A/N Another chapter! Thanks to everyone who pointed out that chapter six went very strange in the uploading. It seems to be fine now. I tried to post a link to the slash version of this story – and ff.net went bananas! If you'd like to read the slash version (different from chapter 5 onwards, with some explicit – though not gratuitous – NC17 stuff) please email me for the link. Petlunatic at hotmail.com N.B: There will be NO SLASH, or anything beyond PG-13, in the version of the story posted here at ff.net. I'm trying to please everybody :-) If you do read both versions, I'd love to know which you prefer.
Thanks so much for all your reviews, they mean a great deal to me! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Carl stared back at Van Helsing, his eyes wide and filled with unimaginable horror. Van Helsing reached out to him, wanting to comfort him – but before he could move closer, Carl had flung himself across the small distance between them and into Van Helsing's arms, where he rested his head against the bigger man's chest, and sobbed. Pained and shocked, Van Helsing held him, wondering what horrors Tallander must have been inflicting on the friar's mind to make him respond as violently as this.
"It's going to be all right, Carl," Van Helsing told his friend, in as soothing a tone as he could manage. "I'm going to help you. Everything will be all right."
Carl sniffed and snuggled closer, then raised his face to look at Van Helsing.
"I knew you wouldn't forsake me," he whispered. "I don't want to die, Gabriel; please, find some other way to end this!"
"I will," Van Helsing held him more tightly, "I promise you."
The smaller man grinned up at him, no sign of distress – or indeed anything else – in his eyes now.
"How very kind," he purred.
"Tallander," Van Helsing hissed. "It was you all along, wasn't it?"
"Can you be absolutely certain of that?" The priest asked, still smirking. "He begged you not to hurt him..."
"That was you," snapped Van Helsing.
"Positive?" Tallander shot back. Van Helsing had no answer. He had been so sure he had seen Carl...spoken to him...but then, the fervour of his distress followed by the abrupt mockery was out of character. Carl would not behave like that, of that Van Helsing was certain – but perhaps Carl's mind had become unhinged, trapped by Tallander? No, he could not be sure.
"Now for the rest of our bargain," Tallander continued. "You wanted, I believe, to trade. Is that still your intention?" his voice was brisk and businesslike.
"Yes," Van Helsing replied, grimly.
"Very good," Tallander clapped his hands. "You will, I hope, find the process enjoyable."
Van Helsing doubted it. "What does it involve?"
"There are various methods by which we might make the – exchange – all involving intense intimacy. I hope that doesn't bother you?" he paused, then before Van Helsing could answer, went on, "of course not, you would suffer any pain or degradation for your friend, wouldn't you? Noble man. How nice."
"Just tell me what I have to do." Van Helsing growled. His stomach was knotting at the prospect of any kind of 'intimacy' with this creature – but Tallander was right about one thing: he would do anything, anything at all, if it meant saving Carl.
Tallander smiled in a way Van Helsing really did not like; it was almost – coy, with an element of hideous pleasure underneath.
"As I said, various methods – and for the purposes of our bargain, you will accept whichever I choose."
Van Helsing hesitated.
"Or the deal is off," Tallander continued, bluntly.
"All right."
Tallander reached into Carl's bag of weapons, and extracted a small, sharp- edged dagger.
"An exchange of blood," he said. "Yours for your little friend's. You'll be required to drink it," he smirked. "And of course, you'll be required to make the cuts...it will hurt the friar horribly, I'm afraid, and leave a nasty scar. But there will be no mortal damage."
Van Helsing was a brave man, and willing to do even the most heinous thing if he believed it to be for the good...but he could not bring himself to injure Carl.
"No," he growled. "You said there were alternatives. Suggest one."
"No? What a shame. I'm afraid I don't take kindly to people going back on their word, Mr. Van Helsing. And I'm afraid that your dear friend will have to pay the price for that."
As Van Helsing watched in dumb horror, Tallander selected a sharp, short- bladed dagger from a bag of weapons in a corner of the room. He drew back his sleeve and placed the blade against his arm.
"This will hurt horribly," he said, pleasantly, cutting into the flesh. A thin line of blood appeared on Tallander's – on Carl's – pale skin.
"Stop!" Van Helsing made a grab at him, but Tallander immediately pressed the blade against his own throat.
