Memoirs of an Immortal Life (15 page)

I can still remember every detail of her lovely face. The way her eyes illuminated when I whispered her name, the soft scent of her hair. Nearly four hundred years have passed, and, for a
creature such as I, it as if it has been only hours and the pain is as great as if it were only yesterday

His appearance has changed greatly over the many years of our separation. Our plan, though greatly successful, I admit my gratefulness is difficult to express. The old hatred still lingers. Yet how can I turn from him, my own brother, in his hour of darkness? His faith and convictions so deep in Catholic beliefs, as were once mine, could not give sway to him making an exception for my beloved. Now the tables are turned and my Ahbrim finds himself where he would do anything to save his daughter, even seeking the aid of the same creature he vowed to spend eternity pursuing. I wonder if he would still hold that hatred in his heart if he knew the truth, if he knew who he is to me and why it was I never killed him for his betrayal. Belcor, how I wish our lives had been different.

How cruel God can be, for in the same twist of fate that tore us apart, death, now brings us together. Were I still a creature who prayed, I would ask for a miracle to save his beloved Claudia, the niece I nearly never had the chance of knowing. Could the cure for her truly lie within this lifeless body?

She is a beautiful creature with eyes deep and hair dark whose perception and intelligence is greater than he gives her credit. I believe she will become suspicious quickly. In time, in my own words, I will tell her the truth.

I will admit, not to Ahbrim, but only upon paper that I find comfort in being with family. Twice now my beloved I did hold in my arms, twice now she was taken from me. I am grateful for the fleeting moments, for in those moments I have known a lifetime of happiness that few men are fortunate enough to know or to touch.

Claudia’s Van Helsing’s Journal

4 November 1893

Budapesth

I have had few opportunities to approach our guest to speak to him, as father has remained at his side each waking moment of the past days, except for when he has been with me.

He is a handsome man whose manner is mysterious. I wondered what could have happened to him to cause such injuries and attempted to question Father, but I was promptly dismissed. It seems the only one who can tell me the truth is locked in the cellar of this horrid house, and I have not the key to reach him.

I have poured over the letters my mother wrote to my father in his long absences. I can find no clues to what it was he was searching for or what it was he hoped to accomplish. His letters lead me to believe he was searching for someone lost to him. I cannot discern if this person was a relative with whom he lost a relationship or if it could have been an associate he believed was the key to my mother’s cure. What I have learned is that he was not completely truthful with me. He knew of my mother’s affliction, the same malady I now carry, long before he allowed me to believe. Why would he make pretext over such a fact as this? What could he possibly hope to gain by hiding the truth?

He says that I must not correspond with Amelia during our stay in Budapesth, that I must heed his words for it would bring death upon us. I sit alone for hours staring out the small window of this despicable place we now call our home at the gloom that exists on nearly a daily basis. I believe if the sun ever shines here, it must be only a few days a year. It certainly has not shown since our arrival. The streets at night are covered in a dark, dense fog that is uncanny in its movements nearly as though it is drawn specifically toward this house.

My dresses hang covered in cheesecloth now. I fear I shall not have the opportunity to wear them. I know it is here that I will meet my death. It is only a question of time now. I have grown weak and the desire I once had to live is waning. Father says I must reserve my strength. He believes he is closer to a cure than he has ever been. I know he truly believes this, but I cannot accept even the slightest possibility of hope. If, in Budapesth, I am meant to greet death then it is a fact I must accept.

I will bide my time until later this evening when father goes for his walk. Perhaps
then, I can speak with Vladimir once more. I would like to learn more about him. I find him to be intriguing and somewhat frightening all in the same instance. How strange it is that my father would know such a mysterious man.

Abraham Van Helsing’s Journal

7 November 1893

Budapesth

Vladimir is recovered enough to begin the trials. I am grateful for his willingness to aid me. His options were few and perhaps knowing that he had few options before him is the only reason he so willingly agreed. There is a small piece of hope that it could be successful. It is for reasons other than the obvious.

I set several theories into motion regarding the rate at which his blood should be combined with the samples I have of Claudia’s. An equal mixture of both showed the same results I had witnessed with the exposure of Lucy’s blood to hers. The process was slowed, but did not stop its progression and could infect her with his disease.

8 November 1897

Having secured several samples of Vladimir’s blood, the results
found are quite disturbing and surprising, not at all what I anticipated. His blood does not replicate, nor does it contain the normal qualities of the blood of the living. His blood lacks the composition of what is normal found. White blood cells are completely absent. Perhaps this is what drives his hunger so deeply. With an inability to rebuild his own blood supply, he must rely on the blood of others to sustain his own. His own blood cells devour the blood introduced to them thus feeding his own cellular growth and keeping the aging process from progressing. Could this be what gives Vladimir his immortality? Does the blood of those he feeds upon keep him young and restore what time should have taken from him?

