!Warning: M (16+)-rated themes: Violence, sexual content, rape.
- XXII -
Over The Edge
"You have never before met any of the people in these photographs, Mr Clare?" Inspector Fleming scrutinised the poet with prying eyes. "Well, then let us see if one of them recognises you, shall we?"
With that, the older policeman called for an officer, who then lead in a burly, middle-aged lower class man – it was the one who had fled from Clare that night in Soho!
"Good afternoon, Mr Bishop," Sergeant Gainsborough addressed him. "I am truly sorry we kept you waiting, but I can assure you, our interview will not take long, for I have only one question: Do you recognise this suspect?"
Bishop eyed John with a clearly hostile expression on his chunky face, and the poet already knew what he would answer.
"Yessir!" the witness growled. "'Tis the fuckin' freak who beat up me friends and killed Andy, the poor sod!"
"Are you sure?" Fleming dug deeper. "Would you repeat this statement under oath?"
"Sure as death, Inspector!" Bishop spat, small piggy eyes sparkling with antipathy.
"Good, thank you, Mr Bishop, that would be all," the younger policeman dismissed him, whereupon he was lead back out of the interrogation room.
"Now, Mr Clare, do you have anything to tell us?" Gainsborough raised an eyebrow, fixating the poet's tall, but stooped over form.
For a long moment John stared at the table he was chained to, unmoving, his breath growing heavier. He did not know how to defend himself against the witness' statement, could not think of any convincing lie to tell. He had never been good at scheming games like this, found striking words solely in his poetry, and so, he decided to tell the truth.
"Alright..." he deeply inhaled the stale air. "I hurt three men and killed a fourth, but only after they had attacked me. It was self-defence! And of the other atrocities you showed me I know nothing!"
The sergeant grinned triumphantly upon this, while the inspector commented: "Strange, Mr Clare, very strange. Mere minutes ago you claimed not to recognise any of the men in these photographs and now you are confessing to four of six crimes. You are entangling yourself in contradictions..."
"So, that special diet of yours..." Florence started the unusual counselling session, while she walked next to the lady in white. As the vampire seemed to be indeed only in need of a talk, the doctor had unclasped the revolver in her pocket and instead lit a cigarette.
"As Dr Jekyll told me, Renfield's dependence on human blood drove him to some violent outbursts."
"His nutrition is not the problem. I am taking care of that," Lucy said, sounding slightly offended, as if the psychologist was accusing her of neglecting her servant's primal needs.
"And what about the hallucinations? Does he still hear the voice of his so-called master?" Seward went on without batting an eye.
"He does not. I have taken care of that, too," Lady Godalming answered, more pensive now. "But I think that, although he no longer has any physical compulsion or external suggestions to act on, he might still pose a certain... threat..."
The psychologist furrowed her brow at the last word. She had already suspected as much, for, despite her impressive appearance, the lady in white on closer examination seemed small and fragile.
"Are you afraid of Renfield?" Florence bluntly asked.
"No, of course not," her pale opposite replied in a haughty tone.
"Why not? Because he looks like he wouldn't hurt a fly? Believe me, he has devoured dozens of them during his time in Bethlem," Seward jested, but her bitter expression belied her words. "I myself deemed him a harmless, clumsy wimp, until the night I encountered him in my office, eating toads, raving about the apocalypse and then trying to strangle me."
"Oh, my dear," the lady addressed her as if she were an ignorant child. "Richard would not hurt me. He adores me."
Florence pricked up her ears at the sound of the madman's first name from Lucy's crimson lips, then took a draw from her cigarette and sighed at the rather naïve statement.
"When has adoration ever prevented a man from hurting a woman?"
"What a pessimistic view, my good Doctor!" There was an almost pitying undertone to the vampire's bell-like voice, suggesting that she assumed this position to originate from some dreadful past events. "So, you think I should be afraid?"
"I haven't said that," Seward negated. "But I advise, if you feel uncomfortable with him, you should dismiss your servant."
"If it were so simple, I would not have contacted you." It was Lucy's turn to sigh now.
"Why would it be complicated for a lady to dismiss an employee?" Seward asked, bewildered, but then wisely suspected: "Or is he more than that to you?"
