by Cindy Winget
Victor dutifully gathered all the goods that Elizabeth required, being sure to also purchase a shiny bauble—in this case, a brooch—as his surprise for her. He was on his way back home when he heard a gasp followed quickly by a scream. A crowd had gathered in the town square, obstructing Victor’s view of the cause for alarm.
“Isn’t that the Clerval boy?” asked the baker, his apron smudged with white flour.
In panic, Victor pushed his way through the dense crowd of people and caught his first glimpse of Henry. He gagged, nearly losing his breakfast. His friend Henry had been impaled through the stomach and out between his shoulder blades by a thick wooden pole, sharpened to a point where it had broken through Henry’s body, and placed in the town square for all to see. Instead of draining the blood from Henry, as Victor would have supposed, Dracula had allowed Henry to retain his blood. Probably because it made for a more gruesome scene, as it dripped down the wooden pole, staining the cobblestones below him.
Henry’s head lolled onto his chest. His expression, even in death, was one of horror and agony. Victor doubted he would ever forget it. Here was yet another image that daylight could not dispel. A waking nightmare that would forever plague Victor’s conscience, for here was yet another soul whose death was Victor’s fault.
He had been so hell-bent on saving his family, that it had not even occurred to him that Dracula would direct his vengeful hatred upon someone else whom Victor held most dear. He should have been there for his friend. Should have protected him. He could think of no death more horrific than the one that met his gaze now. He believed that seeing thousands of deaths in like manner could dispel the armies of Mehmed back in the days of Vlad the Impaler.
He began to notice that the townsfolk had all begun crossing themselves, using the universal sign for warding off the evil eye, as the local people of Romania had done. He was tempted to do the same, although he knew it would make no difference.
“Help me take him down,” he implored the nearest person, a carpenter by the look of him, his arms covered in a fine coat of sawdust and wood shavings. The man held up his calloused hands, shaking his head.
Victor was surprised at the man’s reaction. He looked toward another man with his wife, presumably, standing next to him.
“Help me get Henry’s body down.”
They, too, refused to help, their eyes quickly turning downcast as they pretended not to hear Victor’s pleas for help.
Victor looked further, but already, people were on the move, slinking back to their homes or shops and closing the door behind them. No amount of knocking could entice anyone to open to Victor as he pled for help in getting his best friend down off of the horrid pole.
“Will no one help me!? I have lived here my entire life! You know me! You know Henry!” he shouted.
“I’ll help ye,” growled an older gentleman in filthy clothes, smoking a pipe casually by the town well, “tho’ it may take more than the two of us. Ya oughta call fer the local constable and undertaker,” he added. Victor did as the man directed and then returned to wait.
“Why won’t anyone help me?” he asked the man.
“They’re scared. Don’t wanna bring the wrath of the murderer upon themselves.”
“That makes little sense. Why would Dra—, the murderer,” he hurriedly corrected, “come after them just because they helped remove the victim’s body?”
The man shrugged. “There are a lot of evil men out there. They don’t wanna take the chance, I suppose. It ain’t a usual sort a death. People get paranoid in such situations. Don’t wanna get involved.”
Victor shook his head. Maybe, in some strange way, it made a weird kind of sense, but Victor had a hard time understanding that kind of thinking. In time, the constable and undertaker both showed up and together they were able to lower Henry’s body from the spike and lay him out properly.
“Not to worry, young man, there will be an inquest conducted,” assured the constable. “We will get to the bottom of whoever murdered your young friend here.”
Victor nodded stoically, knowing all the while that any inquiry into Henry’s death would be a futile waste of time. He appreciated the sentiment, however, and thanked the man as he carted Henry’s body away.
He could no longer sit idly by and allow Dracula to cause any more pain and death. He would not permit Dracula to procure an innocent woman to be his bride. He would not permit his loved ones to be killed off one by one for his own mistakes.
He would discover a way to destroy Dracula.
Chapter Eighteen
The next week was spent in mourning the loss of Henry. It was customary to leave the deceased inside his or her coffin in the front parlor of the family estate so that family and friends might gather and pay their respects to both the dead and the living relatives. Many tears were shed and condolences given, to rival even that of dear William’s funeral.
Victor found it increasingly unbearable to handle the sorrow and found many excuses to leave the room, although he remained at the Clerval estate out of love and respect for Henry’s parents.
This feeling of claustrophobia afflicted him now and with steady purpose he walked from the room and out to the garden. As he walked along the brick paths that wound their way around hedges and flowerbeds, he heard the quiet patter of slippers behind him. He turned and found Elizabeth following him.
“I couldn’t bear to remain in there any longer,” he confessed, eyes downcast.
Elizabeth’s eyes softened as she gazed at him with unwavering love and compassion. “I understand completely.”
But she didn’t. Not really. No one did. No one but him had to deal with the guilt of being the cause of their best friend’s death. It left a gaping wound that only time had any hope of healing, and even then, he felt sure that the wound would reopen every time he thought of the death of his friend. Victor wished he could cut off the offending part of him like a gangrenous limb.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Elizabeth, but you couldn’t possibly begin to understand how I feel.”
