You'll Be Surprised
Chapter Four
Author's Note: I think the best thing I can do for this fic is to get Sandra chained up in Eichhorst's Berlin dungeon back in 1989 as soon as I reasonably can. Unfortunately, some preamble is unavoidable, so here it is.
It's not a very promising start to a love story is it? She hates him and he's all but forgotten her! Especially as it isn't the start at all but twenty five years into the romance.
Perhaps we ought to go back to the start, to the very beginning of their tale…But when was that? When they met? When Sandra was kidnapped from her fiancé's side? Or before that? When Sandra met Setrakian? When she met Corey?
Should we learn all of Sandra's romantic history – discover why she isn't afraid of a little slap and nibble? Should we delve even further back in time and explore Eichhorst's experiences in the field of love.
We could just wait until they gradually tell each other all about themselves and see how much they are prepared to reveal and how fast. And whether we even believe what they say…
For now though, back to the present…
Midtown Manhattan – Present
Sandra's Office
Sandra returned from pleasant reflections over how she believed she had trained Eichhorst. It had really just been a matter of discovering his levers, she thought smugly. She came back to reality gradually, slowly re-focussing on articles from the present.
The photo frame was first to catch her eye. Because there was her lever, looking innocently back at her - the blonde girl from before, now about eighteen months old, chewing thoughtfully on a rubber turkey while a Rottweiler, presumably the owner of the toy turkey, watched covetously. Cornelia was her only weakness and she must get her to safety before she took another provocative step in pursuit of Eichhorst. She had planned it all so carefully - recommended her for a job that would earn her the money to buy her way out of the city; nudged her into the path of the only man who could protect and teach her; watched her even more closely than she had Eichhorst and assiduously preserved the UK as a sanctuary nation free from strigoi. Naturally, Cornelia would want to return to her mother's country, the islands that had reared her; her British passport would allow it and Sandra's connections would strenuously promote it. It was surely only a question of time before she heard of her daughter's safe arrival home.
Before Sandra could begin to worry that her daughter might have inherited some of her stubbornness, the photo frame had cycled again. This time, it showed a family group; four generations of handsome blond-haired, blue-eyed faces smiled out over a birthday cake bearing the number "70" in candles. Sandra picked up the frame and tapped the side to freeze this image. Close up, a date stamp of "25.08.89" was visible. She smiled wistfully as she gazed at the picture. It wasn't her family but she took particular notice of the two men in their late twenties. Tellingly, it was only a fraction of the attention she'd paid to Eichhorst's image.
Ah yes, she mused, the Henke-De Bakker clan. Between them, she and Eichhorst had ripped the living heart out of that family. There were only two members left alive and neither of them would have anything to do with her anymore. That was probably best for them, she thought grimly.
She remembered it all. It made no sense, she appeared to be only in her early thirties now, but she remembered turning eighteen in early '89.
Cambridge, United Kingdom - January 1989
She was studying for her A levels but she stayed with her boyfriend James in Cambridge at the weekends. He was on duty that Saturday and had been called to the hospital for a colic. His field was equine reproduction and there weren't many emergencies in infertility but he'd said he had to take his place in the on-call rota with the others. She hadn't questioned him and had always just headed into town to hit one of the libraries. She usually went to St John's as it had a male librarian who would let her in for a smile and a flash of thigh as she sat down, but last time a woman was at the desk and the ugly old bag barred her way. So this time, she went to Queens' where she was certain of a warmer reception.
It was an opportunity to discover more about the rumours of a secret room and a silver box full of mystical writings. She tucked her favourite Anne Rice book into her school bag and headed into town, still smarting sweetly from the previous night's spanking. She didn't really believe the stories James had told her but was curious anyway. She flirted her way into the main library, where only Cambridge University students and alumni were really allowed, but the secret room and mysterious texts turned out to be either make-believe or beyond the knowledge of her acne-afflicted guide. Keen to assuage her obvious disappointment, and spotting her copy of Interview with the Vampire, he offered to show her the library's collection of vampire mythology that, coincidentally, was housed in a very secluded aisle.
Ignoring his clumsy attempts to seduce her, she perused the extensive range of books. Most were ancient and clearly works of fantasy but two were much more modern. The urgently titled Vampires: Real, Here And Trying To Kill You Now and the more academic-sounding A Verified Compendium Of Vampiric Lore, both written by an A. A. Setrakian caught her eye. She pulled them off the shelves and coquettishly asked her new friend if there were a private reading room where they could examine them.
He couldn't believe his good fortune and while he was gone to blag a key from somewhere, Sandra opened the front of the older book. It had been written in the early fifties and the author photograph showed a handsome and unfeasibly young academic. The feverish tone of the title was continued in the text. Opening it at random, she found what purported to be the writer's eyewitness account of an encounter with an actual vampire. It sounded ridiculous and nothing like Ms Rice's descriptions. Setrakian's vampires were horrible demonic things. They had been people once - this one had been a guard at the concentration camp Setrakian had been imprisoned in during the war. But unlike all the vampires she'd read about in books, it retained no humanity - no memories, no ability for speech or communication of any kind. It seemed more like a zombie than a vampire. She closed it in disgust and awkwardly shuffled the heavy books so the other was on top.