"You wouldn't do it," Van Helsing said, but his tone betrayed his uncertainty. Tallander was insane enough to do it, perhaps. But what would be gain?
"I might, you know, if you annoyed me enough. Or I might cut off one of his hands. Wouldn't be much use as an inventor without them...alternatively, I could simply destroy his mind, and return him to you as a helpless, drooling, babbling wretch fit only for the asylum."
That image was too much for Van Helsing. He was sure Tallander was not bluffing, and that he could do all he threatened.
"All right," he said, very quietly.
"Good!" Tallander smiled, toying idly with the knife. "I'll need to make an incision in your neck, among other places. Don't worry...I have no interest in killing you. It will hurt, however." Tallander took the knife, and passed the blade slowly over a candle, heating it.
"Why are you doing that?" Van Helsing demanded.
"Oh, ritualistic purposes..." Tallander smirked.
"You're enjoying this," Van Helsing growled.
"Take off your shirt," said Tallander. "And don't flatter yourself that I've taken a fancy to you..." he chuckled. "I'm doing this because I want to degrade you, shame you, have power over you."
"Not exactly subtle, are you?"
"What's the point?" Tallander slipped off his own shirt, and Van Helsing looked away; but the smaller man grabbed his chin and forced his gaze back to him.
"A little out of training, isn't he, your friend the friar? I suppose he doesn't get much exercise in his laboratory. I can soon improve that."
"Shut up."
Tallander smiled again, and beckoned Van Helsing closer to him. "Just a little blood-letting, for your friend's sake...try to relax, this might sting a little." He drew the heated blade across Van Helsing's chest, inscribing a cross – down, back up, left, and right. It burned hideously, and the monster hunter fought not to cry out with the pain, clenching his fists tightly at his sides. Blood ran down his chest, across his stomach, soaking into the waistband of his trousers. Tallander watched it, apparently transfixed.
"Your turn," he breathed, and gave the knife to Van Helsing. He hesitated.
"Do it," Tallander hissed, "exactly as I did to you..."
Praying to God for forgiveness, Van Helsing pricked Tallander's – Carl's – pale skin with the blade.
"Deeper," the priest purred. Van Helsing did as he was told, eyes narrowed, teeth gritted. Blood poured down Carl's chest as Van Helsing transcribed the form of the cross.
"Is that it?" he demanded. Tallander shook his head.
"There will be many more cuts...some deeper than others, before morning." He took back the blade. "Bear your throat..."
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Van Helsing awoke slowly. His body felt raw, brutalised – but it was nothing compared to how he felt in his heart. Filthy. Disgusted with himself. He felt both as though he had been raped, and committed rape...thinking of Carl, taken along helplessly with their depraved blood- letting. It had become savage, violent, a contest, each man struggling to assert his personality over the other, with Van Helsing's physical strength doing little to aid him in the face of Tallander's horrible magnetism.
Van Helsing's face burned with shame as he remembered how he had torn into the pale flesh of Carl's body, mutilating it, tasting the raw coppery blood. He knew, of course, that Tallander had had him in his power, and that his behaviour was no more his fault than Tallander's was Carl's. But still...Tallander had said he would feel shamed, and he did.
Where was Tallander? Van Helsing listened for him in his mind. He had no idea what to expect of this possession – would he hear Tallander's voice? Feel his emotions? Or would his own personality simply begin to disappear, stolen piece by piece?
There was certainly no sign of the dark priest now. Van Helsing rolled over, wincing in pain, and was startled to find Carl sitting beside the bed, watching him. Anxiously Van Helsing looked his friend over for signs of injury, madness, whatever else Tallander might have done to him – but Carl looked perfectly serene, despite the many, thin cuts disfiguring his bare chest and arms, and throat. In fact, he was smiling. Could it be possible that this was over? That Van Helsing – or Carl, or both of them together – had defeated Tallander, and cast him out? Eagerly, Van Helsing sat up.
"Carl? Are you all right?"
The little friar looked amused. "Well, good morning. You've been asleep for such a long time."
"How much do you remember?" Van Helsing demanded. Carl, still smiling, stretched himself languorously.
