Chapter 2: Call Me Sam
"Demons?" Carl's voice cracked with that interesting mix of excitement and terror that was uniquely his. "Don't expect me to come with you, Van Helsing! I've had my fill of facing evil for this lifetime." He scurried around a large apparatus and vanished from sight. Van Helsing sighed in frustration at losing track of the friar and ambled over to inspect a small collection of artifacts.
"I'm not asking you to come with me," he called, sure that Carl was somewhere close by, even if he couldn't see the man. "I just need your expert advice." If there was one thing Van Helsing had learned very quickly about Carl in the seven years he had known him, it was that appealing to the friar's ego was the quickest way to get him to cooperate without a fuss. Pride was a sin and it amused Van Helsing that Carl got away with so much of it. Sure enough, not a minute later, the friar came shuffling up.
He regarded Van Helsing with a critical eye, as if he still wasn't convinced that the man wouldn't trick him into joining his madcap crusade. "You're going to get yourself killed. How's that for advice?" he quipped, obviously still upset.
Van Helsing toyed with a rosary and raised an eyebrow at Carl. "Everyone seems so convinced that I'm going to meet my end. What makes this any different from, say, vampires?" He emphasized the word and watched Carl squirm. "They called Dracula the Son of the Devil and he's dead. I should think the only person I have to be worried about is Lucifer himself."
"You're going to get yourself in trouble with that tongue of yours one day, Van Helsing," Carl admonished and Van Helsing laughed for the first time in weeks.
"You're one to talk!" he answered, stuffing the beads into the pocket of his coat. "So enlighten me, Carl. What are we dealing with and how do I kill it?" The irony of the phrase was not lost on the friar, who Van Helsing could hear groan.
Carl started off between tables piled high with all manner of objects. "When you're dealing with a demon, you're not dealing with someone who was once a man. These are the creatures that such men draw their powers from. I'm very serious, are you listening to me?" He turned around and glowered. Van Helsing snapped his attention away from a rack of swords.
"Absolutely, Carl."
"There's God, there's man and between them is the Devil, Van Helsing. Take these." Carl shoved an ammo box into Van Helsing's hands. He opened it and inspected the rows of bullets inside: while the material was bronze and nothing to get excited about, it was the silver markings etched into the head of the bullet that interested him.
"What are these?" he asked, squinting at the tiny carvings.
Carl snatched the bullet from Van Helsing and placed it carefully back in the box. "The words of angels. You might be needing them," he explained before hurrying off again. Van Helsing followed, his former mood melting away. He was almost certain that the carving on the walls in his dream had been similar. It was something he would have to think about at length on his ride to Spain, however at the moment Carl was throwing things at him. He struggled to balance the collection of holy water canisters and crosses being given to him. Finally, he set everything down on a table and went looking for something to hold everything.
"What about that big gun, Carl? Can I have that now?" he called out, finding an unused satchel and returning to where the friar was standing watch over the collection of items.
He sighed, crossing his arms under his robes. "Are you still stuck on that?" Van Helsing simply smiled pleasantly. "Considering what happened to my crossbow, I wouldn't let you have it even if it would be useful!"
Van Helsing winced and started putting the usual staple of field items into the satchel. He was hoping Carl had gotten over the fact that he had lost the crossbow somewhere in the Transylvanian woods. That the friar hadn't noticed the bow was gone until they were several days back at the Vatican didn't seem to matter and when the realization had struck, Carl had been livid to say the least, chewing Van Helsing out as well as he knew how. He didn't blame Carl; the crossbow was a wonderful invention and would have served him well on future assignments. It had been the friar's brainchild and he'd been very proud of it. Van Helsing supposed he could almost sympathize. When he looked up from his work, Carl was gone. He was about to call for him when the friar reappeared, this time holding a thin, elegant looking blade.
He offered it out. "It was tempered with holy water. I'm not sure how well your Tojo blades will work, so it's perhaps better to use this."
