"Is this your silver stake?…You are the great Van Helsing!…from Tibet to Istanbul…" Swirling images of darkness; of the Bride, Marishka, swaying back and forth like a cat about to pounce; of horses jumping across a bottomless ravine.
"We have such…history, you and I, Gabriel." His eyes were dark with barely-concealed rage, and worse than rage—a dark, bitter, almost helpless fury that spoke of centuries of pain. His face was rigid; he stared at Van Helsing contemptuously, as if eyeing a particularly disgusting something on the floor. Looking into his eyes was like gazing into an endless abyss.
He moved toward Van Helsing, and the clock began to strike twelve. One…two…the moon was still covered as the hellbeast rushed toward him…he could not run, he could not change…
Van Helsing woke with a start, gasping. He realized that he must have cried out in his sleep, for the door opened and a rather timid young woman poked her head in. "Are you all right, Mr. Van Helsing?" she asked.
"Wha-? Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine. Too much…too much ale last night, I suppose."
She giggled. "It does that to a man. Will you be needin' anything?"
"No, thank you." With a somewhat disappointed look, she smiled and closed the door softly, leaving Van Helsing alone with his thoughts.
How true that dream had been! Of course, the last part had been purely nightmare, but the rest…He shivered. The rest had been almost more nightmarish, for Van Helsing could not comprehend the depth of the hate he had seen in Dracula's eyes. It was not merely an effect of the dream; if anything, the dream had diminished what Van Helsing remembered.
He suspected, of course, that some of it had been attributable to his role in Dracula's death. However, that particular event had granted Dracula his immense power and his immortality. Even he would be unlikely to hold a grudge for 400 years for THAT reason. No; he had been trying to remind Van Helsing of something, he was sure of it.
And the children, the Undead…until the end, Dracula had continually, almost madly, tried to bring his children to life, even after two of his brides had been destroyed. He had even given up on Anna, who had been his target since her birth, in his quest for life.
Shaking his head at the madness of it all, Van Helsing got out of bed and put on his riding clothes. He needed to eat, and then he would go up into the hills and take a look around. The forest was beautiful here in the mornings, with the mist rising from the streams and the dead leaves from last autumn floating in little eddies until they reached the rivers and ran all the way to the sea. The sea, where his Anna would rest forever. He smiled sadly at the thought.
The morning light cast golden bars over the blue-and-white tablecloth and illuminated the golden-brown of the chairs when Van Helsing entered the dining room of the small inn. "Good morning," he said cordially toa young couple sitting at one of the tables with their baby. They smiled in reply, and the mother laughed as the baby gurgled loudly.
The scene jarred Van Helsing's memory—not a small feat—but he wasn't sure just what it was that he was supposed to be remembering. Sighing, he sat down at the table. From here, he could see through the large glass doors into the picturesque gardens. The flowers were beautiful in the morning sunshine. Now that he thought about it, there were flowers on the table, in a white decorative mug. Pale purple irises whose petals were almost translucent in the golden light.
Van Helsing almost fell out of his chair as the truth hit him like a stake through the heart.
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