For what seemed to be the fifteenth time in the last two hours, Victor straightened his tie. He had been nervous all week about this presentation. Granted, it was natural; his proposal was new and radical, something never before theorized in the scope that he was going to suggest. He had all faith, however, in his work.
But still, he was afraid. Ever since he had shifted from practical surgery to the field of research, Victor had been plagued by an uncertain future. His fortunes dependent on support, his ability to win grants and fellowships, and most importantly, forever plagued by the chance of failure. And sadly, his own youth had been a major factor in much of his shortcomings in that ability to gain support.
In a world where the elder scientists were more respected than their more youthful compatriots, Victor von Frankenstein was sadly overlooked in his field. Medical science seemed not to seek true advances, only the further refinement of existing methods. And the ideas of the young were commonly brushed away by long held traditional beliefs. It was a wonder at times that he'd even been given this appointment for presentation.
He stepped towards the auditorium. In his years as a student here at Goldstadf University, he had been in that very chamber a thousand times during his years of medical study. He had even assisted Professor Waldman many times in teaching the first- and second-year courses.
And now, he stood there at the podium, about to have a nervous breakdown. Seated in this room today were not the fresh faces of eager students, but the faces of many well known physicians and professors of medical science. Colleagues who even now looked down on the youngest man to apply for the Goldstadf Fellowship, the most prestigious fellowship in Romania, and one of the most esteemed in all of Eastern Europe. With it came a rather large grant and access to the university's considerable resources.
He was greeted warmly by his old teacher and mentor, Professor Henry Waldman. The professor had a thick mop of graying brown hair, and bushy eyebrows of the same coloration. But his posture was most unrevealing of his age as he stood rigid and straight like a first-year military cadet rather than a man who was due to retire in just a few short years.
"Gentlemen," Waldman said to the audience as he turned to face his colleges. "It is my pleasure to now introduce to you Victor von Frankenstein. He is a graduate of this very school, and left us at the top of his class two years ago." He paused and noticed the looks of pride in the audience. "He has been a student of mine since his first year, and has distinguished himself both as a surgical resident and as my research assistant. He also has been published in both the Munich Review of Medicine and the Paris Journal of Surgical Science.
"Today, however, he comes before you with a presentation of his own work, and although he has kept the subject of such a secret, I have no doubts that it will be of great interest to us all."
Waldman turned to Victor and smiled while gesturing him to take the stand. "They're all yours, Victor."
With a heavy sigh, Victor nodded and stepped up to the podium. "Distinguished guests, I welcome, and give my thanks for coming," he began. He made an effort to show as much respect for these men as possible, for his actions here would determine his future with the university. "I am pleased to see so many well known and respected faces from all the fields of medical science." Victor allowed himself a faint smile. "With all due modesty, I believe that what I am about to propose will be of interest to each and every one of you, and will have a dramatic impact on all our various domains of study."
He took a deep breath. "Nearly twenty-five hundred years ago, medicine took on a radical change when Hippocrates established once and for all that there were no supernatural causes for disease, only natural ones. A few hundred years later, Galen established the first medical theories based on the principles of scientific experimentation. In the centuries since then, we have used experiments to discover those causes, and as a result, we continue to learn of anatomy and of the body as a machine." Again, Victor paused. It was just about time now to present his work, but still, he needed to soften up the audience, bring them into what he was trying to do. "And at the threshold of the twentieth century, we stand on the brink of new and exciting discoveries."
There was some movement in the audience, and, fortunately, Victor could see quite a few nods of agreement. Good, he was doing well so far, may as well continue. "However," he interjected then. "Many significant mysteries still remain. Cases that defy our explanation. We have seen identical patients with identical illnesses, some who survive, and some who do not." He paused again, noticing that his hands were starting to shake. Calm down, he thought to himself. It was then that Victor smiled and returned his attention to his presentation. "For example, why does pneumonia sometimes take the life of a healthy young man, while at other times allow an elderly man to recover? What forces are those that promote healing, those that hasten death? Why do some patients mend more quickly than others, while some never at all?"