She appeared offended by this. “You forget that he was my friend, too.”
“I forget nothing. But you don’t have to live with the guilt that he is dead because of you. That it is your fault that his young life, full of limitless possibilities, is over!”
“Whatever do you mean? How could this possibly be your fault?”
Victor was at a loss to explain. He did not intend to tell anyone about what he had done, outside of perhaps Jonathan Harker and Jack Steward, and only because he needed their help in destroying his mistake. He didn’t want Elizabeth to think less of him. He couldn’t bear to make known to her his sins and have her reject him.
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
To her credit, Elizabeth let the matter drop.
She sighed. “Victor, are we cursed? Why is it that we have suddenly been afflicted with so much death? I feel as though God has cast his eyes upon us and didn’t like what he saw.”
“Don’t think such things, dear Elizabeth. This has nothing to do with you, or Father, or Ernest. This is all on my head.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Victor, you can’t put the weight of the world on your shoulders. You’ll be crushed. You bear no more blame for these misfortunes than your father or I.”
If only that were true. Then perhaps these deaths would be slightly easier to accept. Then he could bask in innocent sorrow with his family. Every comforting word spoken to him was like a stab wound to the gut, a reminder that he was not as pure or good as they.
“Please Elizabeth, I beg you. Stop talking. Let me be!”
Elizabeth, shocked by his outburst, glared at him with tears in her eyes and dutifully turned on her heel and stalked away.
Victor sighed, sat upon a bench by an ancient elm tree, and placed his face in his hands.
*****
“Father? May I speak to you for a moment?” Victor found Alphonse Frankenstein tucked into an armchair in the
library, facing the light and warmth of a roaring fire in the hearth.
“Of course, son. What is on your mind?” Alphonse stuck a velvet ribbon into the middle of the book he had been reading and placed it upon the small round table beside his chair. He then removed his reading glasses and placed them upon the book, crossing his right leg over the other, and turning his full attention upon Victor.
“I would like to go to England.”
Alphonse was shocked, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging open a bit. “But you only just got home! I had rather hoped that you would not leave here for quite some time. Not until your marriage to Elizabeth could be finalized, at any rate.”
“That’s just it, Father. I still have the desire to do some traveling before being tied down to a life of domesticity.”
He could sense his father’s objection and disappointment and tried to waylay it, “I feel the need for a change of scenery. There are too many memories here of Henry. I believe that traveling to England and staying in the company of my friends would do me some good.”
Alphonse nodded. “Of course. What was I thinking? Of course you would find being here intolerable after all you have suffered. Go to England. Take as much time as you need, though I fear Elizabeth’s reaction should you leave again without her.”
“I know. I hate to leave again so suddenly. It will surely break her tender heart, but I find that I cannot stay. Surely, she will understand. I promise to marry Elizabeth upon my return.”
Victor was hopeful that the monster would follow him to England and thus, his family would be safe in his absence. With any luck, Jack and Jonathan would be able to help him come up with a way to kill Dracula. Then he would be free to come home, marry Elizabeth, and find a modicum of happiness.
He had apologized to Elizabeth later, but there remained an icy tension between them. He knew that she had only forgiven him because he was grief stricken and departing for England soon. Under any other circumstances, she would have punished him relentlessly for his unkind behavior towards her. He almost longed to have her do so. It would be more familiar than this cold indifference between them now. He had to hope that upon his return, and the subsequent destruction of Dracula—for he did not intend to return until the deed was done—that things would thaw out between them, and she would know how he felt about her.
The next day was a sad one. Once again, Victor found himself with his trunk packed and his family gathered to wish him luck on his travels. But unlike last time, his departure was a sad affair. The absence of Justine, William, and Henry left a gaping hole in Victor’s chest. Gone was the excitement of a new adventure. Gone was the anticipation of new vistas of knowledge and experience. There was no jovially insisting to Elizabeth that he would write often or bittersweet sentiments given to his father or Ernest. He simply lugged his trunk onto the carriage, waved his goodbyes, and left before any more tears could fall from his eyes.
*****
“Can it be true? Has Mister Frankenstein truly found his way back onto my doorstep?” Jack quipped in amazement and delight.
“Hello, old friend. I hope you haven’t changed your mind about wanting a house guest since writing to me.” Victor smiled.
“Not at all. Come in! Come in!” He ushered Victor into the front parlor of Whitby House.
The place hadn’t changed. The same mahogany furniture in the latest style, upholstered in handsome rose and cream colors, sat in the parlor; the intricate lamps casting a welcome glow upon the room. The place still had that feminine touch that belied the fact that a man also lived there. He was surprised by the poignant feeling the house brought on, dredging up memories of his past, happier times before he had created his monster and tragedy had visited his family.
“Welcome to our home. Lucy will be delighted to see you! Mina as well.”
“Oh, are Jonathan and Mina still here? How wonderful!”
“No, no. Just Mina. You just missed Jonathan I am afraid. He was called away on business and rather than have Mina stay at their home alone, he has asked Lucy and me to look after her in his absence. ‘See that she isn’t lonely and missing me too much’, he implored me as he left.”
