(Chapter 11: Towards Distant Shores)
(Whitby)
(later that day)
To try and calm his nerves after getting an inadequate amount of rest following the revelation that he had been bit again, Van Helsing found himself at a tavern. The monster-killer wasn't one for drinking, but he felt that if he was surrounded by citizens having a good time rather than fighting enemies, his situation would be better off.
Mr. Seward, the bartender, approached him as he watched Gabriel take a seat. The bartender had a goatee with bright blue eyes and a black suit with a black bowtie fastened to his white undershirt of his tuxedo. His hair had a nice, combed side part.
"What could I get for you, sir?" Seward asked.
"I'm here for myself, I'm not one for drinking." Van Helsing replied; Seward raised a brow and took a puzzled step back.
"Are you sure?"
Van Helsing thought for a second; maybe one would suffice. If he didn't go too crazy with drinking, he would be able to keep his head in the game and not be a sinful drunk like so many others around him are right now.
"Quick, some brandy, if you please."
"Sure thing."
As Van Helsing waited for his drink, he rolled up the sleeves of his coat and shirt to see the bite mark; it was pulsating in sync with the moon cycle. It wouldn't be long before a full moon…dark thoughts crowded his mind now… What if he transforms when unexpected? What would become of his friends? Would he kill Dracula and his brides all over again and potentially screw himself over royally? Would he be listed as an enemy of the church?
His thoughts were broken when he felt a cold glass touch against the back of his hand; his eyes blinked twice before glancing down to see a tiny glass filled with a light brown liquid touching against the back of his hand. Picking it up, he raised it towards Mr. Seward and nodded. "Thank you."
After taking a sip, Van Helsing dug into his pocket and took out the Blood Whistle. The bartender caught a glimpse of this and approached him once more.
"Mind if I ask what you're holding there?" Mr. Seward asked.
"It's something that I need to get rid of," Van Helsing began. "To bury."
"What for?" Seward asked, leaning against the counter. Van Helsing chuckled before speaking.
"Let's just say that this thing is tied to witchcraft and all its abominations, and it needs to be separated from the wicked before damage can be done." Van Helsing then leaned forwards, a smug grin on his face. "Any places you got in mind, Mr. Seward?"
"Oh no!" The bartender laughed as he grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped a glass. "You wouldn't want that thing near me, my friend."
"Why so?" Gabriel questioned.
"I run a mental institute, and we have enough crazies there as it is. Some of them have broken out multiple times, and I'd be damned if I let something of an unholy abomination fall into their psychotic hands."
Van Helsing pulled the demonic artifact away from the counter, closer towards him. Casting Dr. Seward a look of understanding.
"Where do you plan on burying that thing?" The doctor turned bartender asked.
"Somewhere where its former owner can't find it, in a foreign land. This originally belonged to the Vatican secret archives, and it was stolen."
"Bloody hell!" Dr. Seward exclaimed. "How did somebody break into the Vatican archives of all places!?" the bartender continued; Van Helsing brought a finger to his lips and shushed him.
"It's a long story, Seward. I'm not going into details because this mission is supposed to be of top secrecy, but what I can say is that it's important that I keep this thing from evil's grasp."
"I understand completely…Mr…mr…"
"Van Helsing." Gabriel finished for Dr. Seward.
"Van Helsing!" The bartender gasped as quietly as possible, nearly dropping the glass he was in the process of cleaning, narrowly catching it.
With a grin and a little laugh, the monster-killer nodded his head.
"They've been sending bounty hunters from all over, looking just for you…" Dr. Seward said, his initial excited expression darkening.
"Of that I'm sure, Dr. Seward. Let me take a guess: It's to do with a man by the name of Dr. Henry Jekyll?"
"Precisely."
"Yeah…I thought so…" Van Helsing muttered.
"Quite a risky decision to be roaming around busy streets, my friend." The doctor turned bartender warned as he placed a glass on a rack.
"It's risky, but worth it." The monster-killer replied as he took another quick sip of the brandy, swiftly gulping it down before placing the glass back down.
Dr. Seward approached the counter and leaned forward to try and mouth something off to Van Helsing, glancing around to make sure no one was watching him.
"Was Dr. Jekyll an innocent like the newspapers say he was?"
This brought a grin to Van Helsing's lips, hell, it even made him chuckle some.
"Let's just say that the public doesn't have a clue as to what truly goes on behind closed doors…who —no— what I killed, wasn't Dr. Jekyll anymore."
"Seriously?" Dr. Seward asked, sounding bewildered at what he had just heard spill from his friend's lips. Van Helsing responded with a simple nod of the head.
"I've faced far worse things, too, Dr. Seward. Things you wouldn't even believe exist." Van Helsing then grabbed his sleeve and pulled it up to reveal the bite marks, he watched as the bartender's eyes widened with an aghast expression overcoming him.
"Werewolf bite…"
"Why the hell are you in here, then? You need to be as far away from civilization as possible before you spread your curse…" Dr. Seward groaned with despair.