"God," came the remark, though in a joking tone, which produced a low laughter from the audience. Victor allowed himself to chuckle at the comment, since he knew it was in good humor, and not meant to offend. Plus, he was ready for it.
"Yes," he replied. "Yes, as any faithful man, I must agree that perhaps God has a plan for each of us that determines how long we live, and when we die." He once more paused, because now, it was about to get tricky. "Yet has God not also allowed medical science to intervene and save lives? If this is so, then perhaps the healers are truly doing God's work."
The laughter stopped. And while Victor had been ready for such a reaction, he had to admit even to himself, it was un-nerving. They were all preparing for what came next. "I submit to you all that there is in fact an underlying force to all of our work...invisible, almost undetectable...a force of life."
The audience was very attentive now, some almost straining forward. And this, Victor knew, was the reaction he both expected, and dreaded. At this point, he could go either way. He was afraid. But he had to continue, or all his efforts would be for naught.
"We have, for some time, known about the role of electricity in the function of the human body. Chemical galvanism and electro-biology were born more than a hundred years ago, when Luigi Galvani caused the leg of a recently deceased frog to twitch through the application of electricity."
Several men nodded, knowing well what Victor spoke of. "My subsequent research," he continued, "suggests the existence of a force underlying even electrical impulses; a life force, if you will. What I submit to you is that this life force can be manipulated and focused through the careful application of electrical and magnetic forces. Through this, it can actually be harnessed to promote healing and health."
Immediately, the room broke out into dozens of separate conversations. Victor paled slightly from what he could discern from some of those conversations; shock and indignation. Things had just gone very bad for his future, for his work.
"Gentlemen, please!" cried the voice of Professor Waldman. Victor turned to see that his mentor was trying to restore order, and was failing. He should have known that his theories, his ideas, would be criticized. These men were too set in the old ways, not willing to see into the future.
"I know what I'm proposing is revolutionary," Victor said once things had calmed down. "However, is it any more revolutionary than Pasteur's work? He showed us a world of invisible micro-organisms. Is it impossible then to believe that there is even more that we do not see, that we do not yet understand?"
There was a snort. "What do you suggest?" boomed a voice from the audience. "That there is some magic ray that can heal a wound, mend a broken bone, or clear the body of any disease and illness?"
"No more magical than sulfur powder," Victor replied while attempting to keep his own calm.
"And what if you applied enough of this 'life force' to Galvani's frog?" another voice called. Victor now paled, even as the question was continued. "Would it get up and hop away?"
He gulped. It was something that had tickled in the back of his mind, but he'd never really thought on it fully. But now, he had to answer that very possibility. "In theory," he said, voice wavering from fear. "In theory, yes, but-"
There was a great roar of voices now. Half were calls of scorn, the other half was peals of laughter, but they all meant the same thing; he had failed. It was saddening, really, that such a new age revolution in medicine was being put down in favor of tradition, but in some ways, he did not blame them. They only saw what worked, not what might be possible.
"Utter blasphemy!"
His eyes snapped open, now filled not with fear and resignation, but wounded pride and anger. "No, not blasphemy!" he called back, almost instantaneous in reaction. "Science!"
The room went quiet, and Victor now found a new courage swelling up inside of him. "Did they not call it blasphemy when Galileo proposed the idea that the Earth was not the center of the universe, that the Earth in fact orbited the sun!" he called out, hoping that perhaps he still had a chance. "Did they not once call medicine itself a blasphemy, saying that it was witchcraft and black magic to be human and have the power to heal, to save lives!"
"But man does not have the power to give life!" came the angry shout. "What you are proposing is that we, as mortal man, have the power to do what only God can!"
