden, Dracula no longer had the strength to fight it. Jeremiah closed his eyes. He wouldn't open them, even as he felt his body fall sideways. The same pain he had felt from Bela's strike on his nose returned. He lay on his back and felt every punch from the Count that channelled his anger into each hit.
He couldn't be the knight Martha wanted. Her hope had been for nothing. This was the punishment he had run away from. He had hoped that he could keep running from it all by helping them, by keeping his new promise to her. He felt just as much a clueless child as he did the day he ran away from his old life, having killed his father and last family member. He felt his strength pass out of him, along with his will to continue.
There was an almighty thud. The continuous strikes ended at last. All became dark as a great shadow covered them both. The pain still clung to Jeremiah so he knew that he wasn't dead. Something had stopped them. He dared to open his eyes. Dracula was still fixated on him, but his fist had been locked in another Monster's tight grip. The Count didn't resist. It was as if his willingness for revenge was draining from him. He took a glance behind him, his eyes remaining red all the while. Looking back, with a look of terror on his face, was Frank. His expression was surprising but it quickly hit Dracula why. Behind them the house continued to burn. To stop his friend, Frank fought his ravaging fear of fire every second that it did so.
"Don't… don't become like him."
Frank's voice wavered with every word.
Dracula's eyes darted between the hunter underneath him and the eyes of his long-time friend.
"I can't let him go…"
Dracula's words were but a whisper. Frank, regardless of what the hunter had done, would not surrender his faith in the Count.
"I used to think Monsters were better than what Humans made us out to be. We acted as they said we did, we gave in to their prejudice! I didn't care! To me, we've always been something more…"
Dracula could see how much Frank was struggling to talk as the smoke drew closer.
"…but when the Court did all this, when Monsters flocked to them… when I saw… her in my wife's arms…. I didn't know anymore."
Dracula winced at the word 'her'.
"You know what kept me going? You. You showed me all those years ago that we are stronger than the Eldritch King. We are more than what he made us to be, because we choose to be better than him! I was an experiment, but I became more because I wanted to be more. Your strength after Martha passed away, your love for Mavis, all of it. It's always inspired me. It's inspired us."
Dracula's eyes slowly dimmed. His mouth opened as he took in what Frank was saying to him.
"I'm not giving up on you. You are more than the beast you think is in there. You are a Dracula, and no Monster, no Human, no emotions can trap you, and even if you think you aren't strong enough, well, I'm here to give you strength. We all are! We are Hotel Transylvania, just as she said we are!"
The Count turned away. Staring at Jeremiah, he could see him teetering on the edge of hope. The hunter had accepted his fate, he had let him fall to his desire for blood. He had let him become a killer. The moment Dracula attacked him, he had betrayed Martha.
"She… wouldn't… want…" Dracula fought with his conscience.
"No Drac. She wouldn't. Neither do I."
Dracula allowed a tear to fall from his eye as his muscles relaxed. The anger inside him vented like a century old steam that had waited to burst out. Frank released his vice-like grip when he was sure the Count's call for blood was at an end.
"She's my daughter, Frank, and she's gone!" Dracula roared in his pain.
Frank did something he had not done since the death of Martha, he embraced his friend.
"I know Drac. I know. It's not fair, none of it is. Johnny, he's going through the same thing as you now, he needs you."
He had been torn apart by his own sense of loss that the fact that Johnny did indeed need him had failed to compute. He felt selfish. He had fled in his inability to cope, leaving his friends and family in that horrid chamber. Worst of all, he had let his grandson be taken.
The roar of the fire began to fill the night as the three of them let silence take over. Frank held onto his friend, as if shielding him for anything that may harm him. Jeremiah stay still, his guilt just as prominent as it had been the day he was resurrected. He could already feel his wounds beginning to stitch back together, unlike those he carried in his mind. He couldn't say a word to them. He felt out of place, like he was still the enemy.
Dracula pulled back gently and made eye contact with the wounded hunter. This time, he didn't make an expression of hate. Instead, it was one of mutual respect. Jeremiah was shocked. He wiped blood from his face and looked back. Frank stood up and retreated to the side, relieving his mind from his pyro phobia at last. Jeremiah broke his gaze and laid his head back, feeling the soft grass underneath him.
"Your father didn't hate you."
Jeremiah was perplexed by Dracula's statement.
"But you said-"
"I know what I said." He interrupted him. "He still had hope. He knew his son was still in there. That day in the town, when you hung over those flames, I think I knew. I saw those eyes of yours when you asked me that question."
Jeremiah thought back to his past life.
"Do you think she could forgive me?" he quoted himself.
"Yeah… I knew. It was you, but I wanted you to die… so I took the shot. I ended it."
Jeremiah didn't resent him for that.
"I didn't deserve anything less."
Dracula found himself unable to speak straight with each passing sentence. He covered his mouth with one hand.
"It hurts, so much… I want it to end."
The hunter couldn't say anything for Mavis' passing, but for Martha's, he understood the feeling of hers.