Van Helsing took the blade and it's accompanying sheath, strapping it around his waist. When he looked up, Carl looked lost in thought. "Is something wrong?"
The friar waved a hand. "I had a thought. I'll have to send something after you to Spain, as it will take some time to make. I'm sure it will come in handy." Van Helsing merely regarded Carl curiously, but didn't pry. Asking him about anything still in the design phases usually ended up in the friar going on a longwinded tangent as he brainstormed with his mouth open. Van Helsing shouldered the satchel and regarded Carl, who still looked deep in thought.
"Is that everything?"
"Oh... oh! Yes, that should do you for now. Cable us when you've apprised the situation and I'll send some extra things to you." As Van Helsing turned to go, Carl grabbed the sleeve of his coat. "Your faith in God is your best defense, Van Helsing. Don't let it falter."
The intense look in Carl's eyes was enough to make Van Helsing almost scared. So his friend knew. Helsing's faith in God had been lacking since his return from Transylvania, but he had thought that he'd hidden it well enough. He should have expected someone like Carl to pick up on it. What had the Cardinal told him before? That this was all a test of faith?
Van Helsing nodded to Carl, steeling his expression. "I'll talk to you soon, my friend." Apparently placated, Carl let go and allowed him to vanish into the steam and gloom of the armory.
What if one day you met God, the Cardinal had asked him once, and he sent you on a mission? With God on your side you would fear nothing, but if you did not know that He was the one who had given you such a mission, every day you would question it. It was what Van Helsing's life boiled down to ultimately: a great big question mark. The ride to Spain offered him several days to ponder that question mark.
The first things on his mind were the carving on the bullets and the walls in his dream. He didn't recognize any symbols directly from the bullets, but they were of a similar style to the wall markings. Carl had called them the words of angels... why would he be dreaming of a language he had never heard of, much less never read or spoken? Then again, he hadn't recalled ever learning Romanian or Italian either. Or Spanish for that matter, but he had a nagging feeling that he might know it anyway.
The mention of angels had also brought back a few of the new bits of information he'd been mulling over after Transylvania. He was the only one that knew the truth behind Dracula's death; that Van Helsing himself had been the one to murder Dracula four hundred years ago. He hadn't even told Carl that bit of information. Frankly, the idea that the friar might start brainstorming about him terrified Van Helsing. He had said that perhaps some things were best left forgotten and he was beginning to wonder if his thirst for his past might be more habit now than actual need. The connotations behind what he had begun to piece together were such that he wasn't sure he wanted to remember who he was anymore.
Perhaps Frankenstein's Creature had been right in simply wanting to live life. When Van Helsing had lost Anna, such a notion had been driven home with the same force as a nail in a coffin: he had wanted to simply live as well, but he had wanted to do it with Anna. He could have simply existed with her and never given another thought to his past for the rest of his days, but all he was left with now was the old habits.
Even so, could seven years worth really be considered 'old'? He wondered how far back some of those habits actually ran.
Thankfully, the site of the missing village wasn't very far past the Spanish borders. The less contact Van Helsing had with the general populous the better. The ride through France had been interesting enough and he didn't feel in the mood to discover if there was a price on his head in Spain too. It was bad enough that he was told to meet someone at the small town of Catalina.
As the sun set on the second day of his ride, the town came into view: it was set along the coastline of the Mediterranean, its white stone houses grouped along a small hill that lead down to the beach. From his position atop a low coastline cliff, Van Helsing could make out the town center and its saintly statue. That was where he was supposed to meet with whoever was taking him to the former village, although it seemed too late now to go anywhere. Still, he had to meet this person. He hoped they weren't fond of sleeping early.
He rode up to Catalina, dismounting at the edge of town and walking his horse down the narrow roads to the statue in the central plaza. It was strangely empty for such a pleasant night, but then again Van Helsing supposed he would stay indoors too if there was talk of demons around.