"He indeed is more to me, Doctor," Lucy admitted. "However, the connection between night creatures is of a nature you would not understand."
"Then try to explain it to an ordinary mortal psychologist," Florence suggested, raising an eyebrow.
Lady Godalming paused in her tracks for a moment, examining her surroundings for potential eavesdroppers, then, upon finding no overly curious passersby in the dark winter night, walked on more slowly and carefully than before.
"Richard and I are of the same kind, children of the same progenitor," the lady in white explicated. "And moreover, we are liaised in a bond stronger than any relationship mortals can contract. Without my presence, I fear, he would soon despair, for as his Mistress, I am the one he must turn to. However, I should also be able to control him – a trial I have failed on many occasions. I can protect him from external influences, but not from what lurks within himself. And so, I feel responsible for him, for what he has done and might do, for what he is becoming."
"I see," the doctor said, although she could tell even by the vague description, that this strange relationship was indeed of a kind not appearing in common psychological studies. "Well, maybe you should explore the reasons for this doing and becoming, no? If not out of some delusional compulsion or hallucinatory suggestion, why does he do it, why does he become whatever it is you are talking about."
"When I found him in his Bethlem cell," Lady Godalming went on in a sad tone, "weak and abandoned, reaching out for someone to come for him, begging for help, I assumed freedom and feeding would be all he needed. When I disburdened him from the voice inside his head, I thought peace of mind would be everything he wanted. But now I discovered that my care and protection were never enough, that he might crave for more – and this craving deep within him holds him prisoner much more than any locked ward could detain him and unhinges his reason more than any devilish blandishment could disturb him."
"You mean he wants more from you than what you have already given? Physically?" Florence inquired, now treading on a well-known path of psychoanalysis again.
"Yes, Doctor, I fear he does," Lucy replied, averting her eerily glowing eyes.
Mary's heart was hammering so fast, it felt on the verge of bursting. Oh God, what was happening to her?! How had she gotten into such a situation?! Threatened by a fugitive madman! Trapped in the grasp of some perverted lunatic, molesting her, intending to... eat her! She wanted to fight him, scratch him, beat him, but despite his lank physique he was much stronger than her, easily pinning her against the wall. She tried a desperate attempt to scare him away by telling him of her fiancé, but it did not seem to bother him.
"I am sure he is a sightly man, your fiancé..." the lecherous psychopath drawled, leaning in even closer to her.
Petrified, Mary was unable to move and could only utter a high-pitched shriek, when she heard his heavy breathing close to her ear, felt his cold fingers unbuttoning her blouse. Then, suddenly, to her great relieve, the door swung open and agitated footsteps drew near.
"Mary!" her fiancé's worried voice echoed through the room.
"Lawrence!" she cried, the heaviest weight taken from her chest.
In the blink of an eye her tall and strong beloved had seized the assailant's throat und dragged him away from her, whereupon she was finally able to breathe freely again. A few hard punches and the disgusting lecher hit the ground.
"How dare you touch my girl, you son of a bitch!" Lawrence exclaimed, his voice contorted by violent rage, while he kicked the madman's ribs, causing him to utter a pained cry.
Intimidated, Renfield scrambled backwards on the floor, then hurried to get up. He bared his abnormally sharp teeth at them one last time before fleeing the room through the door.
"Yes! Get lost, sod!" Lawrence yelled after him.
Once they were alone, Mary could no longer hold back her tears. Sobbing, she threw herself into her fiancé's arms.
"Oh God, Lawrence! I'm so glad you're here!"
"Shh, it's alright, I'll protect you..." His soothing baritone gave her comfort, and she pressed herself tightly against his sturdy form, clutching his back.
For a long moment they stood there, motionless, when Lawrence slowly began stroking through her hair. Mary sighed again and leaned into his caress as it became more intense and passionate. Soon she found herself sitting on her desk, her beloved's mouth all over her neck, kissing and suckling her delicate skin.
"Don't, you're going to leave a mark!" she giggled, exhilarated.
"Oh, but I hope so!" Lawrence purred, amused by her mock coyness.
