The inn was dark and quiet. Van Helsing made his way to the bedroom, pushing Tallander in front of him; the creature had gone along with him happily enough, making no attempt to get away, and seeming even to enjoy his company. Tallander – the demon – whatever he was – chatted amiably as they walked, and Van Helsing had to fight an urge to strike him. He did not want to take the risk of injuring Carl – if Carl was even still alive.
His mind raced. He could not ignore the things Tallander said, though Jinette had warned that demons were clever in making those who tried to fight them face their own darkest secrets. Tallander, trying to confuse him; Tallander, trying to torment him, to manipulate him. There was no sense in worrying about it. Van Helsing began instead to work feverishly on formulating a plan – any kind of plan – to exorcise Tallander without hurting Carl. As he trawled through everything he knew of the dark priest, of possession, of exorcism, he could not help thinking – and the thought brought a lump to his throat – that Carl would have been so much better at this sort of thing.
It was late – or more accurately, early; almost three in the morning, when Van Helsing found himself drifting into sleep, his head resting on the battered table, surrounded by a couple of books on possession he had brought with him, and one or two treatises from the vast collection Carl had thought it necessary to bring. Notes, scribbled hopefully then angrily crossed through, littered the desk as well, the score marks upon them vicious testimony to Van Helsing's furious helplessness.
He had left Tallander to his own devices, and the creature had left him alone in turn, sprawling on the bed, reading Carl's books. It seemed pointless to stop him, and it kept him quiet, kept that sinuous, sickly voice from spouting its filth. Sleep was denied Van Helsing, however; almost as soon as he had closed his eyes, that voice sounded again in his ears.
"You're tired," so soft, so concerned. It could easily have been Carl speaking. "Why don't you sleep properly – over here?"
Van Helsing jerked fully awake and turned, glaring at the thing which had usurped his friend as though he could expel it with a look. Tallander smirked back at him.
"Come and lie down," he purred. "And I shall read you a bedtime story." The priest held up a small book, bound in red leather. "So interesting."
"What is it?" Van Helsing demanded, with a wild hope that perhaps Tallander himself come across a method in Carl's books by which he could be expelled.
"Ah-ah! Naughty!" Tallander pulled the book out of Van Helsing's reach as the bigger man grabbed at it. "I shall read a few lines aloud, and you can tell me if you think it would be interesting for you. Now, listen:
'We crossed the Carpathian Mountains this evening. Horribly cold and depressing, as is VH. His mood is not good. Will not talk to me. I feel very alone here.'
"Sad, isn't it?" Tallander murmured, pretending to wipe away a tear. "Like a little boy writing at boarding school."
"What is that?" Van Helsing tried to grab the book again, but Tallander snatched it away, grinning.
"Can't you guess?"
"Carl's journal," said Van Helsing, his voice tight with anger. "You've got no right to read that. It's private."
"Do you honestly think there's anything in here that I don't already know? Oh, now this you will like! Our little friar is a poet…listen…"
"Shut up! Shut up and put it away!"
"You shut up, and pay attention," hissed Tallander, "or I may have to teach you some manners, Van Helsing."
Outraged, Van Helsing stepped closer to loom over the interloper. "And how exactly do you propose to do that?"
"I should have known," murmured Tallander. "The bigger they come, the stupider they are…very well, a little demonstration. Watch."
Tallander reached out to the small bedside table, where a candle sat burning. He passed his hand over it idly, an inch above the flame. Van Helsing watched, unable to help himself. Then, without warning, Tallander pressed the side of his hand – Carl's hand – to the fame, holding it there, singing it.
"My God!" Van Helsing lunged forward and grabbed Tallander's hand, knocking the candle onto the floor. "What the hell are you doing? Are you insane?"
"Possibly," said Tallander, idly. He showed no pain whatsoever. "You see, Van Helsing, the rules of our little partnership – that of myself and your pet friar, I mean – are most interesting. Until I have him completely in my power, until he acquiesces to me, that is, I feel no physical pain inflicted upon his body. He, however…"
Van Helsing gritted his teeth. "Carl feels it," he growled.
"Yes. Wonderful, isn't it? I suppose there must be a scientific reason. Something to do with brain chemistry, probably. At any rate, your charming friend is in quite considerable pain at this moment – and it's really all your fault."
"Leave him alone!" But he felt a surge of hope. Carl was still alive – trapped somehow by Tallander's foul presence, but still holding on, if only there was a way to reach him. "Leave him alone," Van Helsing said, again, his voice low and threatening.
"Behave yourself properly and I will," Tallander replied, smiling. Van Helsing, enraged by the creature's smirking face, took a step towards him, fists clenched…but Tallander merely leaned closer and whispered,
"He's screaming inside, you know," and Van Helsing withdrew, horrified, powerless, and wretched, to the other side of the room.
"Now then," Tallander said cheerfully, "let us see if you have learned your lesson. Be good and quiet while I read to you, and you might learn something interesting."
Turning to the journal again, he read,
"' If ever I could utter those few words
Caught for half a lifetime in my heart
My entreaties to you never would be heard
Or worse, would draw our tangled paths apart.