He made a small sound of approval at the lack of angry glares or weapons pointed in his direction. "I could get used to this," he remarked idly, patting his horse on the neck and glancing around for a place to tie him up.
"Señor! Señor!"
Van Helsing turned at the sound of a child's voice to see a young girl run up to him, her skirts flapping wildly around her little legs. He cleared his throat and greeted her in choppy Spanish. Instead of answering him, she snatched his horse's reigns in one hand and his coat sleeve in the other and began tugging him down a side street. When it came to children, Van Helsing found himself at their particular mercy. It had always been that way and he was quite sure that his singular love for the young had something to do with that past he couldn't remember. There really was no other explanation for it.
"Where... where are we going?" he tried, finding that the words were coming easier to him the more he thought about it.
"My papa's house!" the girl answered, not breaking pace. "He said that you were coming and he sent me to go and get you." She flashed him a wide grin over her shoulder, obviously elated at having been charged with such an important task. Van Helsing couldn't help but smile back, his mood improving.
"What's your name?"
"Isabel!" she proclaimed proudly. "My papa says you are Señor Helsing. You have a strange name."
Van Helsing's smile grew. "And you have a very pretty name, Isabel." She giggled, and then stopped abruptly. Helsing glanced up to find they were standing in front of a ranch house. In the fading light he could just barely make out a few horses in a field out back.
"I can put your horse away, Señor Helsing. Papa is waiting for you inside," Isabel said, letting go of Van Helsing's sleeve. He hesitated for a moment before removing the pack from the back of the animal and allowing Isabel to lead it away to where he assumed a stable to be. Shouldering his equipment with a sigh, he stepped up to the front door and knocked.
An older woman greeted him, her dark hair held up in a loose bun away from her kindly face. She invited him inside, her full skirts rustling as she moved aside to let him enter. He nodded his thanks to the woman and she returned the gesture with a small curtsy. As she shut the door behind him, he took stock of the house. It wasn't fancy, but it wasn't poor either. The foyer he stood in stretched upward, taking up both stories of the house and strait back he could see a narrow balcony flanked by a set of curving stairs that obviously lead to the second story. The walls were sparsely decorated, mostly with paintings of what Van Helsing assumed to be ancestors or scenery. Apparently this family had lived in the house for quite some time. He turned slightly to watch the woman hurry off and when he turned back, an aged man was walking down the stairs. Van Helsing noticed a faint limp in his left leg.
"Van Helsing, I assume," he called when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "I apologize for sending my granddaughter, but I have a bad leg and it pains me sometimes. You see I can barely make it down the stairs!"
"It's no matter," Van Helsing said, looking the man over. He was dressed in what looked like fine linen, his thinning gray hair slicked back along his spotted head. His keen black eyes seemed out of place on his aging face.
He offered a hand out and Van Helsing took it. "I am Benito Ortiz de la Cruz. I know well of the Order that has sent you." He smiled, pulling back his hand and placing it with his other atop a dark wood cane, the head of which seemed to be detailed with some heavenly scene.
"Señor Ortiz," Van Helsing began, but the old man cut him off.
"Please, call me Benito."
"Very well. I'm in somewhat of a hurry, so, do you think you might be able to direct me to the, ah, missing village tonight?"
Benito was silent for a moment, regarding Van Helsing before turning back towards the stairs and hobbling towards them. "My leg tells me we're due for some rain tonight, my son. Please follow me and I will show you where you can put your things."
Van Helsing sighed in irritation at being delayed, but followed the older man as instructed.
"I am aware of your dubious reputation elsewhere in the civilized world, Señor Helsing, but here you are safe. Catalina is a God fearing town and we know to treat His servants with the proper respect," Benito continued as they made their way down a long hall that seemed to span the length of the upper story. "The village you are looking for was called San Millan. My son and daughter-in-law had lived there for years, but I thank God that my Isabel was here with me when it vanished. If she too had perished, I would have swiftly followed them from grief. She is my world, Señor Helsing.