"We already can create life," Victor replied. He breathed deeply, calming himself. It would do no good to lose his temper now, not when he was so close. "For countless ages, mankind has proven that he can create life, give life. A human child is all the proof we need of that. But this is not about, as you seem to say, overthrowing the power of God, far from it. This is about medicine, about overcoming death, to allow life to continue as long as possible." He sighed, looking down for a moment at the hardbound folder that rested on the podium. "Gentlemen, I know that what I propose is extraordinary, but I ask that you read the contents of the folders before you. They contain all my experimental records and the findings of my research."
Looking out over the crowd, Victor saw nothing but blank faces, and sighed in defeat. The response to his fellowship application would not come for weeks, but he didn't need that to let him know what was already said here, in the faces of his betters. He already knew the answer.
He had failed. Failed his dream, failed himself, and more importantly, he had failed the world. But still, he raised his head to meet the eyes of the audience. "I thank you for your time, gentlemen," he said, and gathered up his notes and belongings from the podium.
His face was flushed, and as he walked off, Victor could hear the voices from his colleagues. They were disapproving, almost accusational. For such a distinguished group, it was the equivalent of catcalls and the hurling of fruit and vegetables. It was an embarrassment to him, that these men were his betters, and yet they didn't even have the decency to at least consider his work. They had already decided his fate, he knew it.
"Victor, are you alright?"
He stopped and turned to see Professor Waldman walking towards him. The man's bright lit eyes were filled with concern, and Victor only gave a sigh. "I'll be fine," he replied, though there was sadness in his voice. "My career is no doubt over, though." All because those pompous fools won't see that I could be right, he wanted to say, but didn't. He had more respect for himself than that, and he did not wish to lower himself to that level. No, better to push such words away in favor of maintaining dignity. "I'm sorry."
Waldman shook his head. "You always will have a place with me," he said warmly, placing his hand on Victor's shoulder. "I don't care what those men say, you are a genius. There's much we can do together."
There was a nod of acknowledgement. Victor knew that it was true. Waldman's work was good science. And the professor was making indeed slow, yet still grand progress; new procedures, new techniques. Yet, Victor knew that it would most likely be a waste of his time, compared to what he could be doing, to what he should be accomplishing. In a decade, he knew, his research on the life force would advance medicine in more ways that they had in the last two thousand years. In just a few years, he could dwarf everything that Waldman had done in his entire career.
It was prideful to think it, perhaps even outright arrogant, but it was true.
"I thank you," Victor said while shifting his grip on his belongings. "But I must decline."
For a moment, Waldman studied his young friend. He could see the distress and the feeling of failure in Victor's young eyes. "Do not let this defeat you," he said finally, clapping Victor on the back. "It is but a setback. Do not let it consume you, and please do consider my offer."
He paused, then nodded and smiled. It was then that Victor von Frankenstein departed.
It was a full two weeks before Victor had returned to his family home in Romania. He had needed to get away from his troubles, from the utter humiliation he had faced at Goldstadf. But really, despite having taken such a long holiday, Victor never really had gone on the trip. He knew it well that his mind was still plagued by his work. And because of that, when he finally returned home, it was all he could think about.
There was only one solution. His work had to continue. He had the family holdings, some income, and he could set up a laboratory in his house. It wouldn't have the staff nor the resources of the university, but it was a start. And then, when he had proven his work, perhaps then he would be recognized as the brilliant young mind that he was. But it would be years before it would bring results. Science depended on experiments, data, reproducible results, and revolutionary science was no different. There would be years of work, of working with animals, and he would have to make do with what equipment he could afford.
And for the first time in weeks, he felt hope. It might not be the Goldstadf Fellowship, but once he could prove his work, show those men that he was right, it would be. And so, it was enough for now.
Victor at last stepped into his house, where his few servants stood waiting to greet him. It did feel good to be home. It was evening before he had unpacked and returned to his place as master of the household, but all that mattered was that he was home.
A large pile of correspondence demanded his attention, but Victor decided to let it wait until morning. He had much to do this night. Sitting at his desk, Victor began jotting down notes, a list of things he would need to begin his work. If he was going to situate this lab in his own home, there was much to be done.