“Yes, that sounds like Jonathan. Always a joker, but really just a big softy underneath,” Victor said.
“Our old professor is here as well, Abraham Van Helsing.”
“Oh, really? What is he doing here?”
“Come, have some tea and crumpets, and I will tell you the whole story. Or, rather, Mina will, as she is really the one that knows the most about it.”
Victor followed him into the dining room where he was greeted with warm smiles from Mina Harker, Abraham Van Helsing, and Lucy’s mother, Mrs. Westenra.
“Sit yourself down and have some respite from your journey. Was it very arduous?” asked Mrs. Westenra.
“Well, I will admit that I am not a born sailor. The boat trip to England made me a bit seasick,” he admitted.
“Here, have some chamomile tea. It will help settle your stomach.”
“Tea is the answer to everything around here, isn’t it?” Victor laughed.
“Of course! What else is there, really?” Mina responded, taking a bite out of a ladyfinger.
“But where is Lucy? I had rather expected to be giving her my congratulations for her recent nuptials.”
“She is sadly not feeling well. Poor thing,” Mina said. “That is why Professor Van Helsing is here. Jack wrote to him immediately when it became apparent that no doctor in these parts was able to help her.”
“What is it that ails her?”
“That’s just it. Nobody seems to know. Jack has been kind enough to allow Lucy to bunk with me in my room.” She smiled her gratitude at Jack and continued, “We can gab like old schoolgirls long into the night. One evening, when I had been here only a day or two, I woke up in the middle of the night to find Lucy missing from her bed. I searched the entire house for her, careful not to wake up any of the rest of the household. You see Lucy has often suffered from sleepwalking. That’s when I began to fear that she had gotten out of the house. In only her nightgown no less! Imagine the scandal! I hurriedly placed a dressing gown and shawl upon my own shoulders and went out to look for her. I found her sitting upon a bench in our favorite part of the family cemetery. As I drew closer, I saw that she was not alone. Some man or beast was leaning over her, shrouded in shadows so that I did not get a good look at him. He was very tall and large of stature, and I became frightened for her safety.”
Victor started at these words. Surely it couldn’t be Dracula who had accosted Lucy in the cemetery. How could he have possibly gotten here before Victor? He would have had to set out right after killing Henry. And how could he have known where to find them?
“I hurried to her side, ready to fend off the brute, but by the time I reached her, he had gone. I draped my shawl around Lucy’s shoulders to ward off the chill of the night air and led her back inside. She was groaning and clutching at her throat. As I put her back to bed, I noticed two small puncture wounds in her neck. Small and vividly red. I had fashioned the shawl with a brooch to keep it in place and figured that I must have accidentally stuck her with the pin. Anyway, I got her down for the night and went back to bed myself.
“The next morning, she was very pale and lethargic and remained in bed for most of the day. I feared that being out at night had caused her to fall ill, but no doctor could explain her symptoms. They say that she appears to be in perfect health, if a little anemic. They even tested the quality of her blood and there is nothing wrong with her. We shrugged it off and things eventually went back to normal. She seemed fine for a day or two after that, but then inexplicably she became ill once more. Or rather she was pale and weak, but again, there was nothing much wrong with her other than that. After spending another day in bed, barely able to move about the house, Jack began to wonder if it weren’t a mental issue, having been coupled with the reemergence of sleepwalking. He called upon his old friend and professor t
o help diagnose her,” she indicated Van Helsing.
Victor had gone pale at the mention of the puncture wounds in Lucy’s neck, and he suddenly recalled talking of Lucy and his friends in England to his family. He remembered that Elizabeth had opened the window one morning and had commented on how foggy it had been outside. Could it have been Dracula eavesdropping on Victor?
“That’s right,” said Van Helsing. “Jack wrote to me, asking me to come help attend to Lucy, who had fallen mysteriously ill. I came as fast as I could.”
“And thanks be to God that you did,” Jack told him. “You have been such a comfort in my time of need.”
Victor was about to speak up about his suspicions, but he was not entirely sure he wanted to say anything of the matter with Mrs. Westenra and Mina in the room. He didn’t want to make them unduly upset at the tale he had to tell. Let Jack and Van Helsing hear it first.
And in all honesty, he was embarrassed. The thought of admitting to his friends that he had gone against their wise council filled him with dread.
Thank goodness Mina had interrupted the brute and he had been unable to finish draining the blood from Lucy’s veins.
“How dreadful!” Mrs. Westenra was saying. “Imagine. A boat arriving with no one aboard but a wolf!”
“Wait. What?” Victor was pulled from his thoughts.
“Haven’t you been listening, Victor?” laughed Jack.
Victor blushed. “I am sorry. I was deep in thought about another matter. What’s this about a boat that arrived with only a wolf aboard?”
“I was just making a joke that it was a good thing you had arrived now instead of a week ago, when a boat pulled into port with no one on board. As soon as the ship docked, a massive wolf jumped off the ship and ran down the beach. The only person upon the ship was the captain, who was found dead and tied to the helm by rosary beads.”