Re: reviews— Thanks, Katter! Glad to see you're sticking with me!
Thanks RogueCajunOzsgrl— glad to see you're gettin' with it... :)
sorry if I'm obfuscating, Sirinial! I'll try to clarify things soon... Van Helsing's just kind of carrying Anna around with him, like a guardian angel almost— she's become the voice of his conscience, if that's not too trite a way of putting it.
And don't worry— trust me, Hannah's not got a chance! :)
Well, actually— you'll have to wait and see about that, won't you?
I found an incredibly hot pic of the Dwenham and now its up on the back of my door— my parents are beginning to wonder why I spend so much time in my room staring at my door— also my brother lent me a CD which has the song "Return to Oz" on it (by the Scissor Sisters) and of course that reminds me of every hot Aussie I've ever seen. I listen to it all the time and wish I had been born in Australia.
Chapter Seventeen: Photograph
The air is cold, my body tense
The way I feel does not make sense
Van Helsing sat still and tried to compose his thoughts, to form a plan of action.
Carl had been kidnapped— and so had the blueprints for his weapon, including the ones on the tablecloth.
The materials likewise had been stolen.
Therefore, whoever had accumulated all these things had some overridingly keen interest in Carl's weapon.
Brilliant deduction, Gabriel.
The voice inside his head was that of Anna, laughing at him. Well, it was easy to laugh from her position. If there was any knowledge after death it must be total and utter. Anna would know everything.
That being said, he thought, why don't you help me out a little—?
Nothing answered him and he knew with an engulfing wave of sorrow that there was nothing to reply. He was alone with his thoughts. And Hannah, he added mentally, but she was asleep.
Sssnnnrrrkkd.
And snoring.
Van Helsing allowed her rhythmic noise-making to set a time and tempo to his thoughts.
— Carl is gone and I must find him.
Snnnrrkd.
— Whoever took him must be planning to build—
Snnrrkk.
—the weapon— that's not good.
Snnrrrkkkdd (burp).
— I have to stop it— but how? How—
Snnrrkd.
—do I find him? Well— it must have—
Snnnnnnnrkd.
—something to do with that Simon Gen—
Sssssssssnnrrrggg.
—tle— and Carl's lady, by extension.
SnnnnrrRRRR!
— This is a very serious matter and I must not let myself be distracted.
SSSNNRRRRRGH!
Van Helsing couldn't help himself. He picked up one of the throw pillows that carpeted every flat, stationary surface and hurled it at Hannah. It struck her full in the face, knocking her spectacles askew and bringing her awake with a start, but by that time Van Helsing was already out of the room.
He reseated himself in the dining room and stared at the dark wood of the table.
This Simon Gentle was undoubtedly mixed up in it. There was no question about that. And this Tamerlaine? Carl's Tamerlaine?
There was the fact that she claimed to be innocent. There was the fact that Carl located her locked in the tower. There was the fact that friendly, unassuming Carl was actually one of the most astute judges of character that Van Helsing had ever met.
Especially where women were concerned.
"You like her, don't you? Hmmph. Don't deny it. I know how you get."
Van Helsing gave the little friar an indulgent smile. "How would you know how I get? You've never been on assignment with me."
"Are you forgetting London?"
"There were no ladies in London. Forgive me— there were no particular ladies in London."
"There was the one in the shop—"
"What one in what shop?"
"When we went to fit me for a corset."
"Oh, that one in the shop. She fancied you, Carl, not me."
"Oh?" said the friar, looking pleased. "Do you really think so? Well, I— look, don't change the subject, we were talking about you here. Now, do you admire this woman or not?"
Van Helsing looked down at Anna's slumbering form. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes— in many ways, I admire her very much."
"There, you see?" said Carl with a self-satisfied smile. "I knew it. She's got to you. Quick work, too, we've only been here two hours." Like Van Helsing, he looked down at Anna. "She must be good," he said, almost wistfully. "Anyone who can fight so long for such a noble cause must be truly good— don't you think?"
And then, Van Helsing thought with a sigh, there were the counts against. Tamerlaine had refused to escape her captors when given the chance. She was undoubtedly a peculiar woman— and of course there was the little matter of all those murders—
For Carl's sake, Van Helsing would have liked to believe her innocent. But Carl's needs, he was afraid, fell second to justice—
Could she be innocent? Call it a frame-up— someone wanted to kill all those people and needed a scapegoat. She was, of course, a natural— a goodly part of her life spent in an asylum— all her family dead but her reclusive, disapproving uncle and this supposed brother—
This brother.
This Simon So-Called-Gentle.
He was the only accessible link to the chain— the only thread Van Helsing could grasp.
Perhaps if he pulled hard enough the whole plot would unravel.
B.R.E.A.K
The home of Tamerlaine was modest and well-kept. Van Helsing was admitted by a tall, saturnine butler named, unfortunately, Groines.
Van Helsing, well-schooled in the art of impassiveness, didn't blink an eye.
He was conducted into a small drawing room and waited a few minutes alone. He took off his hat and twisted it in his hands. There was a familiar, unsettled feel to the room— perhaps due to the fact that it belonged to a former insane-asylum inmate.
He found himself wondering about Carl's lady. He realized that, though he'd already formed a strong impression of her personality, he didn't even know what she looked like.
There were photographs on the mantel.
He approached and looked at them curiously. Posed carefully, the woman in one photograph had pale skin and a round, serious face. She stared at the camera with dark, grave eyes. Her hair was piled ont op of her head, her dress a light color, he couldn't tell what exactly from the sepia tones. The man standing at her side and slightly behind her was Simon Gentle, his hair cut short and carefully combed, his body clothed in a dusty black suit. Van Helsingstudied it and found himself curiously unable to form a concrete opinion of Tamerlaine's looks— her expression was so serious, so unmoveable—
The next picture, however, wasn't formally posed. Instead, the photographer had caught Tamerlaine laughing, a wide smile displacing the gravity of her expression, her face happy, and one dimple apparent on her right cheek. There, Van Helsing thought, she was indeed lovely.
Off to one side stood Simon Gentle, her supposed brother, looking at the laughing young woman with a peculiar expression.
No brother, Van Helsing knew, should ever look like that at his sister.
His eyes returned to the first picture and he saw something he did not like. Simon's hand, placed protectively on Tamerlaine's shoulder— her hand, lying in her lap—
"Find anything interesting?" queried a voice behind him. Van Helsing turned around quite, quite slowly.
"Yes," he said levelly, "and my friend Mr. Hampton is, I'm afraid, going to be most unhappy."