A/N Sorry for the slight delay of the posting of this latest chapter!
Slight warning here for a little naughty language, nothing too serious!
And plenty of angst, of course. Thank you SO much for all your wonderful
reviews, I was ecstatic when they got to the 100 mark!
This is the penultimate chapter (probably; anyway, we're very near the end now). XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Van Helsing paced the corridor, distracted, unable to think clearly. His mind was full of the horrible image of his own hand destroying his closest friend – killing that which he cared about most, yet again. Was he doomed to spend his life doing this? Were his lost memories full of the same tragedies?
Unable to bear his own company anymore, and paranoid about leaving Talander alone for too long, Van Helsing finally returned to his own room. Tallander was sitting at the desk, writing in a notebook, a sulky expression on his face.
"He's told you?" the priest said.
"Yes."
"Where is he now?"
"Gone for a walk."
Tallander snorted, and returned to his book.
"Fool thinks he can harm me," the priest muttered, as he scribbled. "Imbecile. He failed before, he will fail again – even with you to help him, dear Gabriel."
Van Helsing ignored this, instead leaning over Tallander's shoulder to see what he was writing.
"Don't be nosy!" the smaller man scowled at him, then shrugged and shoved the book towards Van Helsing.
"Just doodles. No grand plan, no programme of ceremonies, no lists of all the heinous things I intend to do when I regain my power." He giggled, suddenly in good humour again. "Pretty pictures," he murmured.
Van Helsing took the book. The little sketches – of Van Helsing, Father Michael, and two other, strange men – were undoubtedly good. Next to them was scribbled a legend, in tiny, almost illegible script. Van Helsing squinted at it, and was just able to make out the words. Strange, disconnected words and phrases, all in Latin, mostly disjointed but occasionally a full phrase was found. It reminded Van Helsing of examples of automatic writing he had seen produced by spiritualist mediums.
Aqua...aqua et igni interdicere homini...
excessus...funesto...vivo...adflictatio adflictatio adflictatio adflictatio!!!!...
.aqua....aqua....aqua....aqua....
The word 'aqua' – water – repeated over and over, becoming larger and more insistent. Van Helsing gazed blankly at the page.
"Why did you write this...?" he asked Tallander. The priest stared at him.
"I wrote nothing. Why, what does it say?" snatched the book back. "Oh...oh, this. I was practising my Latin. Doodles...little doodles." He smiled serenely at Van Helsing, but his eyes were stone, for he knew that Van Helsing knew the truth.
Carl had written those words. And perhaps – just perhaps – it was a message. Leaving Tallander to his own devices, Van Helsing withdrew to Reicher's room to think. 'Water' he could not understand the purpose of... "aqua et igni interdicere homini" had to do with banishment. And the repetition of "adflictatio" bothered him immensely. Adflictatio. Torture.
What is he doing to you, Carl? the monster hunter thought, heart aching with the possibilities. What is it you're trying to tell me? XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Tallander perched on the edge of the bed. He was bored, and impatient – and now a little concerned. Reicher, Reicher here, hunting him! The impudence of it! That cunning, sneaky little snake, coming after him like this, threatening to ruin all Tallander's lovely plans. And now, to make things worse, the friar was starting to fight back. Struggling for control. Tallander sneered; the sanctimonious little Bible-basher had no hope. He was intelligent, yes, but he was weak, and easily seduced by pleasures of the flesh...
Why fight me, little friar? Tallander purred now; the sooner he forced the man to acquiesce to him, the better. Reicher could spoil everything...
You know why, came the response, deep inside him. I won't allow your evil to be unleashed on the world.
You can't stop it. Even your beloved dim-witted monster hunter can't stop it. No one can. This is my destiny, not yours. I was possessing lives when your great-great-grandfather was puking and shitting himself in his crib, and I'll be possessing them when all the little bastards you've doubtless sired have grown up and lie puking and shitting on their deathbeds...and when their children have...and their children's children...
You'd like me to give in, submit to you of my own free will...
What a nonsensical sentence.
But it isn't. I can choose to submit. But I won't.
You're a nuisance, is what you are! Tallander's tone was almost fond. I only want to be nice to you. You've seen what I can do for you. Imagine it – no more conscience, free to curse and drink and fornicate as you please...