"Well, I plan on doing just that. I plan on leaving Whitby as soon as possible, do you know any ships that'll be leaving the port soon?" Van Helsing asked.
"Y-Yes!" Dr. Seward stammered. "The Demeter, sister ship of the Vesta. It'll be leaving port within the next five days, where it's headed, I'm unsure. I think it'll take multiple stops before coming back."
With a tip of his hat and a final sip of his brandy, Van Helsing stood up.
"It's been a pleasure, Dr. Seward, if I ever come back, I'll have to share another drink with you."
Dr. Seward watched as Van Helsing left the bar and out into the streets of Whitby. The rays of sunlight thinned out before ceasing as the door closed behind the monster hunter.
"A werewolf, in my bar…" The doctor turned bartender said to himself before taking some brandy and pouring some for himself. "Bloody hell…"
As Van Helsing strolled down the street, a sudden stinging sensation snatched the wound Clint had inflicted upon him. With a snarl of pain, he gingerly rubbed and squeezed at it to try and ease the throbbing. With worried eyes, Gabriel started towards the sky. The sun was beaming down upon them on a beautiful morning without a cloud in the air.
From what he understood, the next full moon wouldn't be for a few more days, but that didn't matter at this point. He needed a cure, and the only one he could think of that could possibly have knowledge of such a thing was his former nemesis and former brother-in-arms, Count Vladislaus Dracula.
As he thought of the cure, memories of his battle with Dracula began to seep into his mind. Van Helsing remembered that immediately after Anna Valerious's cremation, everything that took place during the fight was a blur, something that was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite place it. As the years progressed, everything became clear, and now, two years after their fight, he remembered everything with such crystal-clear lucidity.
With those memories came dreadful thoughts about what could happen if a cure isn't found in time. What if he became a werewolf again? There'd be no cure. Would he be Dracula's slave like the curse worked? Would he kill everything and everyone in sight? If he were to transform while on the Demeter, would the chaos that would ensue sink it?
His mind then tried to come up with solutions for those problems, and he found himself acting like some sort of paranoid maniac who thinks of the worst-case scenarios in every waking moment of his life. It was potentially beneficial, but having such thoughts every hour wouldn't be so good for the psyche.
Eventually, Van Helsing came across a paperboy standing near a pole in the middle of the street, waving a bundle of newspapers, screaming and shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Vesta ship crashes, George Bronson de-throned! Read all about it!" Were some of the words this young whippersnapper was spewing from his lips, one of them intrigued the monster-killer.
"Vesta ship crashes."
"The Demeter, sister ship of the Vesta, it'll be leaving within five days!" The voice of Dr. Seward echoed in his mind. Sounds like Demeter's sister wasn't going to make it home unfortunately.
Van Helsing paid the boy, who scampered off to collect more papers to sell. The monster-killer sat at a nearby bench as he began to examine the newspaper.
Vesta in ruins! George Bronson dethroned by 'The Monster.'
As it turned out, the Vesta had been on its way to Whitby until it made a crash landing in the Exe Estuary in Southwest England. Every member on board the ship had been found dead, many of them with puncture holes in the neck; some of the others had shown signs of a struggle and had several brutal wounds and broken bones. Crates had been smashed to pieces; the contents scattered around the vessel. The sails had been torn in several places and ruined beyond repair. One of the sails had a splotch of blood smeared all over the canvas. An investigation was underway, policemen hunting down who or what could have caused the crash and be the perpetrator of the gruesome ways that the sailors met their demise.
Van Helsing knew precisely who the culprits were without even thinking, and his heart rate began to ascend. Lord Ruthven, Birsha, they were in England. How the hell did they know where they were located!? Alarms rang within his head, if they got to Whitby, Lord knows what would happen then.
The monster-killer flipped the page and started to read the next topic.
The Ringling Bros and Barnum and Bailey Circus had been going on tour in the United States, and its next stop would be in North Carolina. Circus freak George Bronson, a strongman, had been dubbed as 'The strongest man in America' and had built a reputation of lifting obscenely heavy objects. His strength both setting and breaking records previously set by other lifters and strongmen. A picture displayed the strongman deadlifting a barbell with massive round black spherical weights on both ends of the bar. He wore a burgundy red singlet with a golden band wrapped around his waist, on his feet were burgundy leather boots with golden designs adorning the sides of the shoes. Another picture caught Van Helsing's eyes, which widened at the sight.
You've got to be kidding me… Gabriel thought as he looked at a picture next to Bronson's. A massive hulking figure with a square shaped head, lifting the same barbell that George Bronson was lifting, except this person had lifted it over his head with one arm! Frankenstein's Monster! 'Strongest Creature In The World!' was the headline displayed over the image of the Monster effortlessly lifting what was quickly four thousand pounds over his head with ease.
The last time Van Helsing had seen the Monster was during the cremation of Anna Valerious on the pyre, the madman's creation had constructed a raft and was heading out to sea to live free, to live a life of his own accord. Gabriel hoped that the circus wasn't using the Monster against his will.