"Can you understand such a loss?" he asked, stopping to turn and face Van Helsing.
"Yes, I believe I can," Van Helsing answered simply, his tone grim.
Benito regarded him in silence for several moments, before nodding absently. "I can see by your face that you are a true man, as you should be. I expected little else. Your room is here. Please, make yourself comfortable. Tomorrow we will take you to the village." At that, the old man left Van Helsing standing in front of a door at the end of the hall. He watched Benito enter another door halfway back down the hall, and then turned to look out the great window that took up the wall at the far end of the hall. Benito was right: there was a storm coming in, for Van Helsing could see lightning on the horizon. Strange for the season, he thought. Perhaps it was better after all if he got some rest and waited until morning.
It felt good to sleep in a bed designed with comfort in mind, as opposed to the spartan furnishing provided back in Rome and Van Helsing had little problems falling fast asleep. The dreams came quickly and the next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of a barren, wind-blasted field. The sun beat down upon him and as he worked to remove his coat, he found his back aching along the lines of his scars.
"I was wondering when you would show up, Gabriel. You sure took your time. It's a shame that they've still got you running around like a chicken with its bloody head cut off, going here and there... Amazing that you haven't figured out to just lay down and die yet."
Van Helsing spun around, coming face to face with a young man. He backed up a step, suddenly uneasy; something seemed strange about the man, like a painting when the lines were off. There was something, but Van Helsing couldn't put his finger on it exactly. Trying to think about it only fed a growing anxiety within him.
"Who are you?"
"Me? Oh, you can call me Sam."
a/n: Oops. Thanks for the correction about "señor". I don't speak Spanish myself (can you tell?) and the one person I know who does is gone for the weekend. For all the work I'd done trying to make sure I got things right, I think it was a gimmie that I would miss something.
I'm no expert on Europe, so if anyone notices anything that I got wrong, please point it out. Thanks.
"Demons?" Carl's voice cracked with that interesting mix of excitement and terror that was uniquely his. "Don't expect me to come with you, Van Helsing! I've had my fill of facing evil for this lifetime." He scurried around a large apparatus and vanished from sight. Van Helsing sighed in frustration at losing track of the friar and ambled over to inspect a small collection of artifacts.
"I'm not asking you to come with me," he called, sure that Carl was somewhere close by, even if he couldn't see the man. "I just need your expert advice." If there was one thing Van Helsing had learned very quickly about Carl in the seven years he had known him, it was that appealing to the friar's ego was the quickest way to get him to cooperate without a fuss. Pride was a sin and it amused Van Helsing that Carl got away with so much of it. Sure enough, not a minute later, the friar came shuffling up.
He regarded Van Helsing with a critical eye, as if he still wasn't convinced that the man wouldn't trick him into joining his madcap crusade. "You're going to get yourself killed. How's that for advice?" he quipped, obviously still upset.
Van Helsing toyed with a rosary and raised an eyebrow at Carl. "Everyone seems so convinced that I'm going to meet my end. What makes this any different from, say, vampires?" He emphasized the word and watched Carl squirm. "They called Dracula the Son of the Devil and he's dead. I should think the only person I have to be worried about is Lucifer himself."
"You're going to get yourself in trouble with that tongue of yours one day, Van Helsing," Carl admonished and Van Helsing laughed for the first time in weeks.
"You're one to talk!" he answered, stuffing the beads into the pocket of his coat. "So enlighten me, Carl. What are we dealing with and how do I kill it?" The irony of the phrase was not lost on the friar, who Van Helsing could hear groan.
Carl started off between tables piled high with all manner of objects. "When you're dealing with a demon, you're not dealing with someone who was once a man. These are the creatures that such men draw their powers from. I'm very serious, are you listening to me?" He turned around and glowered. Van Helsing snapped his attention away from a rack of swords.
