- XXV -
Back To Him
How she would have loved
A party to-day! –
Bright-hatted and gloved,
With table and tray
And chairs on the lawn
Her smiles would have shone
With welcomings…. But
She is shut, she is shut
From friendship's spell
In the jailing shell
Of her tiny cell.
And we are here staying
Amid these stale things
Who care not for gaying,
And those junketings
That wed so to joy her,
And never to cloy her
As us they cloy!… But
She is shut, she is shut
From the cheer of them, dead
To all done and said
In a yew-arched bed.
– T. Hardy
Arthur Holmwood's Diary
3 November
After two days of doubting, nay, denying the bitter reality I now slowly but surely resign myself to my beloved Lucy's death. I dutifully make preparations for her funeral, but I am merely an observer of my actions, as if standing beside myself, as if I were some kind of automaton. Although her mother wanted her entombed in the Westenra family grave, I was able to convince her that, although we were not yet married, Lucy should be buried in the Godalming tomb. It is the least I can do to show my deep and eternal love for my sweet fiancé.
5 November
Lucy's funeral was today at noon. In a long procession our families and friends walked to the cemetery behind the hearse, which was drawn by four black horses and beautifully decorated with lilies. I knew showing tears would not be considered very virile, however, I could not help but to cry openly when I beheld her lovely features for the last time – her lips of marble! – her fragile body clothed in what was supposed to be her wedding dress, before they sank her into the sarcophagus and closed the lid above her. With shaking hands, I put out the lamp in the crypt and my stomach turned at the thought of leaving her in the blackness of this lightless tomb. On the way up the stairs Quincy had to support me, so weak was I from the uproar of grief in my chest. He offered me some whisky from his pocket bottle, which brought my spirit back at least a little bit and I managed to politely thank the mourning party for their sympathies – only to notice in shock that an uninvited guest had joined us:
The charlatan Van Helsing!
As I stared at him utterly disgruntled, he even dared to approach me and again plague me with his mad waffle about revenants and the undead! And then the loathsome dodderer said something so unbelievably, so outrageously detestable, I am barely able to write his words down:
"She will rise from her grave and be a pestilence to us all if you do not cut off her head and drive a stake through her heart!"
In this very moment I completely lost control of myself, I punched the lunatic right in his wrinkled face and yelled at him that, if he spoke but another word, I would sue him, get him deprived of his license and committed to an asylum immediately. At the crest of my emotional outburst, I even threatened to kill him with my own hands if he ever was to set a foot in my family's tomb and lay a finger on Lucy's coffin. It took two men to keep me from battering this deranged dodderer further, and two more to remove him from the cemetery. Dr Seward found some soothing words to calm me and apologised rather belatedly for consulting that quack in the first place.
6 November
I cannot sleep. The dreadful encounter with Van Helsing at Lucy's funeral is constantly replaying in my mind. How could that man – that monster! – dare to spoil the very last moment I have shared with my beloved! Torn between rage and grief, between cursing and weeping I stray the house, unable to find anything distracting, let alone appeasing me...
8 November
Quincy visited me for dinner, for some friendly, bolstering talk – and to announce that he will soon leave for the States again. Since he bid me goodbye in the late evening, I feel alone as never before in my life, as if I were a wretched, broken and abandoned soul, burdened with a future of eternal solitude. How, oh how can I just live without my Lucy?!
10 November
To escape this devastating grief, this constant pain that gnaws at my heart, I thought about asking Dr Seward for a counselling session. However, I fear the very prospect of having to talk about Lucy's death and I am afraid the mere sight of the doctor's face will wake the memories of my beloved's dreadful illness again. And so, I did not write to her. Instead, I decided to distract myself with trivial things and indulged in the reading of several newspapers for the rest of the day. The Westminster Gazette – a lurid rag I usually avoid – brought some article about a little girl disappearing not far from here in the park. What times do we live in when even in Hampstead one cannot let children roam freely?