"I couldn't bear the thought of thinking about her every single day, knowing I could never be with her. I could feel the pain every moment of my life. It was like torture. I spent a century making sure she was safe. I fought and nearly died so many times to build the world I promised her. In the end, there was no reward."
"You kept her safe for a hundred years. She was happy. She found her zing. She had a daughter. She had her family. That should have been reward enough." There was bitterness behind his words.
"It should have. But I took the selfish choice. I felt betrayed. My choice brought us here."
Dracula looked up at the night sky. Each day came and fell but none of them took his grief with them. His thoughts fell on the Eldritch King.
"Now he's taken Mavis from me…"
Jeremiah gathered the strength to sit up. Giving up on Dracula, he couldn't do it. Frank's bulwark faith in his friend had inspired him. Jeremiah Constantin had been brought up to be something different by his father. Others had tried to tear that down but he refused them. In his blindness, he had become something worse. Now was the time to become the better man.
"He has. You've had so much taken from you, by me, by them. But there is something we can take back."
The Count looked at him, waiting for an answer.
"Dennis."
Before he could say another word, they heard a fourth set of footsteps approaching them. Turning to its source, Dracula gazed at his father. Vlad had found them. He expected the usual sort of greeting. Instead, as Dracula brought himself to his feet, Vlad marched forward and wrapped his arms around him. In all his years he couldn't remember a moment that Vlad had done such a thing with sincerity.
"I wasn't there for you when it mattered most. I'm here now son. I'm here."
Such love from his own father was something alien to him but to feel it at last was worth a thousand years of waiting.
"We're going to destroy them. Every last one of them. The world will know that the house of Dracula stood up the Court and made them feel every ounce of pain they have brought on us."
Ideas of vengeance tasted bitter in Dracula's mouth now, but they had to be stopped regardless.
"This is bigger than all of us. Lebeau has no idea what's about to be brought on all of us. He's been blinded by his arrogance, just as I was."
As he spoke Dracula noticed a familiar bag on his shoulders. It certainly didn't suit him.
"That's…"
Vlad nodded. He took it off of his shoulders without saying a word and took out its contents. The paper was torn, having been snared on his journey.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't keep it in one piece."
Dracula didn't care. He took the book off of him and without hesitation, he ripped the last of the wrapping paper and let it fall to the ground. His eyes focused on every page one by one, taking in the sight of his family and letting the book rest in both hands like it was a treasure. Seeing Mavis' smile in each drawing reminded him how contagious it was. They were all happy memories, all with the intention of reminding Dennis how important his family is. They were the memories that Mavis never had with her mother. Now they served as a memoir for a life taken too soon.
The book felt like a curse. Although it served to remind him of a better time, it also scorned him for letting them slip away, mocking him with each smile. It felt like fate that they would make such a thing as Martha had, only for Mavis to be ripped away before Dennis could see it. Again and again history was repeating itself, like something wouldn't let them go. In the background it was haunting them, drawing them in towards the day they could no longer take it.
Dracula felt the hardness of a metal chain wrap around his fingers as his memory flooded back. He came across the newly made locket, still taped into the scrapbook. Fixated on it, Dracula clicked the small button on its side and was confronted with his wife's face once again. The likeness was uncanny. Even after all those years, at least he had something that let him see her again.
"Promise after promise… all I do is break them Martha."
"Drac-"
Frank was about to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but the Count was not finished.
"…but now I will make you one that I will not break. No matter what happens now, I will bring our grandson back. I will protect everyone we hold dear. Even if I couldn't… save her… I won't make the same mistake again. I'm not a demon… you showed me that."
He pushed the locket shut between two fingers. He placed the chain over his head, letting the golden locket hang from his neck, rather than tape it back into the book. He wanted her close to him.
"Thank you Frank. Thank you father."
His voice was stern but genuine. Slowly, had made his way towards the wounded hunter who even now continued to lie in the dirt. He didn't give him a look of hatred, or disgust. Instead, he took a page from his wife's book. He outstretched his hand and offered it to him. Jeremiah didn't know how to react. He didn't deserve it and deep down he knew Dracula would always hate him. For that moment though, it didn't matter. The storm that covered them left no room for past hate. To survive, to bring back Dennis, they really did need each other.
Making eye contact, with an expression of acceptance, Jeremiah took the Count's hand and with a swift tug, he was pulled to his feet. Dracula's face remained blank, but in his eyes he showed a mutual acceptance. He bowed just enough for it to be seen and turned back towards the horizon. Frank looked on towards the burning house.
"That was somebody's home guys."
"We will fix it, when all this is over."
It was the last thing on Dracula's mind when he attacked Jeremiah. Now he felt guilty. Frank took a quick glance towards the hunter beside him. He did look badly wounded but his nature would heal it in time. Frank hadn't spared him for his sake, it was for his friend. He still struggled to share any trust with him but they couldn't fight amongst themselves anymore.
"How did you find us?" Jeremiah's voice was still weak.
"I know my friend better than you do."
They watched Dracula walk beside his father as he explained to him about Johnny's condition. Concern hit him again. They had to get back. Dracula was done letting others suffer in his grief.