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I do not own Hellsing or Dracula.
If Amelia had to describe Jonathan Harker based on the first pages of his journal, she would have used words such as mild mannered, inquisitive, and average. From the page one he was writing of his travel as a solicitor, describing the European landscape and the people he met in brief, honest, and occasionally—by present standards—insensitive terms. The lack of a preface or entries dated earlier than April 3rd made Amelia suspect that not all the material from the original journal had been translated, but it was likely that the important parts were there.
Squirming on the makeshift cushion fashioned from one of the blankets on her bed, she tried to get comfortable and ignore the sturdy desk at her back.
In a chair across from her—the chair she had foolishly declined when offered—the Captain lifted his head at the near-silent disturbance. After handing over the translation, he had communicated via hand signs that she was to read it in the lab under his watch. He might have trusted her enough to let her read it, but not to the extent that he would let her disappear with it into her room. The Lieutenant had left with the empty food tray and her unfinished beverage some time ago, letting the true warden keep the prisoner company.
Despite her eagerness to find something worthwhile, Amelia found herself suppressing a yawn as she flipped the page.
May 1st - Surely if the clouds had allowed the moon a chance to shine upon the castle walls I would have glimpsed a fortress belonging to another world, beautifully aged with a story for every stone that formed the upward reaching towers. But the sky never cleared, and I was left in the courtyard to view the property as only darkness saw fit.
It filled me with a degree of uncertainty and dread, standing in front of those ancient, heavy doors, for I could not fathom anyone living in such haunting ruins. Was this truly the residence of the Count Dracula, would I find the client in similar state: a shadow of his former self?
With these thoughts in mind, and having received as yet no welcome from staff or master, I began to think that there had been some miscommunication between parties. As I considered my options, there came a groan from one of the wooden doors, startling me terribly.
Across the threshold stood a man in a black suit, his long hair tied back and his face clean shaven, save for a dark mustache that made his pale complexion all the more striking. In one hand he raised a candelabrum, dispelling the shadows that at first made sinister his appearance.
'I beg your pardon, sir, I am Jonathan Harker,' I managed after some seconds. 'Is this the residence of Count Dracula?'
The man gave a single nod and smiled.
'It is indeed, sir. Welcome.' And he moved aside, gesturing that I may enter while adjusting the light so that I could avoid tripping over the small step.
Once I carried my luggage inside, the man shut the door. It surprised me that he did not lock or bolt it, but my attention was quickly diverted to the interior of the castle. A wide staircase in the center of the hall rose to a second floor obscured in darkness. On either side of stair was a corridor, the left pitch black and gaping like the mouth of a tomb, while the rough, arching walls of the path on the right flickered with candle light.
'I ask that you forgive such a meager reception, Mr. Harker. It is late, and the attendants have retired for the evening.' His English was very good, and if not for the faintest of accents, I would have sworn that he was a native speaker. It caught me off guard, for those I had met before spoke little German and even less English.
'No, that is quite all right. I would not wish to trouble you,' I replied, '… Count Dracula?' I assumed it to be him, but I felt the need to ask before speaking in confidence.
'Yes. I am Dracula.' At this he gave a formal bow with such poise and precision that I was left speechless, for I had never encountered a man who radiated as much power or excellence in the simplest of movements as he. 'It is a pleasure to meet you.'
I must have worn a peculiar expression after his introduction.
'Perhaps my etiquette is unlike that of the British?' he chuckled, seeming to take no offense.
'It is more aristocratic than what we are accustomed to,' I admitted as I adopted a more professional manner. Thinking that this might have been discourteous, I quickly added: 'I have no issue with it… About the papers …'
'Do not concern yourself with business now. We can discuss these things at a later time. You have only just arrived, and must be very tired. Come,' he gestured to the staircase with the candelabrum in hand, 'let me show you to your room.'
Before I could protest, he picked up my luggage and moved for the staircase. I must say he possessed incredible strength to lift such a heavy burden—and with one hand, up the flight without pause!
The steps were not large, but small and many, and when we reached the top I insisted that I should carry my belongings. However, the Count refused, saying it was the responsibility of the host to see to guests' needs. Since I felt it improper to argue with my host and client, I left the matter at that to let us continue on more amicable terms.
From our short conversation, I have learned that the Count is, as I suspected, a well-educated man. History and politics in particular seem to be of great interest to him, and he has also expressed his desire for me to educate him about England. I have agreed to answer his questions to the best of my ability.
May 6th - Having spent several days here, I am beginning to notice a quiet about Castle Dracula that was not present upon my arrival… No. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that I had dismissed it as the lingering effects of the long journey. The silence that was once haunting is now overwhelming to my ears. If it were not for my evening discussions with the Count, I fear I would go mad.
