Van Helsing forced himself to remain silent and still as Carl slowly awoke,
his eyelids flickering, his eyes opening slowly. The friar looked around
sleepily, then blinked, obviously still half-asleep. Van Helsing resisted
the urge to shake him.
Eventually Carl focussed on him, and smiled. He looked dishevelled, tired – as though he had not slept at all – but normal. He looked...like Carl.
"Are you all right?" Van Helsing demanded, searching his friend's face. Carl gazed back at him, and the monster hunter felt the tension in his gut evaporate. A man possessed would surely not look so calm.
"I think so," Carl replied. He gave a faint, nervous smile. "I...I think it's over. He's gone. I think."
"Gone? You defeated him? You're sure?" He had hardly dared hope. There was an anxious pause, then Carl said,
"I'm sure!" his expression brightened suddenly, as though taking in the meaning of his own words for the first time. "After all that...he just...gave up. Incredible. I should write a report about it...this is amazing..." he looked into Van Helsing's eyes. "I thought I was going to die, last night. Thank you for staying with me."
"I should have done more than that," muttered Van Helsing. He felt weak with relief, but until he had unburdened himself to Carl he could not properly appreciate the wonderful, miraculous thing that had happened.
"What do you mean?" Carl sat up in bed, his gentle blue eyes fixed on Van Helsing, trepidation in his voice now. "Is there something else...?"
"Nothing that matters now," Van Helsing replied firmly. He hesitated, something he rarely did – but how did you tell a man you had been considering taking his life, when that man meant more to you than any other living person? Van Helsing had no delusions about it; he had allowed himself to get close to only two people in the few years of his life he could remember, and Carl was the only one, now. Perhaps...perhaps that had always been true, and everything else had been the delusion – born out of a sense of hopelessness, of impossibility...
He shook himself. Now was not the time.
"There's something I have to – confess – to you."
"Confess your sins and be forgiven," Carl joked weakly, but there was anxiety in his eyes. Van Helsing steeled himself. There was no point in dissembling; he had always been one for directness.
"They sent us here for me to kill you," he said, hoping the words came out as a clear, though guilty statement, and knowing he had blurted them in his fear at the thought of losing Carl's friendship.
There was silent for a long time. Carl stared out of the dirty window, watching the village come alive below. Van Helsing stared at Carl, trying to divine what he was thinking. Eventually, the friar said quietly,
"Would you have done it? Had it been necessary?"
A question Van Helsing had asked himself over and over again since this mission – this travesty of an assignment – had begun. He had been relieved that it no longer mattered that he did not know the answer – and now, he found that he had all along.
"Yes," he said simply. Carl nodded.
"Thank you."
"What? Aren't you angry?"
"Why would I be?" he smiled faintly. "I would have done the same for you, after all. In Transylvania, remember?"
Van Helsing nodded slowly. He had not really expected Carl to understand, had thought he would be hurt, betrayed, and furious.
"You would have spared me from a lifetime of torment, watching that creature use me for its own twisted ends. I know you, Gabriel – you could not have left me to suffer like that. You're a good man," he smiled warmly, almost...tenderly...and leaned forward to place a slim, pale hand on Van Helsing's knee. Van Helsing almost drew back in surprise at the gesture – this was affectionate to the extreme, even for Carl, who was very warm-hearted – but he thought his friend might be offended. Instead, he took Carl's hand between his own and held it for a moment, silently thanking God for his mercy.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Van Helsing paced the small room he and Carl shared, and debated for the twentieth time whether or not to go and look for Carl. It was late, and the friar had been gone since a little after lunchtime, claiming he needed time to be by himself. Van Helsing had understood, had not offered to accompany him – but now it was almost midnight, and he was beginning to wonder where his friend could have gone for so long.
When the clock struck midnight, he gave up pretending Carl had found a quiet chapel to pray in, and went to the nearest tavern to look for him. He was not there – but Van Helsing eventually found him at 'The Fighting Cock', a rather dirty looking public house a mile from the inn they had chosen to stay in.
Raucous music played by a wild-looking band of gypsies was audible from the street, and Van Helsing opened the door with some trepidation. Surely Carl would not come to a place like this, even he was desperate for relaxation following his dreadful experience? He made his way through a revelling crowd to the bar, and roared a description of his friend at the publican – Carl was nowhere to be seen.
"Aye," the man yelled back over the drunken whoops of his patrons. "Smallish chap with a glint in his eye. Three parts drunk when he got here, I'd wager, but carried himself well enough on it," the bartender's eyes glittered with amusement.
"You're sure?" The description fit, mostly – except for one thing: Carl had absolutely no tolerance for alcohol. Van Helsing had once seen him give a humorous reproduction of Cardinal Jinette's interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount, to a crowded pub lounge, after a single pint of strong ale.