Claudia Van Helsing’s Journal

5 May 1897

Budapesth

We have been in Budapesth now for four years. This morning I awoke to the sounds of my father and Vladimir arguing. It was not a strange occurrence as they often squabble about one subject or another. However this morning was different as I listened to them argue about my affliction. I stood with my ear pressed to the door eavesdropping though I knew I should not.

“You have toiled four years now, Ahbrim, for a cure and found no success. Would you condemn her to death when you know I alone can save her?” Vladimir said.

“Save her! Save her!” My father shouted. “You would condemn her soul with no hope of salvation as you have condemned your own and countless others to eternal damnation? That is not saving her.”

“You are as unreasonable as ever! Time has changed little between us, you stubborn fool. How much pain must you make her endure to satisfy your own ego? I can reverse this process that slowly kills her. Why must you harbor this hatred toward me and what I became? Have I not done all that I could to make amends? I am what I am, Ahbrim. It is a fact I cannot change.”

“Blasphemy,” my father shouted.

I heard the door slam abruptly and the house grew quiet. I was unsure if should dare to leave my room for fear of angering my father, for I knew not if it was him or Vladimir who had left. Yet I had heard Vladimir distinctly say he could cure me. How could I not risk Father’s scornful words if it meant I might live? I paused at my door, mustering my courage.

“Father, Vladimir, is all alright between you?” I asked knowing full well it was not.

“Your father has gone to clear his thoughts Claudia.”

“May I come downstairs with you?” I asked.

“I would prefer you did not,” Vladimir replied to me.

“Have I angered you?”

I heard his sighs as I stood at the top of the stairs. I had hurt his feelings.

“No Claudia, it is not with you that my anger lies. Come downstairs child, I wish to speak with you alone.”

The wind grew in intensity. I hurried down the stairs to force the door closed but as quickly as the wind had begun, it ceased. I closed the door
softly and turned to find Vladimir standing directly behind me.

“There is much you do not know about your father and I, about what I am, about why your father despises me so. I am what men fear and women desire. I cannot die, and neither can…”

As I parted my lips to ask what he meant, my father returned. When I turned to question Vladimir further, he had simply vanished as my father entered the room.

“Why are you so unjustly cruel to him? What tragedy occurred between you that caused you to carry this hatred in your heart toward him? He seems so burdened by the darkness he bears. Was it not you who told me there is good in the heart of all God’s creatures, if only we seek to find it?”

“Vladimir is an exception. You do not know him as I do, Claudia. You do not know the full depth of his character,” my father said as he looked down at me.

“I have seen enough to know when a man is a hypocrite. Sometimes when a man punishes himself for the deeds of his life it is far greater punishment than that could be dispensed by God.”

I cloistered myself in my room with the door barricaded with a chair for the rest of the morning and wept for the harsh words I had said, wishing I could call them back, but no matter how horribly I feel, they have been said.

I do not understand the hatred between them or the relationship they share. At times they laugh, conversing for hours as though they are old friends reunited after a long absence, then in another
moment they are mortal enemies who would fight to the death. My father appears obsessed with the state of Vladimir’s spiritual wellbeing. Their behavior confounds me. Now I find myself questioning the words Vladimir said to me. Perhaps I will never understand what has transpired between them. Perhaps I will never know the truth.

Noon

My father behaves as though the harsh words between them this morning were never spoken. They sit, this very moment, in the small parlor of this drab house, my father sipping brandy and Vladimir smoking a pipe, discussing their next course of action in my treatment. I, of course, am never included in their conversations. My say in the matter means nothing, even though it is my life that is at stake.

Many times have I considered disappearing into the darkness to never be found or seen again. I could face death on my terms and bid this life farewell in a manner which I see fitting. The only reason I have not done so, is it would crush my father. Besides, he would merely send Vladimir to find me. With the ease at which he appears and disappears, I have no doubt he could track my whereabouts and quickly discover where I had gone with little difficulty.

Vladimir Dracul’s Journal

6 May 1897

Budapesth

I must record the events of this day for they may very well be the very last words I write as I await Ahbrim’s return.

This madness I could endure no longer; his clinical trials and obstinacy, when I have always known I alone could cure her.

I waited till he left for provisions. A journey to the neighboring village, he made. I stood before her door. If I had a heart that still beat, it surely would have beat out of my chest as I knocked upon her door.

“Claudia, might I speak with you?” I asked.

“Of course, Vladimir, please come in.”

