VROLOK

by Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  “I can’t see anything,” Doc said. But his words were ignored.

  “Morgan!” Wyatt cried out. Doc turned around slowly, afraid of the scene he would see behind him. Morgan was lying on the floor, collapsed at his side.

  “He has been shot in the back!” Virgil said. Doc was devastated his best friend in the world was dying. He tried to think how he could save him. Then a memory ran through his mind. He had been in this situation before, sitting beside someone who had been shot in the back.

  “Isabella,” he whispered. Doc left the bloody scene and searched for Isabella. He found her on the outskirts of town but he was not happy when he saw her, for that was the night he found out what sort of creature she was.

  Isabella was calling over to a young-sixteen-year-old boy when Doc found her. An inner voice told Doc not to make Isabella aware that he was nearby.

  “Daniel, come over here, there is something I want to give you,” Isabella’s voice sounded like an angels, no one could have resisted her call. Daniel walked over to her, his eyes full of admiration. Daniel walked to his death. When he was within reaching distance Isabella grabbed his throat and lifted him up. She bit down hard on his neck, Daniel was now struggling for his life; the admiration that had been in his eyes was now replaced by terror. Isabella eventually let go and Daniel’s limp, lifeless body fell on to the dusty street.

  Isabella looked up to see Doc; blood was still dripping from her mouth. Doc was horrified it was not some wonderful magic that Isabella possessed, that it was a disease far worse than his own. She was some sort of ungodly creature; whatever way she cheated death could not help Morgan. He was a far better being than Isabella ever was. Doc returned to the place where Morgan was dying in utter devastation.

  Isabella watched as Doc walked away. Doc had liked Isabella; he had even held her in great affection, until he realised what she was. For Doc was a man who could not tolerate a woman’s failings, no matter what they were. Isabella had not felt this type of disgust for what she was in a long time and it hurt her, but she would go and see what had upset him so utterly. She walked over to the billiard room. The scene was desolate; Morgan’s wife was crying at his side and he was in dreadful pain, totally aware that he was going to die. His last minutes on this earth would be spent in tortuous agony. Isabella acknowledged that Morgan did not deserve this.

  “John?” she said to Doc, for she did not feel she was entitled to call him Doc anymore. “I need to speak to you.”

  “What do you want?” he retorted, barely able to look at her.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I have something to say to you. Come with me.” Isabella used her influence and Doc followed her out into the street.

  “My friend is dying in there, and you have dragged me out into the street to explain the creature that you are.”

  “I brought you out here to offer you something.”

  “Offer me what?”

  “I can take his pain away.”

  “By making him like you?”

  “No. Just by touching him. You have to trust me.”

  “I will trust you this one last time, because of Morgan…do it.” Isabella went into the room Doc followed her. Isabella sat down beside Morgan and held his hand; the pain flowed through her. Morgan was now content and could die in peace. Isabella got up and left the Earps to their grief.

  Isabella had had enough of Tombstone and made up her mind to leave with Nicolae as soon as she could. Before she had time to leave, Doc came to see her.

  “I am sorry for my behaviour the night Morgan died.” He said the last part with a slight smile. He was trying to break the tension that now existed between them.

  “Don’t apologise; your true colours were shown,” Isabella said, as always it would take more than a mere apology to win back her regard.

  “I am sorry, anyway,” Doc said.

  Isabella did not want to listen to incessant apologies, so she said, “Never mind, I am sure I will live.” Isabella added with a wry smile, “What are you going to do now without Morgan to look after?”

  Doc became serious again and said sternly, “Find his killer,” Doc stated.

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “We have our suspicions.”

  “But you don’t know for sure.”

  “No.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Kill them all. It’s the way Morgan would have done it,” Doc said, a poignant sense of remembrance echoing through his words.

  “That’s not very practical; it may get you all killed. I can help you,” Isabella said.

  “How?”

  “One of my many abilities is that I can tell what people have done in their lives by touching them. I can see their worst crimes.”

  “You can?”

  “I can.”

  “By the merest touch?”

  Isabella nodded. “By the merest touch,” she repeated.

  The McLaurys, the Clantons, and Frank Stillwell were sitting outside the Alhambra. They were laughing and pointing over at the Earps, who were on their way to bury Morgan. Isabella walked beside them with her right hand at her side. She glided past them, and as she did she very gently touched each man in turn. Doc was waiting for her at the end of the street.

  “Well, who was it?”