"You're the one who suffers from amnesia, Gabriel...how much do you remember?" he grinned his wicked grin, and Van Helsing smiled back faintly, finding it odd that Carl should make a joke about something so hideous.
"What happened to him?"
"Tallander?"
"Yes, of course Tallander."
Carl's grin widened. "You really don't know, do you?" he sighed, shook his head. "Like I said, the bigger they come, the stupider they are. Nonetheless, I enjoyed our...intimacy."
Van Helsing felt suddenly nauseous. He sank back in the bed.
"You tricked me," he hissed. "You never intended to follow through with our bargain."
"It was very easy," Tallander, for of course it was he, smiled Carl's mischievous smile again. "You flattered yourself...thinking I might want you. I'm not interested in your strength, or your size, or anything else about you, for that matter. Your mind bores me."
"Bastard," Van Helsing growled. His gripped the bedclothes tightly, fighting the urge to kill Tallander where he stood. Instead he ground out, "Why? Why did you do it? Just to make me suffer? To torment me?"
"You were doing that perfectly well by yourself!" Tallander retorted. "My reasons were far less vulgar. It was about proving to your little friend just how powerful I can be....I don't think your friend believed me, when I told him that given the opportunity, I could conquer even you, make you betray yourself – and him. I decided to offer him some proof. He wept when you cut him. Have I explained everything sufficiently now – or would you like me to do it again in words of one syllable?"
Unable to look at the sneering face for another second, Van Helsing closed his eyes tightly. He had failed...it was over. There was nothing more he could do. He remained upon the bed as Tallander bustled about, dressing in his neat gentleman's clothing.
"It's almost lunchtime," he said cheerily, after a while. "Would you like anything?"
Van Helsing glowered at him, and Tallander shrugged. "How lazy it is! At least put some clothes on..."
He paused, eyes widening. Van Helsing watched as Tallander's face slowly drained of colour; the priest stood rigid, every sense alert.
"What is it?" Van Helsing asked, but Tallander had recovered himself, and was jaunty again.
"Nothing," he said, brightly. "But I think we have a visitor on the way...I heard a footstep on the stairs."
Van Helsing had heard nothing, but he rose quickly and threw on his clothes. A few moments later, a knock came at the door, and Tallander opened it to admit the landlady.
"There's someone here to see you," she said briskly, ignoring Van Helsing's unkempt appearance. "He's waiting for you downstairs. A priest, he is. Says his name's Father Michael."
Thanks so much for all your reviews, they mean a great deal to me! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Carl stared back at Van Helsing, his eyes wide and filled with unimaginable horror. Van Helsing reached out to him, wanting to comfort him – but before he could move closer, Carl had flung himself across the small distance between them and into Van Helsing's arms, where he rested his head against the bigger man's chest, and sobbed. Pained and shocked, Van Helsing held him, wondering what horrors Tallander must have been inflicting on the friar's mind to make him respond as violently as this.
"It's going to be all right, Carl," Van Helsing told his friend, in as soothing a tone as he could manage. "I'm going to help you. Everything will be all right."
Carl sniffed and snuggled closer, then raised his face to look at Van Helsing.
"I knew you wouldn't forsake me," he whispered. "I don't want to die, Gabriel; please, find some other way to end this!"
"I will," Van Helsing held him more tightly, "I promise you."
The smaller man grinned up at him, no sign of distress – or indeed anything else – in his eyes now.
"How very kind," he purred.
"Tallander," Van Helsing hissed. "It was you all along, wasn't it?"
"Can you be absolutely certain of that?" The priest asked, still smirking. "He begged you not to hurt him..."
"That was you," snapped Van Helsing.
"Positive?" Tallander shot back. Van Helsing had no answer. He had been so sure he had seen Carl...spoken to him...but then, the fervour of his distress followed by the abrupt mockery was out of character. Carl would not behave like that, of that Van Helsing was certain – but perhaps Carl's mind had become unhinged, trapped by Tallander? No, he could not be sure.
"Now for the rest of our bargain," Tallander continued. "You wanted, I believe, to trade. Is that still your intention?" his voice was brisk and businesslike.
"Yes," Van Helsing replied, grimly.
"Very good," Tallander clapped his hands. "You will, I hope, find the process enjoyable."
Van Helsing doubted it. "What does it involve?"