"The man I'm looking for was dressed as a friar," Van Helsing added, thinking that perhaps he had not made that clear. "You know – like a monk."
"I knows what a friar looks like," the publican snapped. "This lad weren't no 'oly man, I tells yer. Dressed like a gentleman."
"A gentleman?" Van Helsing was baffled. Why would Carl...? This could not be the same person.
"Look fer yerself," the publican growled, sending wafts of stale breath into Van Helsing's face. "But 'e won't be pleased, asked for the back room all private, he did, 'im and 'is friend." A definite leer at the end of that sentence. Couldn't be Carl, but Van Helsing decided to look anyway. Anything to get away from that dragon breath...
He pushed open a dirty-looking door and came upon a squalid room no larger than the one he shared with Carl back at the inn, and far less clean. He did not really notice the room, however – only the two figures in it, one sitting on the end of the rumpled bed, wearing evening clothes with the trousers unbuttoned; the other, a blonde woman, kneeling before him, half- dressed, her intention very clear. Van Helsing choked down an exclamation, muttered,
"I'm sorry..." and prepared to leave; after all, it was none of his business...
He looked up, astonished, when the man spoke his name.
"Van Helsing? Really, I'm not a child, you know. You don't have to come out looking for me if I'm not home before midnight."
The melodious voice with its smooth intonation... the affectionately bantering tone, with a trace of pique...
Oh, dear God. Van Helsing forced himself to look up; Carl was perched on the end of the bed, looking embarrassed but also a little amused, presumably at the look of complete horror on Van Helsing's face.
"I never took you for an innocent..." the friar remarked. "Come now, you must have realised by now that I take my pleasures as and when I can find them.."
Van Helsing could not bring himself to answer. Ignoring the half-naked woman, who was now standing up and struggling into her clothes with a fearful expression on her face, he made a grab at Carl and dragged him out through the bar and into the street.
"There was no need for that...!" the friar gasped, pulling himself out of Van Helsing's grasp and weaving slightly in the light from a street lamp. He was quite obviously very drunk.
"What in all the hells did you think you were doing?" Van Helsing roared, shock and disbelief fuelling his temper. "After what's happened, all you can think of is getting drunk and sleeping with whores..."
"What made you think she was a whore?" Carl raised his eyebrows, but seemed more amused than offended. He giggled lightly. "Not at all. Why – do you think what I was doing went against God? Nothing is against God...he created everything, did he not? Including all of us unnatural, pleasure-loving hedonists. Though I consider myself more a libertine."
"Pull yourself together man, for God's sake!"
"And here we are again with God. Why are you so eager to denounce my actions, Van Helsing? You don't really consider what I was doing to be immoral...you would have left, politely, had anyone else but myself been in that room."
Van Helsing grabbed at him again and began to pull him along the street, towards the inn, his face flushed red with mortification. Carl's private life was his own sordid business, but witnessing it was not the most pleasant of experiences. And there was something sordid about this, something very unlike Carl.
"I know what the real problem is," Carl went on, slurring a little but loud enough to be distinct. His tone was honeyed, insinuating. "I think you are jealous."
Van Helsing stopped in mid-stride, turned, and slapped Carl sharply across the face.
"I don't know what devil has possessed you," he began...then froze. Because he did know – how could he have been so blind? How could he have accepted Carl's insistence that it was all over, that he had won, just because he had been so desperate to hear it? Fool! Five hundred times a fool!
Feeling nauseous, he grasped Carl's shoulders and held him tightly. Carl squirmed, reaching up to touch his marked face.
"That hurt," he muttered, sulkily. Van Helsing took hold of his chin and forced the friar's face upwards until their eyes met.
"Tell me Tallander has gone, Carl," he whispered, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. "Tell me you defeated him."
"Why?" Carl sounded bored, and not at all drunk now. "You won't believe it. I tried, you know – I thought I might string you along for, oh, a few days, while I had some fun – shocked you a little, perhaps. And as for the lady, since it seems to bother you, she really wasn't my type. It's only that I thought your dear friend would like her, and I do like to give my partners – or hosts, if you will – the things that they most desperately want."
Van Helsing released Carl's shoulders and took a step away from him. Tallander. All along, it had been Tallander...how could he have missed the signs?
"You're an idiot, is why," Carl – Tallander – said laconically, seemingly having read Van Helsing's thoughts, whether by some supernatural means or because they were written on his face, it was impossible to tell. "You're an idiot – and you care for him. I can understand that at least, he's charming." Tallander smiled, and it was Carl's smile, that wicked, mischievous little grin. Van Helsing was filled simultaneously with a sickened horror, and a soul-destroying sadness. In one night, Tallander had taken complete control – and Van Helsing was afraid there would be nothing left of Carl to save, even if he knew how.