Less than an hour into his work, Victor was interrupted as his butler, Gerald, came to inform him that someone was waiting at the door. "A Count Tepes," Gerald stated. "I asked him to return in the morning, but he was quite insistent on seeing you now." He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, sir. The hour is quite indecent."
It was unusual. "Tepes?" Victor repeated while rising from his desk. He had heard of the Tepes family, and certainly, he'd once met a man who had introduced himself as 'Lord Tepes', but that had been out in London. More so, that meeting had been in broad daylight. So if this was the same man, why not wait until morning? "Any other name he gave?"
Gerald nodded. "Yes, he says his name is Dracula Tepes."
Victor froze for a moment. That name was familiar. But surely, it could not be that Count Dracula. Certainly, the Tepes family hade many descendents, perhaps this man was one of them and had been named in honor of his ancestor.
The foyer was empty. Victor flashed Gerald a confused look.
"He would not leave, yet he would not enter."
Now his curiosity was getting the better of him. A man with a well known family name, insisting on meeting at night, and he would not enter. Victor was finding old stories from his childhood crawling out from the back of his mind, almost like a warning beacon. He quickly pushed it aside, sure that it was nothing. With a sharp breath, Victor walked to the front door to greet his guest and came face to face with a tall man who stood just outside the entryway.
He was dressed all in black, a long cloak draping his body. The attire was very formal looking, with an almost militaristic appearance to it, and in a style Victor had seen before only once. Most unusual was his hair, which was long, dark, and pulled back to be out of his face, save for a few long stands that hung to the side of his head. And his eyes were, strangely, red, like blood almost. But perhaps the oddest thing was the count's ring finger on his right hand; it was missing, gone with only an eighth of an inch left of what had been the finger remaining.
The count's features were sharp and striking, with pronounced cheekbones and what could be called an aquiline nose. More over, if Victor had to guess, the man could be perhaps thirty, no older than Victor himself. He certainly looked to be in the prime of his youth. But there was something about his eyes; they looked older than his face, much older. Victor found that those eyes were grabbing his attention. Electric, intense, and...cold. It was like they were devoid of any positive emotion what-so-ever. But then, Victor realized he was staring; it was rude of him to do so.
"Count Tepes, I assume?" he asked, offering his hand.
The count nodded curtly. "I am, Dracula," he said, a bit of hesitation before he said "Dracula". He smiled now, and Victor could see that the man had slightly larger than normal canines. Not far too unusual, he'd known enough people who had the same oddity. But still, the warnings went off in the back of his mind. "I must say, Doctor Frankenstein, it is truly an honor to meet you."
"Might I ask why you waited outside?"
With a shrug, the count answered, "I would not presume to enter without the invitation of the master of the house." He paused a moment, the turned his attention to Gerald. "Especially at such an indecent hour."
For a moment, Victor got the oddest feeling that Dracula had overheard Gerald's comment, but it was impossible. No human had that good of hearing. And as he looked to his butler, Victor could see that Gerald was un-nerved. Right away, it again set off alarms in Victor's mind. Gerald had been serving the Frankenstein family since Victor was a boy, and never had he seen the man so uncomfortable as he was now.
But he was being rude, making his visitor stand outside for so long. "Please," Victor said, turning to face the count again. "Do come in, I apologize for how long you have waited out here in the cold."
Dracula bowed his head slightly, and as he stepped over the threshold, there was a suddenly chill in the air. Victor could almost swear that it was not the night air, but the presence of the count, but such an idea was ridiculous. "Brandy?" he offered.
"Yes, thank you."
"Gerald," Victor called. "We'll take it in the library." He led the count into the large room and gestured to one of the large comfortable chairs that sat before the fireplace, surrounded now by his family's many books.
"My arrival is clearly a surprise to you," the count said upon taking his seat. "So I must for that and the lateness of the hour."
Victor glanced to his guest for a moment. There was something odd about the heavy accent that Dracula had. Certainly, his Romanian was perfect, but there was a trace of something else as well in his accent. "Quite all right," he finally said.