Can such passion be called merely devotion -
The strength and beauty of Platonic love?
Or is there in my soul greater emotion,
Dark desire I cannot rise above?
What would you say, my friend, my heart's companion,
If these words would ever reach your ears?
It torments me to imagine a reaction
That would after all be constant with my fears.
Though ever shall I love, I'll silent be,
While in my dreams, you shall ever love me.'
"So sad! So desperate! So haunting! Poor, poor man, lonely and unloved. Can you imagine him, Van Helsing, sitting alone in his laboratory, hours after all the good little monks are tucked up in bed, writing this epistle of love for an unattainable, distant figure? Phrasing it perhaps as a letter he knew he could never send?"
Van Helsing could not have answered even if he chose. His face was burning with embarrassment on Carl's behalf, his hands clenched at his sides.
"He wrote it for a pretty nun he thought he was in love with, several years ago," Tallander mused. " Ah, the minds of the young! He knows now that it was not really love, of course – just silly lust. Such a dangerous thing, lust…never mind. It doesn't really matter for him now anyway. I think, given the circumstances, that Hell is the inevitable destination for our young friend."
Unable to bear any more, Van Helsing slammed out of the room, fighting not to hear Tallander's amused chuckle as it followed him.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Carl was alive – that was what Van Helsing had to focus on. If he could only talk to Carl, know that he was still sane in there, still fighting for his life…if only he could comfort Carl and tell him that he must not give up, that Van Helsing would fight for him unto his last breath.
Perhaps if he could persuade Tallander to allow him to communicate with Carl; it must surely be possible. If only there was a way to fight Tallander directly, with Carl safely out of the line of fire…
Slowly, a plan formed in Van Helsing's mind; a dangerous plan, a crazy plan perhaps, but all he had at the moment. Taking a deep breath, he returned to the bedroom, to Tallander.
The small man was still lounging on the bed, reading Carl's journal with apparently sincere interest. He looked up as Van Helsing walked in.
"Decided to be civil, eh? I was worried that you might choose to sleep in the corridor. There's a dreadful draught out there, you know."
Van Helsing ignored this. He went straight to the point. "The only thing stopping me from killing you," he said, "is that you claim Carl is still alive, sharing that physical body with you."
"Why so surprised?" Tallander asked. "It's still the friar's brain in his head, after all. Yes, he's here. Why, is there a message?"
"I want to talk to him."
Tallander looked unsurprised. "I'm not an idiot," he said, concisely.
"What if I don't believe that Carl is alive? What's to stop me killing you then?"
"The possibility that he might be," replied the priest, laconically.
"What if I think that Carl is suffering and in pain, perhaps driven mad by your twisted mind? What if I want to put him out of his misery?"
"Are you threatening me, Van Helsing? You're doing it rather badly, you know."
"Let me see him just for a minute. Let him talk to me. Then I'll believe you. And what's more…I'll strike a bargain with you."
There was a pause. Tallander looked thoughtful.
"Is this a game I'll like?" he asked, eventually, "or is it a trick?"
"No tricks. Here's the bargain, whether you take it or not is up to you. Let Carl talk to me, to prove he's still in there and still sane. Then…then I'll allow you to take me instead, if you'll let him go."
Tallander burst into laughter. It was not the reception Van Helsing had hoped for.
"Dear me! How…how arrogant you are! Tell me, Mr. Big Important Monster Hunter, why I should prefer you to your friend here." He smirked. "Well?"
"I have important connections in the Vatican."
"So does the friar."
"Not in the same way. I have sway over the people in charge."
"Rubbish. You're a puppet on their string."
"I have power – history…" Van Helsing tailed off.
"Yes, your physical strength is considerable, and from what I know of your personal history, it's fascinating." Tallander paused, seeming to think deeply. "I don't know – you may be strong, and powerful, but your mind is not worth a hundredth of your little friend's. He's a genius, you know."
"I know," Van Helsing replied, gripped by an inexpressible sadness. "He…he tells me often enough." It was hopeless. Tallander would not make the exchange. He wanted Carl, not Van Helsing.
"Oh, you're going to make me cry," Tallander said, and he sounded genuinely upset. "Perhaps I should let you have your wish, after all. You would be useful to me…and I think I might be able to convince your friend to retain his loyalty to you when you and I become 'us'. Yes, I think I could…and then I would have you both, wouldn't I?"
Van Helsing did not reply. Filled with hope, he waited for Tallander to talk himself into the bargain.
"Very well," the Priest said, suddenly brisk.
"I want to see Carl first," Van Helsing answered, sharply. Tallander rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Sit down – this will take a moment."
Van Helsing sat on the edge of the bed, watching Tallander closely. The priest's expression did not change as he sat very still, his eyes staring blankly at the opposite wall. His head sank onto his chest, and Van Helsing leaned forward, anxious, expectant, as the man before him slowly raised his head, and gazed into Van Helsing's eyes.
Van Helsing's heart almost stopped. He was looking at Carl.