Her appearance was so frail as she lay upon her bed still wrapped in her blankets. Four years of bloodletting and countless injections had taken its toll on her body and left her a shell of her former self.

I sat next to her. I rarely touched Claudia for fear it would frighten her, but it was time she knew the truth.

“Claudia, I can cure you. I can give to you a normal life. But there are details you first must know. I believe in truth, Claudia, and you must know the truth before I can accept your answer. Do you understand?” I asked her.

“I do.”

“I have known your father many years, many more than which he is willing to speak. The key to your cure, to saving your life, lies within my blood. First you must understand what it is that I am.”

I unbuttoned my shirt and placed her hand over my heart. I expected she would draw away from me in fear. Instead, she leaned closer placing both her hands in the center of my chest as she looked up at me.

“There is no life in this body. There has not been for over four hundred years. I am eternal darkness, what my people call Strigoi. I am a vampire, Claudia. I cannot die, yet I do not truly live. I am cursed to an eternity of living without life.”

“You are dead, and yet you live. Would I become the same?” She asked me.

“I cannot answer this for certain. I have considered the many possibilities. My greatest concern is that I do not wish to condemn you to the life I have chosen. Your father and I have tried in vain to create a serum formulated from my blood. Not a single one was successful in your treatments. You must have blood from the source. It must be pure and uncorrupted.”

“I do not want to die, Vladimir, when I have not yet had a chance to live. I have faith in you. If you believe you can cure me, then what would be the harm in trying? If I die, it is inevitable; my death was written long ago
by forces not my own.”

Her courage in the face of death gave me the strength to do what had to
be done despite my father’s repetitive warnings concerning his nature and why it was imperative no time alone in his company was kept.

“I promise I will not allow you to slip away from me, Claudia. Hold tightly and do not let go.”

Her eyes widened at the appearance of my fangs as I pricked the end of my finger and allowed the blood to flow. Three drops dripped from my fingertip into her eye did drip. I knew it would be the quickest method of absorption and prayed it would not turn her the same as if she had been bitten and infected by my curse. Her hands grasped mine tightly for the next hour until she finally slept.

Before I left
her, I checked to ensure there was not development of her canines. I retrieved a syringe from Ahbrim’s laboratory and drew a sample of her blood to view under Ahbrim’s medical device.

I placed her blood on the piece of glass while praying that what I would see through this magical device of Ahbrim’s would not be the same as my own blood. I compared her blood to my own. The replication process was mutating. Claudia was becoming immortal with one stark difference; she was not a vampire.

“Praise God,” I whispered. It was the first time his name had slipped from my lips in thanks since before my beloved’s death.

I know it was not my choice to offer this to her and I should have consulted Ahbrim first, but I have grown to love Claudia as though she were my own daughter, the daughter God never granted Elisabeta. I could not stand by and watch her die a senseless death without meaning. If I were created in this life to do but one good deed, then let it be this. And let it be said that I loved my niece so deeply; I willingly gave my own life to save hers, if it must come to that.

Three hours passed before she again showed any signs of life and called out to me. I appeared at her bedside, no longer having to hide now that she knew the truth.

“What is wrong? Are you in pain?”

“It is a miracle,” she whispered as she pulled her sleeve to expose the skin. The many scars from her bloodletting and injections were gone. Her cheeks had a soft, warm, radiance to them. It was the glow of health and vigor.

“What does it mean, Vladimir? I do not understand. Am I cured?”

“We must wait until your father returns, Claudia. Only he can determine if what I have done has worked.”

“I am cured Vladimir. I can feel it,” she whispered. She threw her arms tightly around my neck. The warmth of her body and the genuine expression of her happiness was an emotion I had not felt in many years, and it overwhelmed me. Her
exuberance was contagious; I pulled her arms from around my neck as Ahbrim opened her bedroom door.

“Get your hands off her!” he screamed.

His strength, I had not anticipated, but still he was not a match for me, as he attempted to throw me to the floor.

“Father, no, please do not do this. I was merely thanking Vladimir.”

“What have you done to her?” he demanded.

“What you had not the courage to do, Ahbrim.”

He fell to his knees, clinging to her dressing gown. “You have condemned her to eternal darkness. How could you do this? How could you betray me?”

His words angered me. I had not betrayed him, not like he had done to me.

“I have not condemned her, Ahbrim. Examine her yourself. Not a single mark upon her will you find. She has not been bitten. I gave you my solemn word. How long have I been in your charge, Ahbrim? Have I ever once broken my word to you?”

In my
anger, I turned my back to him glancing over my shoulder.

“And as for betrayal, you have no right to speak of that to me, not now, not ever.”