Flipping the page back, Van Helsing again discovered that the circus's next stop would be North Carolina, and an idea popped into his head.
I'll bury the whistle somewhere within the United States.
Before his mind could come up with a specific location in the US; a flash of pain seared through his forearm, eliciting a growl of pain from him and forced him to drop the paper. This abrupt reaction caught the attention of passerby, one of which stopped and tried to speak with him.
"Sir…sir are you alri—" Van Helsing swiftly cut the Englishman off.
"I'll be fine. I'm just recovering…" The monster hunter kept his details vague to avoid arousing suspicion from the strangers who strolled past him.
No longer desiring to arouse any suspicion, Van Helsing hurried away towards Carfax Abbey, it was the only place he knew to seek advice. Deep down, the monster-hunter dreaded it; Dracula was the only one known to have a cure for the werewolf sickness, and as far as Gabriel knew, the only one available had been used. Would be become a werewolf again? Would he have to serve under the whim of the Count? If there was anything Van Helsing knew about Dracula, it is that he was cunning and an opportunist, he wouldn't put it past his vampiric brother in arms to take advantage of his mindless bestial rage when under the curse of the lycanthrope.
Still, though, he had to keep a level head if they were going to take down Lord Ruthven. The mission was still not over, and it wouldn't be until the Blood Whistle was secured in a safer location or the ancient enemy was slain that the mission would be over.
Boom!
Dracula hissed awake to see the silhouette of Van Helsing in the doorway of the ancient abbey. His Brides hissed and recoiled from the sudden shock of someone barging into their living quarters.
"Gabriel, do you realize that we desire to rest!? We've been on the move for far too long!" The Count protested, baring his teeth angrily towards his former brother in arms.
"Do you realize that I've been bit!?" Van Helsing shot back, watching as Dracula's expression changed from a look of annoyance to a smug grin.
"You've been… bit?" The Count inquired, his smug look spreading on his handsome face.
"That's…what I just said…" Van Helsing replied.
"Such a shame, Gabriel…" The vampire taunted, "Such a shame…"
"This is no time for games, Vladislaus…I need that cure!"
"Too bad!" Dracula snapped. "The only one I had was stolen. Could you guess who stole it?"
Van Helsing remained silent.
"Your dearest Anna Valerious stuck you with it and now look at you! It's happened again."
"I'm not going to let myself fall under your control, Dracula…" Van Helsing warned. The Count noticed Gabriel's hands slowly curling into fists. "There's too much at stake right now for this to happen, give me a cure…"
"I told you, you idiot!" Dracula hissed, his voice echoing through the old dusty halls of the abbey. There is no cure! You used the only one!"
Van Helsing's expression darkened, and his face shifted with dread. He felt the proverbial walls closing in around him, and his chest grew tight.
"If you are…worried about becoming my slave, then you shouldn't worry at all…when you killed me two years ago, the curse was lifted. However, should you transform, I think that you will forget about our little alliance that you yourself built…"
A weight was lifted off Van Helsing's shoulders, but his mind began to think about what would happen if he was to transform in proximity to Dracula and his Brides. The Count's warning rang in his head…
"That's precisely what bothers me…" Van Helsing admitted, he believed that if he became a werewolf, he would be able to take on Lord Ruthven even in his Hellbeast form, but Lord Ruthven and that bastard golem Birsha? It raised doubts.
There was a pause for a moment as Van Helsing thought to himself.
The next full moon would be soon, and in five days too. Good Lord… transforming into a beast while on a ship filled with vampires and possibly others caught in the crossfire. Their only hope was it to be a cloudy night or a stormy night, which would make things even more chaotic.
"Gabriel," Dracula began, "Is this mission called off?"
Van Helsing didn't respond and stormed from the abbey.
Friar Carl was just about to slip into a deep sleep following his delightful evening with Marishka, who had since returned to Carfax Abbey, when the door of his bedroom burst open again!
"What the hell is it now!?" The monk screamed in a mixture of anger and confusion.
"Carl, come here." Van Helsing commanded; Carl watched as his silhouette disappeared from the doorway and headed down the hall, another loud bang was heard followed by an annoyed yell from Aidan.
"Aidan, come here."
The warlock and the monk met Van Helsing in their hotel lobby, noting the grave face on the leader of this entire mission.
"Listen up, both of you," Started the monster-killer, "A werewolf has bitten me. Carl, you know what happened last time I was attacked by one… if I am to become one at some point in the next five days, I fully expect one of you to knock me unconscious."
"Van Helsing…what are we to do without a leade—" Friar Carl was cut off.
"Even if it means the mission's failure, I want you to knock me out. I can't afford attacking any of my allies!"
Friar Carl was afraid to speak up, so Aidan did for him.
"We will, don't you worry about that. I still haven't forgotten about how you threatened me with death back at Vaseria…"
"Good man, Aidan… I should also probably mention the next phase of our mission," Gabriel announced, "In five days, we set course for North America via the Demeter. When we get there, I plan on locating a spot to bury the Blood Whistle."