Memoirs of an Immortal Life (14 page)

Vladimir’s Dracul’s Journal

27 October 1893

Sighisoara

They come for us this night, Jonathan Harker and his companions, set on freeing Mina from my grasp. I know not what the future may hold. God is no longer within my grasp nor am I in his keep. I know only the depth of the love I feel for her, the love, which she so willingly accepted, and the truth that she was not fearful of when it was spoken. If it is meant that my life here shall end, then let God smile at my deliverance and death for a mere day in her arms has washed centuries of longing and despair from my heart.

We await the fall of the sun below the horizon when our strength shall grow more formidable to enable the defeat of those who would keep us from our love. If Ahbrim remembers anything about the life I once lived, let it be that I gave my heart completely, be it when I was alive as Viovode and a servant of God or after my death and rebirth, let him know that all I have done I have done for love and let nothing else remain. In life, she was the light of all lights and let her be so upon my death.

Claudia Van Helsing’s Journal

1 November 1893

Buda-
Pesth

I sit dutifully in the corner of the room with the stern instructions of my father playing through my head, as I watch this nameless man whom I have seen only a handful of times before to call out to my father should he show any signs of life.

I find Buda-
Pesth to be a strange and superstitious city, if it can be called such. I did not know my father had a home and laboratory here. Evidently, there is much I do not know about him. He said when I questioned him he had many such laboratories throughout Europe devoted to his studies from his youth. Did my mother know of these secret undertakings? Did my father have a life hidden from us? Could I have siblings that I have never met?

“The answer to the questions you silently pose is no,” a voice said hoarsely from across the dimly lit room.

A small piece of me wished to cry out as I had been instructed to do yet I could not. I instead crept to his bedside, my oil lamp in my hand casting small shadows upon his poor excuse for a bed. His neck tightly bound with blood soaked bandages. No normal man could survive such an injury. His smile was slight as he clutched his bandages.

“Fetch your father, Claudia,” he said hoarsely.

As I ascended the stairs, I wondered how it was our guest knew my name. I could only guess my father had told him.

“Father,” I called. “He is awake.”

My father leapt from the small kitchen table, pausing as he rushed toward the stairs leading toward the cellar, grabbing me by the shoulders and twirling me about as though some unheard waltz played.

“He lives, Claudia. He lives.”

And with his joyful announcement he closed the door, leaving me alone, and wondering even more deeply the importance of our strange and injured guest.

I fear I am even more bewildered at this point than I was when he brought him to our temporary home in London acting as though madness had taken over him. He told me then never to mention seeing our guest to anyone. He was a man from abroad, a hunted man with whom we could not be known associating. I heard the two of them arguing. Their voices were elevated, filled with anger as they spoke. As quickly as he had arrived that night, he had left. Now we are in a land that quite frankly frightens me and my father behaves as though the transgressions of that night are forgiven. I am beginning to wonder how deeply rooted the relationship between my father and the bewitchingly handsome man held prisoner in our cellar truly is.

I know in my heart my father is connected to him in some bizarre fashion he is not willing to admit. I also know how stubborn Abraham Van Helsing can be, if I force his hand in the issue and become demanding. Should I not exercise care, I will never learn his name. No mere man could survive injuries such as I saw in the dimly lit confines. How he manages to live confounds me. I can attribute it to only him being in the care of my father and nothing more.

Near Midnight

Finally, after much pleading, I was able to squeeze from my father’s lips his name: Vladimir. What a strangely clandestine name, like that of prince.

I am weary after my bloodletting only an hour ago and must retire. This tale I will resume in the morning. I hope to speak with Vladimir tomorrow and learn more of his life.

Abraham Van Helsing’s Journal

1 November 1893

Buda-Pesth

Claudia called to me. I find him much recovered. In my heart, I find I am torn. For the vow I once took is broken to save her.

His wounds, despite their severity, have healed. A fine scar I am sure it will leave to accompany the others he has amassed. Knowing Vlad as I do, I am sure he will tell me it will only add to his character.