"There are various methods by which we might make the – exchange – all involving intense intimacy. I hope that doesn't bother you?" he paused, then before Van Helsing could answer, went on, "of course not, you would suffer any pain or degradation for your friend, wouldn't you? Noble man. How nice."
"Just tell me what I have to do." Van Helsing growled. His stomach was knotting at the prospect of any kind of 'intimacy' with this creature – but Tallander was right about one thing: he would do anything, anything at all, if it meant saving Carl.
Tallander smiled in a way Van Helsing really did not like; it was almost – coy, with an element of hideous pleasure underneath.
"As I said, various methods – and for the purposes of our bargain, you will accept whichever I choose."
Van Helsing hesitated.
"Or the deal is off," Tallander continued, bluntly.
"All right."
Tallander reached into Carl's bag of weapons, and extracted a small, sharp- edged dagger.
"An exchange of blood," he said. "Yours for your little friend's. You'll be required to drink it," he smirked. "And of course, you'll be required to make the cuts...it will hurt the friar horribly, I'm afraid, and leave a nasty scar. But there will be no mortal damage."
Van Helsing was a brave man, and willing to do even the most heinous thing if he believed it to be for the good...but he could not bring himself to injure Carl.
"No," he growled. "You said there were alternatives. Suggest one."
"No? What a shame. I'm afraid I don't take kindly to people going back on their word, Mr. Van Helsing. And I'm afraid that your dear friend will have to pay the price for that."
As Van Helsing watched in dumb horror, Tallander selected a sharp, short- bladed dagger from a bag of weapons in a corner of the room. He drew back his sleeve and placed the blade against his arm.
"This will hurt horribly," he said, pleasantly, cutting into the flesh. A thin line of blood appeared on Tallander's – on Carl's – pale skin.
"Stop!" Van Helsing made a grab at him, but Tallander immediately pressed the blade against his own throat.
"You wouldn't do it," Van Helsing said, but his tone betrayed his uncertainty. Tallander was insane enough to do it, perhaps. But what would be gain?
"I might, you know, if you annoyed me enough. Or I might cut off one of his hands. Wouldn't be much use as an inventor without them...alternatively, I could simply destroy his mind, and return him to you as a helpless, drooling, babbling wretch fit only for the asylum."
That image was too much for Van Helsing. He was sure Tallander was not bluffing, and that he could do all he threatened.
"All right," he said, very quietly.
"Good!" Tallander smiled, toying idly with the knife. "I'll need to make an incision in your neck, among other places. Don't worry...I have no interest in killing you. It will hurt, however." Tallander took the knife, and passed the blade slowly over a candle, heating it.
"Why are you doing that?" Van Helsing demanded.
"Oh, ritualistic purposes..." Tallander smirked.
"You're enjoying this," Van Helsing growled.
"Take off your shirt," said Tallander. "And don't flatter yourself that I've taken a fancy to you..." he chuckled. "I'm doing this because I want to degrade you, shame you, have power over you."
"Not exactly subtle, are you?"
"What's the point?" Tallander slipped off his own shirt, and Van Helsing looked away; but the smaller man grabbed his chin and forced his gaze back to him.
"A little out of training, isn't he, your friend the friar? I suppose he doesn't get much exercise in his laboratory. I can soon improve that."
"Shut up."
Tallander smiled again, and beckoned Van Helsing closer to him. "Just a little blood-letting, for your friend's sake...try to relax, this might sting a little." He drew the heated blade across Van Helsing's chest, inscribing a cross – down, back up, left, and right. It burned hideously, and the monster hunter fought not to cry out with the pain, clenching his fists tightly at his sides. Blood ran down his chest, across his stomach, soaking into the waistband of his trousers. Tallander watched it, apparently transfixed.
"Your turn," he breathed, and gave the knife to Van Helsing. He hesitated.
"Do it," Tallander hissed, "exactly as I did to you..."
Praying to God for forgiveness, Van Helsing pricked Tallander's – Carl's – pale skin with the blade.
"Deeper," the priest purred. Van Helsing did as he was told, eyes narrowed, teeth gritted. Blood poured down Carl's chest as Van Helsing transcribed the form of the cross.
"Is that it?" he demanded. Tallander shook his head.