"Absolutely, Carl."
"There's God, there's man and between them is the Devil, Van Helsing. Take these." Carl shoved an ammo box into Van Helsing's hands. He opened it and inspected the rows of bullets inside: while the material was bronze and nothing to get excited about, it was the silver markings etched into the head of the bullet that interested him.
"What are these?" he asked, squinting at the tiny carvings.
Carl snatched the bullet from Van Helsing and placed it carefully back in the box. "The words of angels. You might be needing them," he explained before hurrying off again. Van Helsing followed, his former mood melting away. He was almost certain that the carving on the walls in his dream had been similar. It was something he would have to think about at length on his ride to Spain, however at the moment Carl was throwing things at him. He struggled to balance the collection of holy water canisters and crosses being given to him. Finally, he set everything down on a table and went looking for something to hold everything.
"What about that big gun, Carl? Can I have that now?" he called out, finding an unused satchel and returning to where the friar was standing watch over the collection of items.
He sighed, crossing his arms under his robes. "Are you still stuck on that?" Van Helsing simply smiled pleasantly. "Considering what happened to my crossbow, I wouldn't let you have it even if it would be useful!"
Van Helsing winced and started putting the usual staple of field items into the satchel. He was hoping Carl had gotten over the fact that he had lost the crossbow somewhere in the Transylvanian woods. That the friar hadn't noticed the bow was gone until they were several days back at the Vatican didn't seem to matter and when the realization had struck, Carl had been livid to say the least, chewing Van Helsing out as well as he knew how. He didn't blame Carl; the crossbow was a wonderful invention and would have served him well on future assignments. It had been the friar's brainchild and he'd been very proud of it. Van Helsing supposed he could almost sympathize. When he looked up from his work, Carl was gone. He was about to call for him when the friar reappeared, this time holding a thin, elegant looking blade.
He offered it out. "It was tempered with holy water. I'm not sure how well your Tojo blades will work, so it's perhaps better to use this."
Van Helsing took the blade and it's accompanying sheath, strapping it around his waist. When he looked up, Carl looked lost in thought. "Is something wrong?"
The friar waved a hand. "I had a thought. I'll have to send something after you to Spain, as it will take some time to make. I'm sure it will come in handy." Van Helsing merely regarded Carl curiously, but didn't pry. Asking him about anything still in the design phases usually ended up in the friar going on a longwinded tangent as he brainstormed with his mouth open. Van Helsing shouldered the satchel and regarded Carl, who still looked deep in thought.
"Is that everything?"
"Oh... oh! Yes, that should do you for now. Cable us when you've apprised the situation and I'll send some extra things to you." As Van Helsing turned to go, Carl grabbed the sleeve of his coat. "Your faith in God is your best defense, Van Helsing. Don't let it falter."
The intense look in Carl's eyes was enough to make Van Helsing almost scared. So his friend knew. Helsing's faith in God had been lacking since his return from Transylvania, but he had thought that he'd hidden it well enough. He should have expected someone like Carl to pick up on it. What had the Cardinal told him before? That this was all a test of faith?
Van Helsing nodded to Carl, steeling his expression. "I'll talk to you soon, my friend." Apparently placated, Carl let go and allowed him to vanish into the steam and gloom of the armory.
What if one day you met God, the Cardinal had asked him once, and he sent you on a mission? With God on your side you would fear nothing, but if you did not know that He was the one who had given you such a mission, every day you would question it. It was what Van Helsing's life boiled down to ultimately: a great big question mark. The ride to Spain offered him several days to ponder that question mark.
The first things on his mind were the carving on the bullets and the walls in his dream. He didn't recognize any symbols directly from the bullets, but they were of a similar style to the wall markings. Carl had called them the words of angels... why would he be dreaming of a language he had never heard of, much less never read or spoken? Then again, he hadn't recalled ever learning Romanian or Italian either. Or Spanish for that matter, but he had a nagging feeling that he might know it anyway.