I stayed with him through the night, returning to him after Claudia’s bloodletting, supplying him with her blood. It was not what I wished to do, but in this dire circumstance I find us facing, it is what I must do to ensure our survival. I cannot afford him slipping into the cover of the night to seek that which sustains him and drawing them down upon us.

His demeanor I find to be calm, despite all that has happened, which I admit is a bit of a curiosity to me. I know well his temper. I was certain it would be evident upon our arrival. He has shown no evidence of it.

Should his strength be sufficiently returned in the morning, we will begin formulating a serum based on his blood to cure Claudia. I know he is the key. I hope to begin trials as soon as he is able.

Claudia Van Helsing’s Journal

2 November 1893

Buda-Pesth

My father behaves as though he is a warden at a facility for the incorrigible between Vladimir and me, afraid somehow I will become trapped in his gaze. I have, without my father’s knowledge, crept into the cellar in the middle of the night and watched our guest. He is a man and nothing more. His eyes appear filled with a great sadness, so deep I fear it reaches to the depths of his soul. Yet I see there is love in his eyes. He was quick to avert his eyes away from mine as though he were ashamed. In his eyes was a longing, not the longing of a man with lustful intentions, but the look of a kind and gentle love like that of a father for a daughter.

I waited this morning beneath the covers till my father had gone before I crept from my room.
He still keeps Vladimir in the depths of the cellar though we have more than enough rooms for him to stay upstairs, hidden within the bowels of the house for reasons I do not understand. I feel for Vladimir. He is all alone.

I carried a small tray to him with the meager makings of a breakfast - a day old scone and hot tea.
I lit a candle to light the way before opening the cellar door.

“Vladimir,” I called out to him. “Have I disturbed you?”

“You should not be here. It will anger your father.”

“Only if he knows and I will not speak of it, if you do not.”

I found him sitting in the corner in the only chair. I noticed a coffin stood in the other side of the room and attempted to hide my uneasiness over the presence of it. His only company in his dark presence was the occasional scurry of a passing rat. He turned from me and in the dimness of the candle light, and I saw the scars covering his back. It was not my intention to gasp loudly; however, I did so without thinking.

“Who did this to you?”

“My punishment for disobedience before another man’s God,” he replied in nearly a whisper.

“What manner a creature so vile would do that to another man,” I whispered.

He did not answer me.

“You should not be here Claudia.”

“I thought, perhaps, you might be hungry. You should eat to restore your strength.”

“Your father fed me late in the evening. Your gesture is kind and thoughtful, but not necessary. I would ask for only ink, parchment, and a pen, if I may.”

“Of course.”

I turned from him to secure the items which he asked, for I believed they were reasonable.

“Claudia.”

“Yes.”

“Please remain in your room until your father returns.”

His request was a strange one, but I agreed given he was our guest, even though to me it made no sense at all.

Vladimir’s Journal

3 November 1893

Budapesth

I find solace again in writing as I once did. I am recovering in the care of Ahbrim, having been cloistered here nearly two days. My life seems ever filled with complication. The anger I hold is difficult at times for even me to grasp. For in my presence is my own flesh and blood, the man who was once my spiritual guardian, the man who condemned me, and now he is the man who has pulled me from the brink of death. How strange the bedfellow fate can be.

My anger comes in waves at times like the swells of the sea both turbulent and troubled. One moment I wish to kill him, the next I wish to tell him the truth behind his identity. At
times, my pride precedes me. As I have said and written a dozen times, we Dracul have a right to be proud. The Baserab must be honored. The Order of the Dracul must be placed above all others. Yet, in a single act of doing so, my vanity is perhaps what condemned us all. For had I not been so consumed in my revenge against Radu, and his brethren, my beloved Elisabeta would not have fallen prey to their descent and the events of that day would not have unfolded.

My bed is lonely and cold without her. Her touch has never been replaced and the one fleeting chance I had at having her returned to me through the lovely Mina was not meant to be. Yet how could she know of the Princess and the River of Princess Tears were she not my love returned to me by the grace of God? Could she have returned to grant me peace and salvation? Trapped here I remain; a prisoner of my own memories, the love I shall never have, and the love that was taken from me.

Was my anger that day unjustified? Would any Viovode or peasant with love in his heart for his wife not have done the same?