In a skilled motion he raised her skirts, pushing the layers of cotton up over her knees, grasping her woollen stocking covered thighs. His gentle fingertips travelled along the soft, warm fabric until they reached even softer, warmer flesh and, allured by her heat, they soon found her most sensitive spot. Aroused by her fiancé's ministrations Mary moaned aloud, while he deepened the kiss on her neck.
Dr Henry Jekyll did not know how much time had passed since he had collapsed on his bed, since he had in sheer panic witnessed the gruesome transformation of his face to the features of his tyrannic father, but his breath had grown even again, and he felt now strong enough to rise. On shaky legs, the chemist dared to walk to the bathroom once more and approach the mirror. After taking a deep, calmative breath, he let his lids flutter open – and beheld his own self, raven-haired and dark-skinned! Great, blissful relief rose within him at this sight. Never before had he been so happy with his appearance!
So, it had indeed been some hallucinogenic effect of the green serum. He would better have tested the experimental elixir on sane subjects first – just as Frankenstein had suggested – before injecting it into his own veins. Henry furrowed his brows at his own non-professional action. Why had he done this in the first place? He remembered the moment in the sitting room, when he had determinedly drawn up a syringe, but the reason for that stupid deed remained in the dark, nay, in some mysterious mist beclouding his memory.
Exhaling and closing his eyes, he decided to venture to the parlour and have a drink. Maybe it was better not to remember too much of the horrifying intoxication the drug had induced. When Jekyll on his way down crossed his father's study, a large tome sitting on the desk caught his eye, and he stopped in his tracks. It was a history book. Had he himself retrieved it from some shelf? As he scrutinised the open page, the letters of a name seemed to spring at him like a beast of prey: Godalming.
He recalled that name! He had frantically searched for it everywhere in this room! Running his hands through his hair, he desperately tried to concentrate on that shard of a memory, but he could not conjure up anything else connected to this name, his mind remaining engulfed in a thick fog of amnesia. In this very moment, the boiling rage and black despair in the face of his memory loss returned to him, running through his entire body like lightning. This had been the reason why he had tested the serum on himself! He had craved to recover some lost thought, some wiped-out moment. And it had worked, for he had later researched this ominous name!
It seemed, however, the elixir's effect was not persistent and with the drug gone from his system, he did now recall less than before. Biting down on his lip, Jekyll fixated the nine letters before him as if they were some salvational runes. Apparently, he would need another dose to continue his work here.
Desire presented her false glass, and then
The spirit dwelling there
Was spellbound to embrace what seemed so fair
Within that magic mirror,
And dazed by that bright error,
It would have scorned the shafts of the avenger
And death, and penitence, and danger,
Had not then silent Fear
Touched with her palsying spear,
So that as if a frozen torrent
The blood was curdled in its current;
It dared not speak, even in look or motion,
But chained within itself its proud devotion.
Between Desire and Fear thou wert
A wretched thing, poor heart!
– P. B. Shelley
Somehow, he had rendered her motionless and she uttered only one last high-pitched shriek, before falling silent while he began unbuttoning her blouse. As if relieved of her ghastly panic, her skinny body relaxed in his arms.
"Lawrence..." she weakly sighed.
Renfield assumed this to be the name of her oh so strong fiancé and he had to smirk naughtily at the fact that he seemingly had again accomplished to trap his victim in some kind of illusion, lulling her in a false sense of security. To his pleasant surprise, Mary did not only give up her resistance, but clutched his back, sobbing into the fine brocade of his waistcoat.
"Oh God, Lawrence! I'm so glad you're here!" the girl breathed, causing Richard's nasty grin to broaden even more.
He had made her believe that he was her fiancé – without any help, without any borrowed skills from Dracula! Oh, what a feeling of pure power, of supernatural, demonic mastery. Yes, in this very moment he, Richard Mortimer Renfield, felt like the master of this mortal being, like the master of life and death himself!
"Shh, it's alright, I'll protect you..." His soothing baritone gave her comfort, and she pressed herself tightly against him.