"I wrote to you some time ago to inform you of my impending visit."
Ah, that explained it. "You must forgive me then," Victor replied. "I have been traveling, and had not yet read my letters. It is my fault." Gerald arrived then with the brandy. Victor smiled, handed the count a glass, and then raised his own. "Cheers."
Dracula returned the gesture, but did not drink from the glass before putting it down. "Perhaps later," he said almost in apology. "I do not wish to be rude."
His worry was piqued. Certainly, Victor noted, this was odd behavior...but no odder than an aristocrat showing up at one's door after ten at night. "What can I do for you, Count Tepes?"
"Dracula, please," the count insisted. He then smiled, but it was joyless, and the gesture did not reach his eyes - eyes there were now boring into Victor, so much that it was disturbing. But he shook away the feeling; the count had been nothing but courteous, and was his guest, after all.
"I am very interested in your work," Dracula continued, giving a small gesture of his hand. "I learned of your presentation to the university and have managed to obtain a copy of your application materials for the Goldstadf Fellowship." He paused for a moment. "I find your theories quite...thought-provoking."
Victor looked at the man, searching for any sign of irony or mockery. There was none. It was astounding to him, being that thus far, the only people who had inquired about Victor's work were journalists who wished to ridicule him.
"I assure you, Doctor, I am quite serious," the count continued, almost as if he could read Victor's thoughts. "From time to time, I have been known to be a benefactor of scientific research." Again, he paused. "I'm here to speak with you about a grant. It is my opinion that your work could be very important, and I have significant means with which you can leave you legacy upon this world."
Victor didn't say anything. It was almost too good to be true, which is why there had to be a catch. "You must forgive me for being suspicious," he said, trying to keep all pretenses of respect for his guest. "But while I see my work's great potential, I am so far alone in my enthusiasm. So you can understand-"
"Hesitation to accept my offer," the count finished. He again smiled. "I take no offense, Doctor. But I am offering you a chance to have your name placed with the giants; Hippocrates, Pasteur... I give you my support, and together, we will help the world realize the potential of your work."
Those eyes. They seemed to draw Victor in, almost sapping his will. But it had to just be his imagination. Here, the count was offering his aid, his support...his friendship. And certainly, such a friend was one Victor would be a fool to pass by.
"I was thinking of equipping you with a full laboratory," Dracula remarked, almost off-hand in his casualness. "New equipment, anything you require to speed up your research."
He nearly lost his breath. "Count," Victor stuttered. "I...I don't know what to say. But surely, you recognize that such is a costly order. Much of the equipment must be designed and built to new specifications. Such is why I approached the university; I had hoped to involve the science and chemistry departments."
"I can assure you," Dracula replied with a voice of utter calm. "My means are considerable. Whatever you need, I shall acquire. And just think of what we can accomplish together!"
He rose to leave, then bowed. "Begin making a list of what you will need," the count said. "If it is acceptable, I shall return tomorrow evening to further discuss these matters."
Victor nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, of course," he replied while he walked to the count to the door. "I don't know how to thank you, Count Dracula."
The count simply nodded and shook Victor's hand. It was then that he noticed something else that was odd about his new acquaintance; his hands were icy cold, like the grip of death. Then, Dracula broke contact, gazed at him once more in the eyes, and departed. Seconds later, he had vanished into the night.
Far too excited to sleep now, Victor headed back towards his study when he felt suddenly dizzy, like he stood up too quickly from his seat. He shook it away, reaching his office and sitting back down at his desk to return to his work. The count had just offered him the chance of a lifetime. The least he could do was be ready for their next meeting.
But something had been nagging at him throughout the whole conversation, and now, Victor realized what it was. All the oddities about the count, all the strange circumstances of his arrival, Frankenstein now realized the foremost thing that was wrong with his arrival.
Dracula had arrived in the dead of the night, but there had been no coach waiting for him. Not even a horse in the drive. And just the same, there had been nothing for him to depart on.