11 November
My God, why do you burden me with even more dread and horror than I already have to bear?!
I went to the cemetery in the late afternoon, simply intending to replace the flowers on Lucy's grave and spend a few moments of silent grief inside our tomb. However, when entering the crypt, I already noticed that something was utterly wrong, for the door stood slightly ajar. A terrifying misgiving rose inside my chest and my worst fear came true as soon as I approached the sarcophagus, the lid of which seemed somehow shifted... I did not trust my eyes, I thought my mourning mind was playing some obscene trick on me. Oh, Jesus Christ, I am barely able to write down what I saw – or rather not saw!
My beloved's body is gone, the coffin empty!
I dare not think on who has stolen my sweet Lucy's mortal remains! Body snatchers? Then what are they going to do to her now – my darling! Or was it Van Helsing, that sick bastard? Has he mutilated her as he has raved about at the funeral? Oh God, no!
What in heaven's name was I supposed to do? I knew not and still know not! I could only, with hands shaking in sheer terror, close the sarcophagus again and return home. Tonight, I cannot tell anyone about this disaster, this catastrophe! The sole thing I can do is take some laudanum and try to rest.
11 November
This morning, I prepared to go to the police, to report the abduction of Lucy's body, tell them Van Helsing's name and his maniacal plan to decapitate her! I should have done so right after the funeral, then I would have been able to avert that horrible crime I am now sure this monster has committed. When I left the house with steps both vigorous with determination and trembling in continuing terror, a thick fog hung in the streets and the park, blurring my sight like a veil, muffling all noises, rendering the otherwise so loud city mute. And in this bizarre silence I suddenly heard something... something so entirely unbelievable that I doubt not only my perception, but my sanity as well:
Lucy's voice. Her sweet, bell-like voice was speaking my name, calling me to come to her. Oh Lord, my heart shattered into a thousand pieces again at that hallucination my tormented mind had surely created in a miserable attempt to allay my pain. In a despairing gesture I ran my hands through my hair and turned on my heels. In such a state I cannot go to the police – in such a state I cannot see anyone at all!
12 November
I am still unable to talk to anyone, not even the servants, not even my friends. I know I should have contacted the police by now, or at least informed the Westenras about the disappearance of Lucy's body, but I cannot bring myself to make a move, such an emotional wreck am I. In the evening, when I opened my window, I thought I heard my beloved whispering to me once more. Tonight, I again must rely on the soothing effect of laudanum to keep me from losing my mind.
13 November
Almighty God, let today's events be true and not just a drug-induced illusion! For I cannot believe that I am writing these lines black on white into this diary:
Lucy is not dead! Her death was only apparent! My darling is alive! My beloved has come back to me!
When I woke from a long and dreamless sleep, I dared to venture out of the house to get some fresh air, only to be met once more by a wall of obscure fog. While I pondered if I now had the heart to finally report the dreadful act of abduction, Lucy's voice again reached my ears, this time wafting over clearly from the park. I could have fled back in from the ghostly occurrence, however, curiosity – or maybe some desperate hope – got the better of me, and I hesitantly walked into the thick bank of mist that engulfed Hampstead Heath. At the risk of being deemed mad by the passersby I felt my way through the milkiness like a blind man, calling Lucy's name.
And then suddenly, she ascended from the fog before me! An apparition! Her skin as white as her burial dress, her eyes blazing blue, her ginger hair floating around her head like pure fire! I flinched at the sight, which I then thought was certainly a hallucination, and wanted to avert my gaze, but suddenly she touched my hand with cold fingertips.
"It is me, Arthur, I am alive!" she assured me in the sweetest, melodious tone. "Do not fear me, my love!"
For a long moment I looked at her, both aghast and in awe, but then stepped forth to draw her into my arms and embrace her tightly.
Entirely consumed by the reading of the late lord's notes, Renfield almost missed the creaking of the main portal opening and only at the sound of footsteps in the entrance hall pricked up his ears. Lucy had come back to him! Quickly, he sprang from his seat and hastened to greet his Lady.