I do that anyway, came the friar's voice, sounding smug, and I'll continue to do so when you're puking and shitting yourself on your metaphorical deathbed, Tallander.
Such language! gasped the priest.
You have nothing to offer me. If you want to take my physical body, you'll just have to kill me, won't you? Except we both know that's impossible. I acquiesce, or nothing. We just go on like this, forever and ever...your voice in my head, my voice in yours. And I'll guarantee, Tallander, that I'll drive you insane long before you could do the same to me.
There was really nothing to say to that. Tallander settled for digging the point of his favourite short-handled dagger into the friar's arm, instead, and slowly slitting the skin. He was rewarded with an agonised scream – no, more a squeal, the noise lambs make at the slaughter.
That's it, little friar...squeal for me! There's a good boy. Now be quiet, or I'll keep on doing this.
This...this is all you know, the friar's voice gasped back, raw with pain. pain, hurt, despair...it's all you understand.
Only because you won't...bloody...let go! Tallander grunted, punctuating each word with a stab of the dagger into Carl's flesh. Stupid, stubborn creature! Do you think I want to hurt this body of ours? You're making me do it, he stopped, laid the dagger down. I don't want to hurt you, he said softly. Poor thing...I like you. I chose you, didn't I, above all the others? I could have had your monster hunter. Or that Cardinal you hold in such respect. I could have had your friend Michael...
Except someone else has him now, don't they, Tallander?
The priest cursed. He had given the little swine an opening. At first the friar had been terrified, timid, hiding from him, never speaking unless spoken to – Tallander had coaxed him out of his shell, hoping for interesting conversations during the long, boring process of taking control...but now he was bold. Partly anger – he had been different since Tallander had had his fun with Van Helsing. The priest remembered with amusement how the friar had suddenly come to life inside his head, bursting with righteous fury when his beloved monster hunter was brought to heel by the sheer power of Tallander's personality.
You talk far too much, Tallander growled. I used to find it amusing, endearing, even – but it's fast becoming annoying.
My voice in your head...for eternity. If you don't like it you know what you can do.
You can't fight forever. You know what I'm capable of.
If you hurt me enough to drive me mad, Tallander, I'll just talk all the more, you know.
It doesn't matter, because it's almost over. You won't be able to resist me when I've drawn power from my flock, little friar. I won't need your...consent...anymore. I'll just take what I want of you and leave your soul to burn in Hell. There was silence. That shut you up, didn't it? And you know what else I'll do, don't you...to your monster hunter? I've told you before what my plans are for him. No quick, honourable death for the lauded Van Helsing...a lifetime of humble service will do him good, I think. Teach him some manners."
A long pause, and Tallander began to smile at his victory. Then the friar said,
I pity you, Tallander. You've forgotten everything that was light and good. You've forgotten compassion, you've forgotten love. I pity you.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Reicher had not yet returned from his 'walk'. Van Helsing was beginning to wonder whether the mysterious being had returned to the ether from whence he came, leaving Michael stumbling bewildered through an unfamiliar city. Exasperated, he paced the room again and again, letting his mind wander. He had given up trying to form a coherent plan, and had decided to allow instinct to take over. Carl's message meant something, he was sure – but he was equally sure that he would not understand it until the right moment came. He was tense and agitated, but Van Helsing felt new hope. He had something to work with.
Tallander, in the next room, was unusually quiet. Perhaps he was asleep – thinking about it, Van Helsing had not seen the priest sleep since he had taken possession of Carl. No sleep, no food. Perhaps he did not need it; but Carl's body presumably still did. If – when! – Carl was freed, he would be in a bad condition if this deprivation continued. Van Helsing slipped downstairs, where the landlady and lord were nowhere in evidence – it was after eleven now, pitch dark outside, with a full moon. He shuddered a little when he saw it gleaming through the dusty window, but ignored the unpleasant memories it awoke and concentrated on taking what he wanted from the kitchen. Simple, nutritious food. A pitcher of cold beer. He took them upstairs, determined to make Tallander eat.
Moonlight fell upon the door of the room Van Helsing had once shared with Carl, and would, he sincerely hoped again – soon. He still had time to discover the meaning of Carl's message. There was still hope. He opened the door.