For some time, they just stood there, motionless, as he savoured the complete dominance he held over his victim. Her whole existence, the decision on her fate lay in his hands. Yes, he could have let her live, let her go now, play the merciful nobleman. The night creature inside him, however, the beast of prey deep within his blackened heart was thirsting for her blood, hungering for her flesh, roaring to finally be set free. And so, Renfield chose his primal, primitive instinct over mercy.
Slowly, he began stroking through her hair. Oh, how he loved ginger locks! How much they reminded him of his beloved Lucy! Mary sighed again and leaned into his caress as it became more intense and passionate. Bony as she was, she weighed almost nothing as he lifted her onto her desk – ironically, while it had been his workplace, he had dreamed of, but never thought it possible having a girl right on top of this very piece of furniture. Soon, his mouth was all over her neck, kissing and suckling her delicate skin.
"Don't, you're going to leave a mark!" Mary giggled, exhilarated.
"Oh, but I hope so!" Richard purred, amused by her mock coyness.
In a skilled motion he raised her skirts, pushing the layers of cotton up over her knees, grasping her woollen stocking covered thighs. His gentle fingertips travelled along the soft, warm fabric until they reached even softer, warmer flesh and, allured by her heat, they soon found her most sensitive spot. Aroused by her supposed fiancé's ministrations Mary moaned aloud, while Renfield deepened the kiss on her neck, his fangs piercing her flesh.
"You fear his advances?" The doctor scrutinised the noblewoman with a serious expression on her austere features.
"There is nothing to fear," Lady Godalming answered, a hint of defiance in her voice now. "He has not attempted to do anything indecent to me."
"So, he disgusts you?" Seward would not have been surprised if he did, for the picture of her former secretary propositioning the young Miss Hartdegen was still vivid in her memory.
"No, of course not!" Lucy almost vehemently negated. "Why would he?"
The psychologist again raised an eyebrow at that. The lady's view on Renfield's lecherous trait seemed to be rather beclouded by her protective instincts. Or was it possible that she might favour just that sinful side of his? One way or the other, with that knowledge at hand, the possible threat to Lucy's wellbeing now appeared much less severe.
"Have you considered granting him his wishes?" Seward dared to ask.
For a moment, Lucy stared at her opposite, cerulean eyes wide in disbelief.
"Are you suggesting I should give in to his desires?" she inquired indignantly. "To sleep with my servant in order to keep him at bay?"
A both bitter and suggestive expression spread over the doctor's wrinkled face, as she explained: "You certainly know, that, with the carnal act, a woman can exercise a certain power over a man. You could gain the control you seek. And in addition, intimacy with someone who adores you and whom you care for surely wouldn't be of any disprofit to you, would it?"
"Is this the only advice you can provide?!" Lucy hissed, utterly enraged now, eyes flashing in an angry blue. "For this I would not have needed to seek the services of a studied psychologist! Every dirty procuress in Whitechapel would have suggested the same!"
Unimpressed by the lady's outburst, Seward took the last draw from her cigarette, before flicking it away. Lucy might be a supernatural creature now, but the girl had not lost any of her upper class prudery.
"Sometimes, my dear Lady," the older woman said in a calm tone. "Sometimes the simplest solution is the most fruitful."
Without caring for any further remark from the vampire, Florence then turned to the left and crossed the street, for they now had reached her office.
Lucy was utterly exasperated by Seward's loose tongue. Never had she expected to hear such an insinuating recommendation from her. After all, it apparently had been a stupid idea to seek the advice of a mortal, for the psychologist clearly did not understand the true nature of her trouble. Of course, sexual intercourse was a way to bind and even control a human being, but between night creatures intimate contact could take on entirely different forms. Oh, she knew this better than she would have liked! The mere remembrance of what had happened when she had last time allowed such closeness was a painful stab to her heart. As a responsible mistress, she had to under all circumstances spare Richard the severe consequences of being with her. No, the simpleminded doctor's solution was definitely not was she was searching for.
With a few elegant steps, the lady in white entered the office building behind the older woman, and mentally reached out for Seward's consciousness. It was time to erase the feckless mortal's memory.