Eventually Carl focussed on him, and smiled. He looked dishevelled, tired – as though he had not slept at all – but normal. He looked...like Carl.
"Are you all right?" Van Helsing demanded, searching his friend's face. Carl gazed back at him, and the monster hunter felt the tension in his gut evaporate. A man possessed would surely not look so calm.
"I think so," Carl replied. He gave a faint, nervous smile. "I...I think it's over. He's gone. I think."
"Gone? You defeated him? You're sure?" He had hardly dared hope. There was an anxious pause, then Carl said,
"I'm sure!" his expression brightened suddenly, as though taking in the meaning of his own words for the first time. "After all that...he just...gave up. Incredible. I should write a report about it...this is amazing..." he looked into Van Helsing's eyes. "I thought I was going to die, last night. Thank you for staying with me."
"I should have done more than that," muttered Van Helsing. He felt weak with relief, but until he had unburdened himself to Carl he could not properly appreciate the wonderful, miraculous thing that had happened.
"What do you mean?" Carl sat up in bed, his gentle blue eyes fixed on Van Helsing, trepidation in his voice now. "Is there something else...?"
"Nothing that matters now," Van Helsing replied firmly. He hesitated, something he rarely did – but how did you tell a man you had been considering taking his life, when that man meant more to you than any other living person? Van Helsing had no delusions about it; he had allowed himself to get close to only two people in the few years of his life he could remember, and Carl was the only one, now. Perhaps...perhaps that had always been true, and everything else had been the delusion – born out of a sense of hopelessness, of impossibility...
He shook himself. Now was not the time.
"There's something I have to – confess – to you."
"Confess your sins and be forgiven," Carl joked weakly, but there was anxiety in his eyes. Van Helsing steeled himself. There was no point in dissembling; he had always been one for directness.
"They sent us here for me to kill you," he said, hoping the words came out as a clear, though guilty statement, and knowing he had blurted them in his fear at the thought of losing Carl's friendship.
There was silent for a long time. Carl stared out of the dirty window, watching the village come alive below. Van Helsing stared at Carl, trying to divine what he was thinking. Eventually, the friar said quietly,
"Would you have done it? Had it been necessary?"
A question Van Helsing had asked himself over and over again since this mission – this travesty of an assignment – had begun. He had been relieved that it no longer mattered that he did not know the answer – and now, he found that he had all along.
"Yes," he said simply. Carl nodded.
"Thank you."
"What? Aren't you angry?"
"Why would I be?" he smiled faintly. "I would have done the same for you, after all. In Transylvania, remember?"
Van Helsing nodded slowly. He had not really expected Carl to understand, had thought he would be hurt, betrayed, and furious.
"You would have spared me from a lifetime of torment, watching that creature use me for its own twisted ends. I know you, Gabriel – you could not have left me to suffer like that. You're a good man," he smiled warmly, almost...tenderly...and leaned forward to place a slim, pale hand on Van Helsing's knee. Van Helsing almost drew back in surprise at the gesture – this was affectionate to the extreme, even for Carl, who was very warm-hearted – but he thought his friend might be offended. Instead, he took Carl's hand between his own and held it for a moment, silently thanking God for his mercy.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Van Helsing paced the small room he and Carl shared, and debated for the twentieth time whether or not to go and look for Carl. It was late, and the friar had been gone since a little after lunchtime, claiming he needed time to be by himself. Van Helsing had understood, had not offered to accompany him – but now it was almost midnight, and he was beginning to wonder where his friend could have gone for so long.
When the clock struck midnight, he gave up pretending Carl had found a quiet chapel to pray in, and went to the nearest tavern to look for him. He was not there – but Van Helsing eventually found him at 'The Fighting Cock', a rather dirty looking public house a mile from the inn they had chosen to stay in.
Raucous music played by a wild-looking band of gypsies was audible from the street, and Van Helsing opened the door with some trepidation. Surely Carl would not come to a place like this, even he was desperate for relaxation following his dreadful experience? He made his way through a revelling crowd to the bar, and roared a description of his friend at the publican – Carl was nowhere to be seen.
"Aye," the man yelled back over the drunken whoops of his patrons. "Smallish chap with a glint in his eye. Three parts drunk when he got here, I'd wager, but carried himself well enough on it," the bartender's eyes glittered with amusement.
"You're sure?" The description fit, mostly – except for one thing: Carl had absolutely no tolerance for alcohol. Van Helsing had once seen him give a humorous reproduction of Cardinal Jinette's interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount, to a crowded pub lounge, after a single pint of strong ale.