The mention of angels had also brought back a few of the new bits of information he'd been mulling over after Transylvania. He was the only one that knew the truth behind Dracula's death; that Van Helsing himself had been the one to murder Dracula four hundred years ago. He hadn't even told Carl that bit of information. Frankly, the idea that the friar might start brainstorming about him terrified Van Helsing. He had said that perhaps some things were best left forgotten and he was beginning to wonder if his thirst for his past might be more habit now than actual need. The connotations behind what he had begun to piece together were such that he wasn't sure he wanted to remember who he was anymore.
Perhaps Frankenstein's Creature had been right in simply wanting to live life. When Van Helsing had lost Anna, such a notion had been driven home with the same force as a nail in a coffin: he had wanted to simply live as well, but he had wanted to do it with Anna. He could have simply existed with her and never given another thought to his past for the rest of his days, but all he was left with now was the old habits.
Even so, could seven years worth really be considered 'old'? He wondered how far back some of those habits actually ran.
Thankfully, the site of the missing village wasn't very far past the Spanish borders. The less contact Van Helsing had with the general populous the better. The ride through France had been interesting enough and he didn't feel in the mood to discover if there was a price on his head in Spain too. It was bad enough that he was told to meet someone at the small town of Catalina.
As the sun set on the second day of his ride, the town came into view: it was set along the coastline of the Mediterranean, its white stone houses grouped along a small hill that lead down to the beach. From his position atop a low coastline cliff, Van Helsing could make out the town center and its saintly statue. That was where he was supposed to meet with whoever was taking him to the former village, although it seemed too late now to go anywhere. Still, he had to meet this person. He hoped they weren't fond of sleeping early.
He rode up to Catalina, dismounting at the edge of town and walking his horse down the narrow roads to the statue in the central plaza. It was strangely empty for such a pleasant night, but then again Van Helsing supposed he would stay indoors too if there was talk of demons around.
He made a small sound of approval at the lack of angry glares or weapons pointed in his direction. "I could get used to this," he remarked idly, patting his horse on the neck and glancing around for a place to tie him up.
"Señor! Señor!"
Van Helsing turned at the sound of a child's voice to see a young girl run up to him, her skirts flapping wildly around her little legs. He cleared his throat and greeted her in choppy Spanish. Instead of answering him, she snatched his horse's reigns in one hand and his coat sleeve in the other and began tugging him down a side street. When it came to children, Van Helsing found himself at their particular mercy. It had always been that way and he was quite sure that his singular love for the young had something to do with that past he couldn't remember. There really was no other explanation for it.
"Where... where are we going?" he tried, finding that the words were coming easier to him the more he thought about it.
"My papa's house!" the girl answered, not breaking pace. "He said that you were coming and he sent me to go and get you." She flashed him a wide grin over her shoulder, obviously elated at having been charged with such an important task. Van Helsing couldn't help but smile back, his mood improving.
"What's your name?"
"Isabel!" she proclaimed proudly. "My papa says you are Señor Helsing. You have a strange name."
Van Helsing's smile grew. "And you have a very pretty name, Isabel." She giggled, and then stopped abruptly. Helsing glanced up to find they were standing in front of a ranch house. In the fading light he could just barely make out a few horses in a field out back.
"I can put your horse away, Señor Helsing. Papa is waiting for you inside," Isabel said, letting go of Van Helsing's sleeve. He hesitated for a moment before removing the pack from the back of the animal and allowing Isabel to lead it away to where he assumed a stable to be. Shouldering his equipment with a sigh, he stepped up to the front door and knocked.