Lucy's telepathic power had already grasped the doctor's mind, engulfing it entirely, when suddenly a bolt of intense emotions ran through her head, then through every fibre of her body, causing her to utter a shocked gasp. A tempestuous mixture of raging, ravenous thirst and fiendish, fevering lust assailed her from somewhere above – a combination the origin of which she did not need to contemplate long. Her servant was present in this very building, at this very moment acting out what she had forbidden him!
Her white dress billowing behind her like a racing cloud, Lucy flew up the stairs behind Dr Seward, praying she would be there just in time to prevent the worst from happening.
Just as Mary assumed his heavy breaths to be Lawrence's, Richard imagined her honeyed moans to be Lucy's. Just as she believed the skilled fingers between her legs to be those of her fiancé, he envisioned how he would caress his beloved's soft centre, how his touch would leave her trembling – trembling and dripping wet and ready for him to take her.
Even more consuming, however, was his imaginativeness concerning the flavour of his victim's blood. Although Mary's life had tasted rather stale, almost boring at the beginning, it now seemed almost as sweet and complex and rich as his Lady's! Soon, his head was spinning with the illusory image of Lucy. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy...! Oh, how he craved to have her here and now!
"Jesus Christ!" A completely unexpected exclamation of sheer shock echoed through the room and startled him from his fervent, feverish fantasy.
Instinctively, Renfield let go of Mary's neck and his head jerked up, burning blue eyes wandering around in search for whoever was interrupting his pleasurable meal. Then, he himself let out a shocked, fang revealing hiss, when he beheld the black-clothed figure of Dr Seward standing on the threshold.
Despite the ghastly terror that was evident on her wrinkled features, the psychologist dared to take a step towards the desk, scrutinising the atrocious scene before her.
"Renfield... is that you?!" she uttered, her otherwise so harsh voice wavering in fright.
"Oh yes, it is me, my dear Doctor," Richard drawled, as rivulets of crimson trickled down his chin, staining his white shirt and his victim's lilac dress. "wouldn't have expected me back so soon after sending me to hell, would you?"
Her gaze flickered from the madman's bizarrely contorted features to the trembling body of her secretary and back again. He had left a dreadful bite mark on Mary's neck where he had been drinking her blood, and in addition, as the girl's position and her shoved up skirts were implying, had also been about to rape her. Seward's fingers clutched the revolver's handle in her pocket, an enraged and determined expression replacing the shock on her face, but before she could think of drawing the weapon, a powerful presence approached, rendering her motionless, as Lady Godalming entered the room.
Lucy had, by the emotions she had perceived from her servant, expected to behold a bloodbath and so, was not as shocked as the psychologist when she saw Richard bent over a young woman with her throat lacerated, trickles of crimson staining his face and clothes. However, the way the girl's skirts had been raised and his hand was placed between her legs in combination with the bright colour of the victim's hair, resembling her own ginger locks so much, induced her eyes to widen – and her heart to stop. An excruciating pain spread in her chest at the confirmation of what the man she had trusted was capable of, at the horrifying manifestation of her most fatal fear.
When encountering Dr Seward, Renfield's spell on Mary had persisted, still holding her in her illusion of being caressed by her fiancé, but now, as his Lady had arrived, gazing at him with the bluest eyes wide in horror, all the demonic delight suddenly faded from his veins – and he lost control over the girl beneath him. Within mere moments, Mary's aroused breaths turned into terrified, agonised shrieks as she realised who really had been kissing her neck and stroking the most private parts of her body. Desperately, she tried to wrestle herself free from the psychopathic rapist, who was still forcing her down onto the desk.
The panicked reaction of his victim again caused Richard's pulse to race in sheer dread. What if her cries alarmed other mortals in the building?! What if they would overpower him, imprison him once more?! And what of his beloved Lady?! What if they would harm his Lucy?! Without wasting another thought on any possible consequences, he followed his survival instinct and in an impetuous reflex action seized the girl's head with both hands.
A forceful twist to the side, the hideous sound of bones snapping, and the light vanished from Mary's green eyes, her flaccid form collapsing on the desk, her screams dying instantly. For a moment, tense silence filled the room. Then, abruptly, Seward drew her revolver, concentratedly aimed at Renfield's heart, and pulled the trigger.