"The man I'm looking for was dressed as a friar," Van Helsing added, thinking that perhaps he had not made that clear. "You know – like a monk."
"I knows what a friar looks like," the publican snapped. "This lad weren't no 'oly man, I tells yer. Dressed like a gentleman."
"A gentleman?" Van Helsing was baffled. Why would Carl...? This could not be the same person.
"Look fer yerself," the publican growled, sending wafts of stale breath into Van Helsing's face. "But 'e won't be pleased, asked for the back room all private, he did, 'im and 'is friend." A definite leer at the end of that sentence. Couldn't be Carl, but Van Helsing decided to look anyway. Anything to get away from that dragon breath...
He pushed open a dirty-looking door and came upon a squalid room no larger than the one he shared with Carl back at the inn, and far less clean. He did not really notice the room, however – only the two figures in it, one sitting on the end of the rumpled bed, wearing evening clothes with the trousers unbuttoned; the other, a blonde woman, kneeling before him, half- dressed, her intention very clear. Van Helsing choked down an exclamation, muttered,
"I'm sorry..." and prepared to leave; after all, it was none of his business...
He looked up, astonished, when the man spoke his name.
"Van Helsing? Really, I'm not a child, you know. You don't have to come out looking for me if I'm not home before midnight."
The melodious voice with its smooth intonation... the affectionately bantering tone, with a trace of pique...
Oh, dear God. Van Helsing forced himself to look up; Carl was perched on the end of the bed, looking embarrassed but also a little amused, presumably at the look of complete horror on Van Helsing's face.
"I never took you for an innocent..." the friar remarked. "Come now, you must have realised by now that I take my pleasures as and when I can find them.."
Van Helsing could not bring himself to answer. Ignoring the half-naked woman, who was now standing up and struggling into her clothes with a fearful expression on her face, he made a grab at Carl and dragged him out through the bar and into the street.
"There was no need for that...!" the friar gasped, pulling himself out of Van Helsing's grasp and weaving slightly in the light from a street lamp. He was quite obviously very drunk.
"What in all the hells did you think you were doing?" Van Helsing roared, shock and disbelief fuelling his temper. "After what's happened, all you can think of is getting drunk and sleeping with whores..."
"What made you think she was a whore?" Carl raised his eyebrows, but seemed more amused than offended. He giggled lightly. "Not at all. Why – do you think what I was doing went against God? Nothing is against God...he created everything, did he not? Including all of us unnatural, pleasure-loving hedonists. Though I consider myself more a libertine."
"Pull yourself together man, for God's sake!"
"And here we are again with God. Why are you so eager to denounce my actions, Van Helsing? You don't really consider what I was doing to be immoral...you would have left, politely, had anyone else but myself been in that room."
Van Helsing grabbed at him again and began to pull him along the street, towards the inn, his face flushed red with mortification. Carl's private life was his own sordid business, but witnessing it was not the most pleasant of experiences. And there was something sordid about this, something very unlike Carl.
"I know what the real problem is," Carl went on, slurring a little but loud enough to be distinct. His tone was honeyed, insinuating. "I think you are jealous."
Van Helsing stopped in mid-stride, turned, and slapped Carl sharply across the face.
"I don't know what devil has possessed you," he began...then froze. Because he did know – how could he have been so blind? How could he have accepted Carl's insistence that it was all over, that he had won, just because he had been so desperate to hear it? Fool! Five hundred times a fool!
Feeling nauseous, he grasped Carl's shoulders and held him tightly. Carl squirmed, reaching up to touch his marked face.
"That hurt," he muttered, sulkily. Van Helsing took hold of his chin and forced the friar's face upwards until their eyes met.
"Tell me Tallander has gone, Carl," he whispered, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. "Tell me you defeated him."
"Why?" Carl sounded bored, and not at all drunk now. "You won't believe it. I tried, you know – I thought I might string you along for, oh, a few days, while I had some fun – shocked you a little, perhaps. And as for the lady, since it seems to bother you, she really wasn't my type. It's only that I thought your dear friend would like her, and I do like to give my partners – or hosts, if you will – the things that they most desperately want."
Van Helsing released Carl's shoulders and took a step away from him. Tallander. All along, it had been Tallander...how could he have missed the signs?
"You're an idiot, is why," Carl – Tallander – said laconically, seemingly having read Van Helsing's thoughts, whether by some supernatural means or because they were written on his face, it was impossible to tell. "You're an idiot – and you care for him. I can understand that at least, he's charming." Tallander smiled, and it was Carl's smile, that wicked, mischievous little grin. Van Helsing was filled simultaneously with a sickened horror, and a soul-destroying sadness. In one night, Tallander had taken complete control – and Van Helsing was afraid there would be nothing left of Carl to save, even if he knew how.