"I've brought you some food," Van Helsing began – then stopped in astonishment and anger.
The room was empty. Tallander was gone.
This is the penultimate chapter (probably; anyway, we're very near the end now). XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Van Helsing paced the corridor, distracted, unable to think clearly. His mind was full of the horrible image of his own hand destroying his closest friend – killing that which he cared about most, yet again. Was he doomed to spend his life doing this? Were his lost memories full of the same tragedies?
Unable to bear his own company anymore, and paranoid about leaving Talander alone for too long, Van Helsing finally returned to his own room. Tallander was sitting at the desk, writing in a notebook, a sulky expression on his face.
"He's told you?" the priest said.
"Yes."
"Where is he now?"
"Gone for a walk."
Tallander snorted, and returned to his book.
"Fool thinks he can harm me," the priest muttered, as he scribbled. "Imbecile. He failed before, he will fail again – even with you to help him, dear Gabriel."
Van Helsing ignored this, instead leaning over Tallander's shoulder to see what he was writing.
"Don't be nosy!" the smaller man scowled at him, then shrugged and shoved the book towards Van Helsing.
"Just doodles. No grand plan, no programme of ceremonies, no lists of all the heinous things I intend to do when I regain my power." He giggled, suddenly in good humour again. "Pretty pictures," he murmured.
Van Helsing took the book. The little sketches – of Van Helsing, Father Michael, and two other, strange men – were undoubtedly good. Next to them was scribbled a legend, in tiny, almost illegible script. Van Helsing squinted at it, and was just able to make out the words. Strange, disconnected words and phrases, all in Latin, mostly disjointed but occasionally a full phrase was found. It reminded Van Helsing of examples of automatic writing he had seen produced by spiritualist mediums.
Aqua...aqua et igni interdicere homini...
excessus...funesto...vivo...adflictatio adflictatio adflictatio adflictatio!!!!...
.aqua....aqua....aqua....aqua....
The word 'aqua' – water – repeated over and over, becoming larger and more insistent. Van Helsing gazed blankly at the page.
"Why did you write this...?" he asked Tallander. The priest stared at him.
"I wrote nothing. Why, what does it say?" snatched the book back. "Oh...oh, this. I was practising my Latin. Doodles...little doodles." He smiled serenely at Van Helsing, but his eyes were stone, for he knew that Van Helsing knew the truth.
Carl had written those words. And perhaps – just perhaps – it was a message. Leaving Tallander to his own devices, Van Helsing withdrew to Reicher's room to think. 'Water' he could not understand the purpose of... "aqua et igni interdicere homini" had to do with banishment. And the repetition of "adflictatio" bothered him immensely. Adflictatio. Torture.
What is he doing to you, Carl? the monster hunter thought, heart aching with the possibilities. What is it you're trying to tell me? XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Tallander perched on the edge of the bed. He was bored, and impatient – and now a little concerned. Reicher, Reicher here, hunting him! The impudence of it! That cunning, sneaky little snake, coming after him like this, threatening to ruin all Tallander's lovely plans. And now, to make things worse, the friar was starting to fight back. Struggling for control. Tallander sneered; the sanctimonious little Bible-basher had no hope. He was intelligent, yes, but he was weak, and easily seduced by pleasures of the flesh...
Why fight me, little friar? Tallander purred now; the sooner he forced the man to acquiesce to him, the better. Reicher could spoil everything...
You know why, came the response, deep inside him. I won't allow your evil to be unleashed on the world.
You can't stop it. Even your beloved dim-witted monster hunter can't stop it. No one can. This is my destiny, not yours. I was possessing lives when your great-great-grandfather was puking and shitting himself in his crib, and I'll be possessing them when all the little bastards you've doubtless sired have grown up and lie puking and shitting on their deathbeds...and when their children have...and their children's children...
You'd like me to give in, submit to you of my own free will...
What a nonsensical sentence.
But it isn't. I can choose to submit. But I won't.
You're a nuisance, is what you are! Tallander's tone was almost fond. I only want to be nice to you. You've seen what I can do for you. Imagine it – no more conscience, free to curse and drink and fornicate as you please...
I do that anyway, came the friar's voice, sounding smug, and I'll continue to do so when you're puking and shitting yourself on your metaphorical deathbed, Tallander.