As always, her radiating beauty enlightened the dim greyness of the winter day, as she, in an elegant swirl of snow-white lace, approached him. He did not perceive any displeasure from her, but nonetheless was relieved when he beheld a faint smile on her porcelain features.
"I see you have behaved while I was away," Lucy observed, letting her gaze wander over her humbly bowing servant. He was wearing the dressing gown she had provided him with and seemed to have virtuously been staying inside, just as she had intended.
"Mistress!" he addressed her in a most meek tone. "As you had departed before I had woken, I had had no opportunity to thank you yet! Oh, how can I express my eternal gratefulness! You have again saved my life, you treated my wounds, nursed me, nourished me with your own..."
"Shh!" she interrupted him, raising an elegant, gloved index finger. "There is no need for your hymns of praise. Better tell me how those dreadful events in Dr Seward's office could have happened. Why have you even been there in the first place?"
Richard let out a deep sigh, full of wretchedness and exhaustion. There was no point in prevaricating or lying to his Mistress in this situation, for she would know, and he truly craved to mend his ways. And so, he told her everything – how he had found the pantry empty while she had been away, that he had suffered from ravenous thirst, and in his agitated state searched her study for a hint to find her, how he had come to suspect where she was gone and hurried to meet her there, and how his primal urges had overwhelmed him before her arrival. The only detail he omitted was the injured vampire boy in the park, who by now surely would be dead.
Was he vanishing from the world of the living and slipping back to the island of soothing dreams? Would he soon be locked up inside his own body again, this impenetrable cocoon, with nothing left but his imagination, like he had been before the mortals had reanimated him? Fenton thought so, because he had not seen the sun rising or heard the birds singing, he did not feel the pain of the stab wound anymore, nor did he feel the cold or weight of the snow layer above him. With the merciless stranger gone, all illusion of rescue had abandoned him, and surely, the deathless dread would overcome him once more.
Francis... Francis... come back to me...
Yes, it was the Master's voice, warm and calming, coming straight from his own subconscious, calling him to the constantly repeating, never-ending circle of wishful thoughts.
Francis, wake up...!
Oh, and what wishful thinking it was this time! Being brought back to life by Dracula's steady baritone was as high a hope only phantasms could raise.
Francis, I command you to rise!
But was his tone not a bit too harsh for a comforting construct of fantasy...?
Suddenly, Fenton's dreamworld ended, collapsing like a house of cards, bursting like a soap bubble, as a power stronger and more vigorous than anything he could have ever imagined brutally forced its way into his mind. An energy dark as the blackest night shot into every fibre of his body, engrossing every blood cell is his veins, driving his heart to beat again, and with an animalistic noise, somewhere between growl and gasp, the vampire boy inhaled.
Azure eyes snapping open, he clearly beheld what he had deemed an unreachable illusion: The Master's true, solid form towering over him.
The dusty, workaday atmosphere of the London register office had just been warmed by a faint ray of daylight falling in through the high windows, as a disturbing draught of icy air, accompanied by a flurry of drifting snow invaded the building through the main door. And with it came in the tall, elegant figure of a nobleman, clad in expensive black fur, his vigorous steps and the tapping sound of his silver cane echoing through the entrance hall.
"I wish to do some important research on a certain name here," he snapped at the reception clerk in an arrogant tone, not bothering to greet.
The young, stocky man raised an eyebrow at this, then, in a just as haughty voice replied: "Sorry, Sir, but doing 'some important research on a certain name' is impossible. You can only submit a request for access to information on persons you have the legal guardianship of."
"What?!" Lord Hyde hissed, flashing brown eyes fixating the impertinent employee. "Are you indeed telling me that nobody is allowed to make use of those millions of personal details you have stashed here?!"