This volume was newer by nearly twenty years and the author was correspondingly older in his photograph – older, wearier and sadder she thought… but still handsome she couldn't help noticing.
And that admiration was the uninspiring basis of her fascination with Professor Abraham Aaron Setrakian and his work. She left the library before her amorous companion returned, resolving to research this professor whenever she had some spare time.
She started by writing to his university in Austria and eventually received a forwarding address of a PO Box in New York City. Apparently, the professor had become something of an eccentric recluse in his later years and his exact whereabouts were unknown to anyone. Initially, he refused even to enter into a written correspondence with her but some weeks later a Dutch Mossad agent separately tracked him down and convinced him that she was genuine and posed no threat.
And so she found herself lying naked on a bunk in a first class cabin on the Harwich to the Hook night sailing…
North Sea - August 1989
She had only booked a standard single but a bit of flirting with the chief steward got her upgraded and she waited now for him to come and claim on the implied promise of a reward. Sandra was very happy to oblige. He was cute and she enjoyed sex. She had packed a shedload of Extra Safe and would insist on their use (she was a smart girl and it was the eighties) and at eighteen she was already on her second coil.
She thought she'd seen a ring as the steward had showed her the way in but she figured that that was his problem. She was single and didn't feel she should be held responsible for any man's moral shortcomings. Just as that slutty student, whose nipples entered a room five minutes before the rest of her, wasn't to blame for James' cheating on her…
No, she was single and she hadn't a notion of meeting anyone shaggable in this first part of her travels. Sure, Professor Setrakian had been hot in his twenties and thirties and attractive even in his forties, but he was in his mid-sixties and her interest in him was now strictly intellectual. And as for this Mossad guy who was supposed to meet her off the ferry…
Sandra didn't consider herself racist but she did hold some archaic preconceptions of various cultures. For instance, she thought of Jews in terms of race rather than faith and she firmly believed they all looked like Leon Brittan. So deep-seated was this prejudice, and so narrow her perception of Jewish family names, that she presumed the handsome professor Setrakian was interned during the war for political reasons rather than as part of Hitler's Final Solution.
At least this guy, (he had a funny name, Mr Hanky or something like that…) this Mossad guy had helped persuade Professor Setrakian to leave his American sanctuary and return to Europe. The older man was extremely reluctant and would only do it if both of them could meet him at the same time. He said he wanted "to get both birds with one stone to minimise his time in mainland Europe".
She had become so interested in Setrakian and his lurid vampire tales that she had taken up an offer to study in America. Boston wasn't that far from New York she reasoned, plus she had decided to take a year off before her studies. She planned to travel, starting with interrailing around Europe, maybe even trying to visit some of the former Eastern Bloc countries as they opened up. She had long fancied walking in the footsteps of Louis and Claudia – like them, seeking vampires or at least learning more about them and their folklore. She was fascinated by the idea of vampires particularly the sensuality, even eroticism, of the vampire myth. She wasn't much given to self-analysis but she thought the appeal was partly that vampires combined the experience and emotional maturity of older men with the vigour and physical beauty of young ones. It didn't even faze Sandra that Anne Rice's vampires experienced desire as a more generalised lust rather than simple animal sexuality. They were still seductive and darkly, powerfully alluring.
Anyway, Sandra's sexy steward didn't show up and she fell asleep, lulled by her morning lark metabolism and the gentle rise and fall of the ship on the waves. She was annoyed and frustrated in the morning but she dealt with that herself in the shower with the help of Lestat and prepared to disembark.
Hoek van Holland Ferry Terminal and then Maastricht, Netherlands - August 1989
She dressed with no other aim than to show to Mr Mossad that she ought to be taken seriously and she regretted the slightly tomboyish result the moment she saw the gorgeous young man holding her name board. Late twenties, six-foot-two, dark blond hair, turquoise eyes sparkling with humour (and what she fervently hoped was admiration of her despite the ponytail and lack of make-up), not to mention cheekbones she could use for climbing. Why the bloody hell hadn't she put some lippie and mascara on at the very least? She surreptitiously bit and licked her lips, trying to make them seem glossed.
He was shy and awkward and to her shock, she realised that she was too. Nobody had ever had that effect on her before. His English was perfect and he was polite and charming, so much so she forgave his derision over her vampire fascination. And he forgave her for misleading him about her age and journalism experience. He was kind and decent and for Sandra this held the attraction of novelty since she had previously always been drawn to bad boys. But most devastating of all, he was a bona fide, real life action hero - a Dutchman trained and engaged by Israel's national intelligence agency to hunt down Nazis that others had given up as dead. His name was Cornelius "Corey" Henke and an unprepared Sandra was falling in love for the first time.
He introduced her to his family – the family in the present day photograph, the family that she and Eichhorst had destroyed: Geeky but cute younger brother Bart, who forgot how to speak when she smiled at him; Mum Gude, who had raised the boys singlehandedly - she was protective but warm and ready to be amused at everything; Grandfather (Opa) Pieter, who seemed to be celebrating his seventieth birthday fifteen years early and finally, his great-grandmother (Oma) Sarah.
