Dr. Seward's Diary.

22 May.—I was appalled at what I had just read that I had to read it again, to make sure my eyes were not deceiving me! And yet... And yet... There it was! Quincey's confession! Written in his own hand! Wave after wave of emotion swept over me like a tsunami. I was drowning in so much emotion! Anger, jealousy, fear, hurt... What devil caused Quincey Morris to make love to Lucy! No, I must not think that way! It was not the Lucy that we knew! It was the demon Lucy!

Now, only fear plagued my heart. I tried to calm myself, for I was hyperventilating.

"Are you alright, Seward?" Harker asked of me.

"I'm alright. I was only shocked by this memorandum is all," said I.

I felt weak. My knees were watery. God save our souls...

___

Journal – Arthur Holmwood II

Afternoon. Last night's events brought about old feelings of jealousy—feelings which I tried to deny, to hide.

I shall now attempt to write what is in my heart—what I could not write the night it happened.

After Charles Seward, Quincy Harker, and I lamented over my father's demise, I went out of the library for a breath of fresh air, and to look for Betsy.

I found her walking in the garden—how beautiful she was! I walked up to her and mustered all the courage that I had.

"Hullo, Arthur," she greeted cheerily.

"Hullo, Betsy," said I.

"I am terribly sorry about your father's failing—" she stopped, for I suddenly kissed her, full on the mouth. I heard her let out a small groan and felt her endeavour to set herself free from my grasp.

I took a step back.

"What is it?" said I, my voice laced with worry and jealousy. Worry that she was ill. Jealous for fear that my suspicions had been true—that she loved Charlie and not me. Her lips quivered and her eyes moistened with tears.

"I cannot love you, Arthur," she whispered hoarsely.

"Why not?"

"Because I do not love you. I have chosen someone else. I cannot disobey what my heart dictates, Art."

"Your heart dictates that you love Charles Abraham Seward," said I, hotly, "But his heart dictates otherwise!"

"Who are you to know what is in his heart? He has been shy since our childhood! You yourself know that! He is—was—your bosom friend!"

It was true. Charles Seward was quite a shy lad. It was typical of him not to voice out what was in his very heart of hearts. I was filled with jealousy and anger. But how could I be angry at a man whom I had shared everything with, since childhood? I could not hate them both. I could never hate Betsy, nor could I hate my friend whose happiness is hers!

After I had apologized, and we chatted for a little more, I went to look for Charles. But we had no chance to talk, since Father called me into his room, and Charles and Quincey were fencing. Father also called them into his room.

The only chance I got to talk to him was before I retired to bed.

I said to him, "Charles, you know that Betsy loves you very much?"

"I am aware of that, yes. But you would make a better bridegroom," said he in response.

"No, Charles. It is you she loves, not I. Do you love her?"

"With all that I am."

"Then I shall not stand in your way. May the Good Lord bless you, and may you make her happy."

He smiled, thanked me, and retired to bed, as well. But before he slipped out of my room, he turned back and said, "Arthur Holmwood, do I still have your friendship?"

"Yes, of course," I replied with a smile, though my heart was heavy with jealousy—but not with anger for I could never be angry at both of them.

___

Cont.—And now, I come to the events of last night. Uncle John, Uncle Jonathan, Quincey, and Charles woke me, begged me to rise and put on my clothes, and to help them look for Betsy. At this, I was alarmed! What on earth could've happened to her?

"What has happened? I hope to God nothing bad has occurred!"

"It appears to be the case, my lad," said Uncle Jonathan, whom I could see was quivering. Whether it was for fear or excitement, I could not tell.

"My God! Was it the vampire? Morris?"

"No," Uncle Jonathan said, sniffing the air like a bloodhound, "It is the Count!"

"Heavens!" I cried, for I had heard much of this vile Thing from Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Mina's stories, and from the journals that Quincey and Charles had shown me. We had perused these materials—together—all three of us, and by God, I confess, my skin crawled at the mention of the Count!

I grabbed my pistol and crucifix from my desk, put on my riding clothes, and prepared to look for Betsy and to eliminate this demon.

I had instructed the grooms and other servants to join the search for Betsy and to be ready with weapons in hand in case of an attack.

We searched the grounds and found no one. Finally, we found Betsy limp in the arms of the Count! His mouth dripped with her blood! It was also on the surrounding area of Betsy's wounds, and on the marble bench!

Quincey Harker raised his crucifix high, and we followed suit. We trained our pistols at the monster, but it had fled into the darkness! Uncle Jonathan and I barked orders to the servants to search the grounds for this beast! I am positive than none of the servants believed us. In any case, they may pack their bags, no matter how long they've lived here and served our family.

I saw Charles Seward come forth and embrace Miss Harker—I can no longer call her Betsy!—and offer her words of comfort.

I confess, at the sight before me, I felt a pang of jealousy in my heart. The one feeling I had been trying to conceal—no!—eliminate altogether!

I write this in my journal as I wait for Uncle Jonathan and Uncle John to adjourn.

I shall ask him some things regarding my inheritance and also regarding the vampires and the troubles that have thus far beset us.