And this is another thing I have come to learn about as I pass my time here: the Count.
Being busy during the day, he only meets with me after the night has settled in. I know not where his business lies, or what it is, but I never see him come or go from the castle.
Stranger still, I have yet to see one of the attendants of which he mentions, and I say again, that it is our talks in the evening that stave off my fear of isolation. He has many questions about British society and culture, law, transportation, and the likes; some so specific that even I do not know the answers.
At one point I commented on this thorough interrogation, to which he confessed worrying about standing out as a foreigner in London. I assured him that he is quite prepared for England, what with all of the pamphlets and books at his disposal in his library. With a somewhat grim smile, he told me he had already read every one.
Truly, he would have been an admirable student at any university. However, when I inquired, he would not speak in detail of his education or profession, merely stating that he had had several academic tutors growing up and many years of experience in politics. This latter bit is of some surprise, for while he certainly has the charisma of an authoritative figure, the Count could not be more than ten years my senior.
May 11th - I am uneasy in this castle. Every day the walls become more solid, and where I was once permitted to roam, I continued to find locked doors.
Yesterday I attempted to find a way outside (the front doors are usually locked, unlike the night of my arrival) but my search was unsuccessful. The windows on the ground floor are too small and I cannot climb out of those in my room, as I would surely fall to my death from such a height. I intend to speak with the Count about this tonight.
I also wish to write to Mina. In my excitement at traveling and taking on this assignment, I have failed to write to her. Despite my free time, I find it growing increasingly difficult to pick up my pen and comment on matters other than the gloom of the castle.
Yes, I will write to Mina. I would let her know that I am, for the time being, well.
May 11th, evening - There is no longer any doubt that I am a prisoner of this place. I wrote to Mina, as planned, and additionally to Mr. Hawkins, to whom I expressed my concerns. The letter to him I sealed within that addressed to Mina, and took with me to supper.
As usual, the Count kept me company while I dined, but ate nothing himself. Towards the end of the meal, I asked about an unlocked exit to the castle, and brought out the letter to support my need to leave the grounds, if only for a short time. Having made mention of my fiancé before, I explained to him how I had not been able to assure her of my safe arrival, and by now I imagined her sick with worry. The Count listened without interruption, until I finished all I had to say.
'Many doors are locked to ensure your own safety, Mr. Harker. As I am sure you are aware, this castle is very old, and there are several rooms that you would do well to leave undisturbed. I would rather you not bring injury to yourself, just as I would prefer to preserve the memories behind those doors.' The Count leaned forward in his chair to stare at the sealed letter for a moment, as though he was reading the contents hidden within. I should hope he cannot read shorthand.
After this pause, he lifted his gaze, and said: 'Man is not meant to be alone.' Then he smiled gently and extended a hand.
Oh, but the devil knows deception best! Though his expression was made to hold the compassion of a friend, the eyes that looked upon me were filled with understanding of a different sort.
'Allow me to pass this on to my messenger. His route brings him this way tomorrow, and I shall see to it that he delivers your letter with haste.'
I thought fast.
'I appreciate your help, but I would like to find a gift for her, as well. She has never been to this country, so I wish to send her something from it.'
The Count nodded slowly at this and straightened his posture, settling his opened hand back on the table. My confidence began to build until he spoke again.
'Have you anything particular in mind? It will take some time to carry items to London, and I would advise against choosing anything that might perish on the journey.'
I could not answer. I do not know this country well, or what distinguishes its culture from others.
'This is no good.' What he was referring to, I cannot say, but I refrained from commenting as the Count's brow furrowed.
The sight of that darkened expression, directed at me, is something I will never forget. Perhaps it was my anxiety that was responsible, but in the light of the candles, his eyes appeared to glow a terrible red. I had never seen such a countenance on him before; now I think no other suits him more.
At that moment I felt awfully light-headed, and the Count's words seemed far away and difficult to comprehend.
'I ask that you postpone your search for a gift until you depart for London, my friend. I should like to finish our business as soon as possible, without delay. But,' his eyes traveled to the paper on the table, 'I will pay the messenger to have an item delivered to your fiancé.'
What was I to say? I thought to press—even to beg—but my mouth would not move as I wanted and the sentences that flowed through mind were meaningless. All I could do was try to frown to get my feelings across.
Ignoring my struggle, the Count abruptly stood and took the letter from beside my plate.
'If you will excuse me,' he bowed, 'there are some matters which I must attend to before the dawn.' My letter disappeared on his person.
He took a few steps towards the hall but paused to turn back and meet my eyes.
'We shall speak more tomorrow. I will let you retire early this evening. Good night, Mr. Harker.'