"I did not say that nobody is allowed," the receptionist replied, outright correcting his opposite. "Public officers, such as the police, can inspect our files. But we can, of course, not grant permission to all the sundry."
Upon listening to the supercilious words coming out of the clerk's mouth, Hyde's pale face contorted into a mask of pure antipathy.
"All the sundry?!" he repeated, his voice a sharp, threatening whisper. "Do you know whom you are talking to, vermin?!"
"No, I do not. Who do I have the honour of addressing, Sir?" the man replied, seemingly unimpressed by this insult, while taking out a notebook and writing down a few lines.
"Lord Hyde!" the aristocrat growled, furious gaze following the swift movements of the pen. "What are you scribbling there, you miserable little maggot?!"
"Oh, only your name and what you just called me," the receptionist answered nonchalantly. "Defamation of a civil servant on duty is not to be treated lightly..."
Suddenly, a flash of silver illuminated the hall and the young man found himself dragged up from his seat by his tie, with a blade just as sharp and threatening as the Lord's voice on his throat.
"Hereby I officially submit a request for access to your archives!" Hyde spat, every syllable oozing with hectoring cynicism.
Victor had returned to his flat for the night, but, barely able to sleep, in the early morning hours had taken a cab to the Hyde mansion once more. He had asked the butler for Henry's whereabouts, and, as Poole had claimed that he had not yet returned, even inquired, if he had seen that apparition resembling the late Lord Hyde again. The old man thereupon had only let out an arrow prayer, beseeching God not to let him encounter such a gruesome chimaera ever again.
Sighing, Frankenstein had turned his back on his friend's confused employee and left the estate, musing about what to do next. With no hint to where Jekyll had gone, he could only return and ask for him frequently. He should commit Poole to Dr Seward, if the doter kept on waffling about ghosts and revenants...
Upon this thought, an idea sprang to Frankenstein's mind. The psychologist was one of the few people both he and Henry knew, a mutual acquaintance so to speak, and even though the chemist had last time left her office enraged and frustrated, it was still possible that he, under these exceptional circumstances, had visited her again since. Maybe he had told her about the events in the attic laboratory, and if he planned on conducting an experiment on himself.
That small spark of hope for discovering at least another clue to his highly labile, unpredictably unstable friend's whereabouts was enough to make Victor head down the street in energetic strides. He would venture to Seward's office immediately and ask for her help.
Lucy listened carefully to her servant's statement. He sounded so conscience-stricken and burdened with guilt, so utterly remorseful that she could tell he was indeed speaking the truth. And although the horrible death of that poor girl still tugged at her heartstrings, she could not bring herself to punish him further, for, in the strict sense, it had been partly her own fault. She herself had neglected to provide him with nourishment that night!
A bitter expression dimmed her otherworldly radiance, as she took a deep breath and looked up into Renfield's pale blue eyes.
"I will – again – forgive you, my dear," she decided, then, with two steps closing the distance between them and smoothing out the silken lapel of his robe in an almost caressing gesture, she added: "Under one condition: you will from now on definitively and entirely submit to the rules."
A shiver ran down his spine at her touch and he let out a shuddering breath, before he hurried to answer: "I swear I will, Milady, I swear!"
Lucy threw him a not interpretable glance and was already about to turn away, when she noticed the booklet he was holding in his right hand.
"What have you been reading?" she inquired casually.
Richard's eyes went wide at that and he blinked twice, as if he had completely forgotten about what he had clutched all along.
"Oh... I..." he stammered, then hesitantly presented the cover to her.
"The Basics Of Real Estate Industry?" An amused giggle escaped his Lady's lips upon reading the title aloud.
He felt the heat rising to his cheeks and ears as he explained: "I thought, after my failure with Danvers Carew's house, I should better... start to educate myself in these matters, shouldn't I?"
Seeing that he was truly trying to amend, she smiled at him in the sweetest way, and he exhaled in relief upon the fact that she had not seen her late husband's diary, which he was hiding between the pages of the textbook.