Such language! gasped the priest.
You have nothing to offer me. If you want to take my physical body, you'll just have to kill me, won't you? Except we both know that's impossible. I acquiesce, or nothing. We just go on like this, forever and ever...your voice in my head, my voice in yours. And I'll guarantee, Tallander, that I'll drive you insane long before you could do the same to me.
There was really nothing to say to that. Tallander settled for digging the point of his favourite short-handled dagger into the friar's arm, instead, and slowly slitting the skin. He was rewarded with an agonised scream – no, more a squeal, the noise lambs make at the slaughter.
That's it, little friar...squeal for me! There's a good boy. Now be quiet, or I'll keep on doing this.
This...this is all you know, the friar's voice gasped back, raw with pain. pain, hurt, despair...it's all you understand.
Only because you won't...bloody...let go! Tallander grunted, punctuating each word with a stab of the dagger into Carl's flesh. Stupid, stubborn creature! Do you think I want to hurt this body of ours? You're making me do it, he stopped, laid the dagger down. I don't want to hurt you, he said softly. Poor thing...I like you. I chose you, didn't I, above all the others? I could have had your monster hunter. Or that Cardinal you hold in such respect. I could have had your friend Michael...
Except someone else has him now, don't they, Tallander?
The priest cursed. He had given the little swine an opening. At first the friar had been terrified, timid, hiding from him, never speaking unless spoken to – Tallander had coaxed him out of his shell, hoping for interesting conversations during the long, boring process of taking control...but now he was bold. Partly anger – he had been different since Tallander had had his fun with Van Helsing. The priest remembered with amusement how the friar had suddenly come to life inside his head, bursting with righteous fury when his beloved monster hunter was brought to heel by the sheer power of Tallander's personality.
You talk far too much, Tallander growled. I used to find it amusing, endearing, even – but it's fast becoming annoying.
My voice in your head...for eternity. If you don't like it you know what you can do.
You can't fight forever. You know what I'm capable of.
If you hurt me enough to drive me mad, Tallander, I'll just talk all the more, you know.
It doesn't matter, because it's almost over. You won't be able to resist me when I've drawn power from my flock, little friar. I won't need your...consent...anymore. I'll just take what I want of you and leave your soul to burn in Hell. There was silence. That shut you up, didn't it? And you know what else I'll do, don't you...to your monster hunter? I've told you before what my plans are for him. No quick, honourable death for the lauded Van Helsing...a lifetime of humble service will do him good, I think. Teach him some manners."
A long pause, and Tallander began to smile at his victory. Then the friar said,
I pity you, Tallander. You've forgotten everything that was light and good. You've forgotten compassion, you've forgotten love. I pity you.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Reicher had not yet returned from his 'walk'. Van Helsing was beginning to wonder whether the mysterious being had returned to the ether from whence he came, leaving Michael stumbling bewildered through an unfamiliar city. Exasperated, he paced the room again and again, letting his mind wander. He had given up trying to form a coherent plan, and had decided to allow instinct to take over. Carl's message meant something, he was sure – but he was equally sure that he would not understand it until the right moment came. He was tense and agitated, but Van Helsing felt new hope. He had something to work with.
Tallander, in the next room, was unusually quiet. Perhaps he was asleep – thinking about it, Van Helsing had not seen the priest sleep since he had taken possession of Carl. No sleep, no food. Perhaps he did not need it; but Carl's body presumably still did. If – when! – Carl was freed, he would be in a bad condition if this deprivation continued. Van Helsing slipped downstairs, where the landlady and lord were nowhere in evidence – it was after eleven now, pitch dark outside, with a full moon. He shuddered a little when he saw it gleaming through the dusty window, but ignored the unpleasant memories it awoke and concentrated on taking what he wanted from the kitchen. Simple, nutritious food. A pitcher of cold beer. He took them upstairs, determined to make Tallander eat.
Moonlight fell upon the door of the room Van Helsing had once shared with Carl, and would, he sincerely hoped again – soon. He still had time to discover the meaning of Carl's message. There was still hope. He opened the door.
"I've brought you some food," Van Helsing began – then stopped in astonishment and anger.
The room was empty. Tallander was gone.