"There will be many more cuts...some deeper than others, before morning." He took back the blade. "Bear your throat..."
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Van Helsing awoke slowly. His body felt raw, brutalised – but it was nothing compared to how he felt in his heart. Filthy. Disgusted with himself. He felt both as though he had been raped, and committed rape...thinking of Carl, taken along helplessly with their depraved blood- letting. It had become savage, violent, a contest, each man struggling to assert his personality over the other, with Van Helsing's physical strength doing little to aid him in the face of Tallander's horrible magnetism.
Van Helsing's face burned with shame as he remembered how he had torn into the pale flesh of Carl's body, mutilating it, tasting the raw coppery blood. He knew, of course, that Tallander had had him in his power, and that his behaviour was no more his fault than Tallander's was Carl's. But still...Tallander had said he would feel shamed, and he did.
Where was Tallander? Van Helsing listened for him in his mind. He had no idea what to expect of this possession – would he hear Tallander's voice? Feel his emotions? Or would his own personality simply begin to disappear, stolen piece by piece?
There was certainly no sign of the dark priest now. Van Helsing rolled over, wincing in pain, and was startled to find Carl sitting beside the bed, watching him. Anxiously Van Helsing looked his friend over for signs of injury, madness, whatever else Tallander might have done to him – but Carl looked perfectly serene, despite the many, thin cuts disfiguring his bare chest and arms, and throat. In fact, he was smiling. Could it be possible that this was over? That Van Helsing – or Carl, or both of them together – had defeated Tallander, and cast him out? Eagerly, Van Helsing sat up.
"Carl? Are you all right?"
The little friar looked amused. "Well, good morning. You've been asleep for such a long time."
"How much do you remember?" Van Helsing demanded. Carl, still smiling, stretched himself languorously.
"You're the one who suffers from amnesia, Gabriel...how much do you remember?" he grinned his wicked grin, and Van Helsing smiled back faintly, finding it odd that Carl should make a joke about something so hideous.
"What happened to him?"
"Tallander?"
"Yes, of course Tallander."
Carl's grin widened. "You really don't know, do you?" he sighed, shook his head. "Like I said, the bigger they come, the stupider they are. Nonetheless, I enjoyed our...intimacy."
Van Helsing felt suddenly nauseous. He sank back in the bed.
"You tricked me," he hissed. "You never intended to follow through with our bargain."
"It was very easy," Tallander, for of course it was he, smiled Carl's mischievous smile again. "You flattered yourself...thinking I might want you. I'm not interested in your strength, or your size, or anything else about you, for that matter. Your mind bores me."
"Bastard," Van Helsing growled. His gripped the bedclothes tightly, fighting the urge to kill Tallander where he stood. Instead he ground out, "Why? Why did you do it? Just to make me suffer? To torment me?"
"You were doing that perfectly well by yourself!" Tallander retorted. "My reasons were far less vulgar. It was about proving to your little friend just how powerful I can be....I don't think your friend believed me, when I told him that given the opportunity, I could conquer even you, make you betray yourself – and him. I decided to offer him some proof. He wept when you cut him. Have I explained everything sufficiently now – or would you like me to do it again in words of one syllable?"
Unable to look at the sneering face for another second, Van Helsing closed his eyes tightly. He had failed...it was over. There was nothing more he could do. He remained upon the bed as Tallander bustled about, dressing in his neat gentleman's clothing.
"It's almost lunchtime," he said cheerily, after a while. "Would you like anything?"
Van Helsing glowered at him, and Tallander shrugged. "How lazy it is! At least put some clothes on..."
He paused, eyes widening. Van Helsing watched as Tallander's face slowly drained of colour; the priest stood rigid, every sense alert.
"What is it?" Van Helsing asked, but Tallander had recovered himself, and was jaunty again.
"Nothing," he said, brightly. "But I think we have a visitor on the way...I heard a footstep on the stairs."
Van Helsing had heard nothing, but he rose quickly and threw on his clothes. A few moments later, a knock came at the door, and Tallander opened it to admit the landlady.
"There's someone here to see you," she said briskly, ignoring Van Helsing's unkempt appearance. "He's waiting for you downstairs. A priest, he is. Says his name's Father Michael."