A/N: I changed the chapter formatting a little bit and added an entry onto this chapter. This ain't an easy way to write...diary entries and third person :\

II

Letter - Professor Van Helsing to Dr. Seward 17 September

It would figure, my friend, that I return from my studies to find you not here. Busy with your patients, are you? And what of your class? You are teaching this term, no? But I just enjoy scolding you.

I got your message, which is why I write. My research was very productive. I've brought back crates of old books on the supernatural, as I can finish up the reading here and so alleviate Miss Lucy's stress. At least some. I have some new and interesting theory on your patient, Mr. Renfield in whom you are so keenly interested. Perhaps you would like to hear them? But it can wait for the weekend to finish.

And now to the subject of your concern, Miss Harker. You said that she was withdrawn and I would have to seek her out, which I had planned to do this evening, though I didn't need to. She came to my office this afternoon. She looked bright - well, no, not 'bright', but brighter than one would expect from what you and Miss Lucy have told me.

She is very pale, as you probably know. To me she looks slightly ill, and too thin. She has not been eating properly for certain. Her eyes are not so vibrant as they were when I left, but her attitude is not so much of doom as you worry. Not quite hopeful, but less doom I think. To illustrate I write our encounter.

I was in my office writing a report when I hear a soft knock on the door. It was open so I turn and look, and there is lovely Mina all in black.

'Dear Mina, welcome!' I say as I rise and embrace her. 'I grieve with your loss. I'm sorry I was not here for you.'

She smile softly and change the subject. We spoke some of my research as I observed her. She made a brave effort to be cheerful for the hours we spoke. I tried to guide the conversation a little bit, but never use psychology on a psychology student! I laugh. You must know this already. That Mr. Renfield of yours seems to be quite a problem in that area. So we avoided the subject of Jonathan, poor child. How I'm going to miss that boy!

At last she seemed ready to go and my phone rang for Mr. Hawkins wishing to speak with me. (That man, I think, meddles where he is not belong. What does he want with our department, no?) As she rose to leave I stood with her and embraced her again. When she turn to go I take her hands and stop her.

'Mina, child, you must be remembered that you are loved very dearly. Don't forget that,' I told her. I see her eyes begin to tear but she embraces me again, rather quickly, before hurrying out of the building.

She is hurting so much, friend John, and she has no one with whom to speak. I am here too late, I feel, as I could not help her when her pain was at its greatest. It will take some long time before she will talk about how she feels, I think.

Has she seen Arthur since the accident, do you know?

I hope this helps you make your judgment. I do not feel we should push her too hard or she may withdraw completely. That would not do. But we must address the issue of her health. I do not like her complexion.

Diary Entry - Dr. Seward 17 September (voice recording)

A fascinating change has occurred in the patient, Renfield. He has refused to participate in therapy or other group activities since Thursday (15 September) according to the aids. When I returned last night he would not leave his room, in fact he wouldn't even get off his bed. He was cowering in the corner even before the storm started and was still in the same position until sunrise this morning.

Normally this behaviour in most other patients would be noted but would not interest me so much, but this is something completely new with Renfield. He is a talkative man, highly intelligent though his logic is often flawed; the kind of man who can play chess but not checkers. We have held many in depth psychological discussions in my office during our meetings in the past. He does well socially among the other patients, and has never missed the Friday night movie, which continued as we have a generator for this ward. This is how his behaviour came to my attention:

Renfield and I meet every Wednesday night and Saturday morning for his regular check-up. He is usually standing impatiently outside my door at least ten minutes before his appointment, bursting with some new discovery to tell me. So I was surprised this morning when I opened my office door at ten o'clock and he was not there. I waited five more minutes to allow for an unexpected bathroom stop or something of the like, and when he didn't show up I left my office and stopped one of the aides.

'Where is Renfield?' I asked. 'He's late for his appointment.'

She gave me a puzzled look. (She's new and doesn't know the different personalities and their different obsessive behaviours.)

'He's never late, will you find him for me?' I explained, rather impatiently I gathered from the cringe on her face when she hurried off. The weekend supervisor returned within a few minutes with his report instead of the aide.

'Good morning, Dr. Seward,' he greeted quickly. 'Renfield won't leave his room. His been this way since last night. Keeps muttering about someone. He hasn't eaten since yesterday morning.'

At this point we started to walk towards the rooms. 'We brought a tray for him for breakfast but he left it by the door. He's been like that all night.'

I thanked him for the report and left him as we had arrived at the patient's room. The patient was huddled in the corner of the room on his bed, looking like a child after a nightmare; wide eyes, shallow breathing, rocking slightly.

'Good morning, Renfield,' I greeted to get his attention. He didn't look at me, but kept staring straight out his window. I waited a moment for him to say something loud enough for me to hear (his mouth was moving but I couldn't hear what was said). 'I was worried about you. You didn't come to our appointment.'

He continued his rocking but increased the volume of his voice slightly. 'He's here,' he repeated over and over in a panicked voice.

'Who's here?'

All he said was, 'he's here. He's here.'

'May I come in?' I tried to change the subject, but he continued his mutterings. 'Renfield.' I raised my voice sternly, which caught his attention. He stopped his rocking and looked up at me, suddenly not panicked or cowering.

'Good morning, Dr. Seward!' he said brightly. 'Did you see the sky today? Oh, come in, please!'

'You didn't come to our appointment,' I repeated, as I gathered he had not heard me the first time.

'Is it that time already? Shoot, I must have slept late.'

'I've been told you didn't sleep last night. Do you want to tell me about that?'

'Didn't sleep?' He suddenly seemed to remember. 'Oh, yes, the storm. I don't like storms.' He continued talking about how terrified he was of storms. (note: patient has never before displayed an anxiety to storms or severe weather.)

Renfield has done this before, continued to talk on a different subject very quickly and very long in order to avoid the subject at hand. I've realized that it is useless to try to fight this and guide the conversation when the patient is in these moods, so we rescheduled our appointment for tonight after dinner. Though, doubtless, by then he will have pushed last night's event from his mind.

There are times I envy the insane. To be able to forget the troubles of life so quickly. But I suppose that is what living is all about, working with the pain and hardship to enjoy the times of pleasure.