An older woman greeted him, her dark hair held up in a loose bun away from her kindly face. She invited him inside, her full skirts rustling as she moved aside to let him enter. He nodded his thanks to the woman and she returned the gesture with a small curtsy. As she shut the door behind him, he took stock of the house. It wasn't fancy, but it wasn't poor either. The foyer he stood in stretched upward, taking up both stories of the house and strait back he could see a narrow balcony flanked by a set of curving stairs that obviously lead to the second story. The walls were sparsely decorated, mostly with paintings of what Van Helsing assumed to be ancestors or scenery. Apparently this family had lived in the house for quite some time. He turned slightly to watch the woman hurry off and when he turned back, an aged man was walking down the stairs. Van Helsing noticed a faint limp in his left leg.
"Van Helsing, I assume," he called when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "I apologize for sending my granddaughter, but I have a bad leg and it pains me sometimes. You see I can barely make it down the stairs!"
"It's no matter," Van Helsing said, looking the man over. He was dressed in what looked like fine linen, his thinning gray hair slicked back along his spotted head. His keen black eyes seemed out of place on his aging face.
He offered a hand out and Van Helsing took it. "I am Benito Ortiz de la Cruz. I know well of the Order that has sent you." He smiled, pulling back his hand and placing it with his other atop a dark wood cane, the head of which seemed to be detailed with some heavenly scene.
"Señor Ortiz," Van Helsing began, but the old man cut him off.
"Please, call me Benito."
"Very well. I'm in somewhat of a hurry, so, do you think you might be able to direct me to the, ah, missing village tonight?"
Benito was silent for a moment, regarding Van Helsing before turning back towards the stairs and hobbling towards them. "My leg tells me we're due for some rain tonight, my son. Please follow me and I will show you where you can put your things."
Van Helsing sighed in irritation at being delayed, but followed the older man as instructed.
"I am aware of your dubious reputation elsewhere in the civilized world, Señor Helsing, but here you are safe. Catalina is a God fearing town and we know to treat His servants with the proper respect," Benito continued as they made their way down a long hall that seemed to span the length of the upper story. "The village you are looking for was called San Millan. My son and daughter-in-law had lived there for years, but I thank God that my Isabel was here with me when it vanished. If she too had perished, I would have swiftly followed them from grief. She is my world, Señor Helsing.
"Can you understand such a loss?" he asked, stopping to turn and face Van Helsing.
"Yes, I believe I can," Van Helsing answered simply, his tone grim.
Benito regarded him in silence for several moments, before nodding absently. "I can see by your face that you are a true man, as you should be. I expected little else. Your room is here. Please, make yourself comfortable. Tomorrow we will take you to the village." At that, the old man left Van Helsing standing in front of a door at the end of the hall. He watched Benito enter another door halfway back down the hall, and then turned to look out the great window that took up the wall at the far end of the hall. Benito was right: there was a storm coming in, for Van Helsing could see lightning on the horizon. Strange for the season, he thought. Perhaps it was better after all if he got some rest and waited until morning.
It felt good to sleep in a bed designed with comfort in mind, as opposed to the spartan furnishing provided back in Rome and Van Helsing had little problems falling fast asleep. The dreams came quickly and the next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of a barren, wind-blasted field. The sun beat down upon him and as he worked to remove his coat, he found his back aching along the lines of his scars.
"I was wondering when you would show up, Gabriel. You sure took your time. It's a shame that they've still got you running around like a chicken with its bloody head cut off, going here and there... Amazing that you haven't figured out to just lay down and die yet."
Van Helsing spun around, coming face to face with a young man. He backed up a step, suddenly uneasy; something seemed strange about the man, like a painting when the lines were off. There was something, but Van Helsing couldn't put his finger on it exactly. Trying to think about it only fed a growing anxiety within him.
"Who are you?"
"Me? Oh, you can call me Sam."
a/n: Oops. Thanks for the correction about "señor". I don't speak Spanish myself (can you tell?) and the one person I know who does is gone for the weekend. For all the work I'd done trying to make sure I got things right, I think it was a gimmie that I would miss something.
I'm no expert on Europe, so if anyone notices anything that I got wrong, please point it out. Thanks.