The pressure in my head left with him, and shortly thereafter I became aware of the harsh breaths that rushed past my lips. I could not finish my meal, and it was some time before I summoned the courage to leave the dining hall.
As I began to make my way back to my room, I thought to check the front doors, on the chance that the Count, having been focused on his business, had forgotten to lock them. However, I lost my nerve when I reached the front hall.
Something lurks in the passage to the left of the staircase. I have passed under the arch many times during the day, and have seen nothing one would not expect to find in an old castle, but on this night there was darkness that seemed to watch me as I gazed into it. Not a shape or face to be seen, or sound to be heard. As long as I live, I will not venture down that path in the night!
May 12th, early morning - The sky was still a sea of black when I woke in the library. I had retreated there after supper for fear that the creature in the shadows on the lower level might visit my bedside during the night. My candles had gone out. The pooled lumps of wax glowed palely in the moonlit room, while the long blue shadows of the shelves fell over me.
I was reaching into my pocket for an extra stick when I heard the noise that had first stirred me from my light sleep. It was the sound of a door swinging inward, slowly so as to avoid causing a disturbance. I rose from my chair and looked to the door, but it remained shut as I had left it.
Something dropped lightly onto the floor a few shelves away, and there was a brief shrill squeak of rusty hinges. Someone had entered through the window.
I did not breathe, but moved deliberately around a couple of shelves to get a better view of the trespasser.
It was the Count. His cloak swayed about his frame in a non-existent breeze, and though it blocked some of my view, I could see that he held a large sack in his arms. As he adjusted his grip—or perhaps he was opening it—it stirred.
I was intrigued, confused, terrified, watching it come alive and jerk violently, as though it housed a wild animal. Despite the fitful movements, the Count did not drop the sack, and with a sharp tug the creature and cloth were separated.
Small limbs flailed, punching and kicking as the prisoner tried to free itself to no avail. For a brief moment, a high and painful scream echoed throughout the room before being smothered.
I could not look away from the sight of the man leaning over the panicked child, undaunted by its struggles. It took all of my strength to cling to the shelf without collapsing, to remain conscious and not make a sound.
Time crept forward, and the child's movements subsided to an occasional twitch, before it eventually dangled limply in the Count's arms. The Count subsequently raised his head and turned towards me.
For a horrible second, I thought that I had been discovered, and nearly let out a moan of despair. But his head stopped short, and our eyes did not meet. His lips, stained with the same dark liquid that rolled down his chin, pulled back in to a snarl.
Out from among the shelves closest to the Count tip-toed a young lady in a faded gown. So silent and ghost-like was she that I had failed to notice her presence before. Her pallor was sickly in the moonlight, and she hunched over at the middle as one bent with age. Halting a few steps from the Count, she began to whisper feverishly, her eyes never straying from the child.
The Count grunted and released the youth, letting it fall to the floor at his feet where the woman lunged at it…
Oh, God! I recount such things as though I mean to remember them! And I do...! How? How could I forget without casting away my sanity?!
Mina, my dear Mina… Please remember the man you watched depart, and do not grieve if never you see him again. I have wept enough tears this night for us both.
Amelia removed the binder from her lap and placed it aside. Keeping her head down, she stood and headed for her room. She didn't have to look at the Captain to know he was watching. Without a word, she grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower.
Neither the steam nor scalding water temperature bothered her as she scrubbed herself repeatedly. The emotions could not be washed away.
When her skin was red and irritated, and the heat was making her dizzy, she finally threw the bar of soap at the floor. It bounced, hit the wall, and slid across the wet floor to nudge her toes. Amelia stared at it for a moment, then dropped into a crouch, picked up the bar, and pulled her arm back in preparation for another throw.
A couple of seconds passed, and the soap slipped through her fingers. She let her empty fist slowly come back down, and pressed it against the tile floor. She felt sick.
It was not as though she was surprised by what she had read; on the contrary, she expected it to be hard to swallow. Still, imagining and knowing were not the same. She wasn't even half way through the material!
Amelia shut her eyes, willing away the nausea. But behind closed eyelids, memories of the fire-lit sitting room and the vampire returned, and the pain in her abdomen worsened. He stood so close that she had felt his breath on her skin...
Her breath hitched and she shuddered. Opening her eyes, Amelia frantically twisted around, afraid she might see a figure behind the shower curtain.
No one was there.
Author's Note: Initially, I wasn't going to write out any of the entries from J. Harker's journal, but… Now there's so much material to include, that one chapter isn't enough to contain it all (hence this chapter's abrupt ending).
The journal entries and Alucard's personality/behavior are based on the events and interactions in Dracula, since there isn't much to go by from the manga or anime. I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't influenced by Bela Lugosi's performance in the 1931 film.