Sarah was the one who made the greatest impact on Sandra; the girl felt an immediate connection with the old lady. Corey had explained that his Oma's suffering in the war was a key motivation in his pursuit of Nazis. She had been widowed and nearly raped during the occupation, yet she still retained sufficient grace to engrave a silver locket with some lines of acceptance and forgiveness. She would not tolerate anyone judging an individual (negatively or positively) by something as superficial as nationality believing instead that each human being was unique and special and deserved to be judged by their actions.
Corey now wore this locket, engraved with a further line specific to his Mossad work, as a reminder to avoid confusing justice with revenge. The stories only made Sandra love him and his family more.
Maastricht, Netherlands - Autumn 1989
Theirs was a pretty whirlwind romance but it seemed to Sandra as if it took ages for Corey to make a move and she couldn't understand why. She imagined all sorts of explanations: He was religious in a no-sex-before-marriage kind of way; He only dated Jewish girls; He only dated Dutch girls; He only dated guys; He didn't date at all because he might have to seduce the whereabouts of an old Nazi out of some hot Fraulein; She even briefly considered that he simply might not find her attractive but that was clearly ridiculous.
In the end, the real reason was much simpler. He was just worried that he was too old for her.
Hah!
When they "finally" consummated their relationship, it was actually less than a fortnight after they met. The sex was all fairly standard stuff compared to what she'd known before but Sandra came to acknowledge what she'd previously scoffed at – that making love, actual love, was far wilder and more dangerous than anything James had done to her in the tack room.
For some reason, Professor Setrakian deferred their scheduled meeting. He had been cautious before but now he seemed positively nervous, traumatised even. When they met up with him at last, many weeks later than they'd arranged, Corey had already proposed and she had accepted.
West Berlin - Autumn 1989
Professor Setrakian insisted they met him off a mid-morning arrival and Sandra was fairly certain he checked her pulse when he shook her hand. It was all very odd but she was keen to hear his stories first-hand and prepared to put up with a little senile paranoia. They went straight to the Free University from Tegel airport because the professor was so loath to waste a single second of his time in West Germany. And that's where Sandra's life changed completely.
She told Corey he could go first because he was 'dealing with real life justice' whereas she was only interested in hearing vampire stories. He nodded graciously, leafed through his file and placed a black and white, A5-sized photograph of a fifty-something man in the uniform of an SS-Sturmbannführer on the desk. He pointed at it hard, announcing, 'Commandant Thomas Eichhorst.'
Sandra was mildly surprised that the monster her fiancé was hunting was actually quite an attractive middle-aged man and, not being given to internal musings, she said so aloud.
'Oh, he's kind of handsome isn't he?'
Corey and Professor Setrakian snapped up to look at her with utter disgust.
'Yuh!' Corey exclaimed with a hint of jealousy. 'For a guy old enough to be your grandfather! Not to mention an evil mass murderer.'
'Sorry,' Sandra said quickly. She wanted another, closer look but Corey was right, the commandant was evil. Corey was the good guy, hunting down wickedness even as it neared a natural death of old age. She shrugged and wandered off to browse the bookshelves.
The professor's late friend Dr David Kaplan, whose office this was, hadn't been a folklorist like Setrakian so the books were dry legal texts and Sandra's attention remained with her two companions and the photographs they were examining.
Behind his spectacles, Professor Setrakian's eyes kept sliding across to the commandant's picture but when Corey placed a second photograph on the desk, the old man jerked away from it as if in horror. Corey pointed at this image in the same way, as if trying to poke the Nazi's eye out. 'Doctor Werner Dreverhaven,' he said. Then he turned to Sandra and asked her sarcastically, 'You don't fancy him as well do you?'
She turned round and glanced quickly at the picture. 'No,' she said, before really registering what he looked like. 'And I don't "fancy" that other guy. I just expected someone that nasty to be physically distorted in some way.'
'Yes,' sighed Setrakian. 'It is part of the puzzle, isn't it? How can an apparently normal human being be capable of such monstrous cruelty? These Nazis had wives and families that they loved and cared for - although not these particular individuals - yet their working lives were dedicated to wiping other people's families off the face of the earth. Including mine. Eichhorst was bad enough, although he tended to distance himself from the dirtier aspects of camp life. Herr Doktor, on the other hand, positively gloried in it. The nastier and sicker the perversion, the better.'
'I'm so sorry,' she said, truly contrite. 'I didn't think. Besides even if they're still alive, they've got to be ninety or a hundred years old.'
Corey triumphantly slapped down two other A5 images with the air of someone revealing a royal flush. This time two very elderly men stared up at them. 'These are age-adjusted photographs of them.'
Setrakian reached into his Gladstone bag, withdrew a massive ancient tome and opened it at a bookmarked page. He placed it on top of the four photographs and stood back to await their reaction. A hand-drawn image of a mature naked strigoi was displayed. It had no nose, no hair, no genitals, the throat folds were unhidden and guillotine-shaped incisors were revealed in a hideous grimace. The creature's skin was a sickly ivory colour and its eyes were black with red edges.
'This is how they look now,' he declared.
The youngsters gaped at him.