  “The one on the end,” Isabella answered.

  “Stillwell,” Doc said under his breath.

  “I can do something else for you. I can give him Morgan’s pain. He can experience everything that Morgan did in one in one exquisite, agonising moment.”

  Stillwell was walking by the southern tracks in Tucson when Isabella confronted him. Wyatt and Doc were with her. At first he turned to run but Isabella pulled him back. Wyatt was amazed at Isabella’s strength but said nothing.

  “Do you remember my brother?” Wyatt asked.

  “I didn’t do it,” Stillwell lied.

  “You’re a liar, Stillwell,” Doc said.

  “Do you know what it feels like to be shot in the back?” Isabella asked. Stillwell ignored her; he was more concerned by Wyatt’s and Doc’s presence. He did not realise that the real danger he was in was from Isabella. She leaned into him and whispered, “This is what it felt like.” Isabella placed her hand on his heart and Morgan’s pain seared through him. Stillwell screamed out and tried to push Isabella away from him, but he was nowhere near strong enough. After a few agonising minutes Isabella let go and Stillwell fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

  Doc pulled him back onto his feet and shouted, “Did you kill Morgan?”

  Stillwell looked away from Doc and answered, “Yes!”

  “Run Stillwell…keep running—it’ll never be fast enough,” Doc said as he threw Stillwell to the ground again. The man stumbled to his feet and ran for his life. Doc shot him first and the bullet penetrated Stillwell’s back. He fell and then both Wyatt and Holiday put bullet after bullet into his body.

  After this day Isabella left Doc’s company; this time she had no intention of seeing him again. However, she still heard of his exploits after Stillwell died. He was becoming famous. Wyatt and Doc were killing cowboys all over the west. It got so bad for the cowboys during this period that they were turning themselves into the authorities, too frightened to wait for Holiday and Wyatt to catch up with them.

  Isabella met Doc one last time in Pueblo, Colorado. Holiday smiled when he saw her.

  “You are carving out quite a reputation for yourself,” Isabella began.

  “I know; cowboys quiver at my name,” Doc said playfully, exaggerating his words. “Morgan would have gotten a kick out of that.”

  “He would have.”

  “Wyatt hardly remembers you.”

  “I know.”

  “Why have you let me remember and not him?”

  “Wyatt has too big a mouth. I believe you can keep my secret.”

  “I will, I will keep it to my grave.
” There was a silence and Isabella asked.

  “How is Mattie? Do you still hear from her?”

  “I do. Would you believe, she is joining a convent?” Holiday said this with a smile but Isabella knew he was devastated by this news. Another silence interrupted the conversation and Holiday began to speak again, “I am going to go to Leadville after this.”

  “Leadville?” Isabella said. “But the weather there is—”

  “I know, hardly any sunshine, rainy days and nights—it’s bad for my condition,” Doc said nonchalantly.

  “It’ll kill you,” Isabella said seriously.

  “I have been dying for years. Maybe it’s time to give up and let it take me.”

  “When are you going to go?”

  “As soon as Wyatt doesn’t need me anymore. I owe it to Morgan to stay with him as long as he wants me. I have always felt responsible for his death. I could have saved Morgan.”

  “You couldn’t have done anything to stop it.” The Holiday Isabella met in Pueblo was a different man, a broken man. With Mattie’s announcement that she was entering a nunnery his dreams of her were gone forever. He now for the first time in his diseased-ridden existence wanted life to end. He was staying with Wyatt out of loyalty to Morgan and it was torturing him.

  “I have something to tell you,” Isabella stated.

  “What?”

  “You are not responsible for Morgan’s death.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wyatt conspired to rob the Bisbee stage.”

  “What? But he always denied it.”

  “You don’t owe him anything. If anyone is responsible for what happened it is Wyatt.” Doc was sitting there amazed. The robbing of the Bisbee stage—Wyatt had been involved. Everything that had happened could have been avoided if Wyatt had told him the truth. Stillwell, Clanton and the others had a right to their grievances.

  “Even when we killed Stillwell, he never told me,” Doc said in shock.

  “Well, you know now.” Isabella got up to leave. “Well, John, have a nice life, what’s left of it.”

  “Why are you calling me John? My friends call me Doc?” Doc said quietly.

  “Goodbye, Doc.” Isabella left and never saw him again.

  Doc Holiday and Wyatt Earp had an argument in Pueblo. No one knows what it was about, but they never spoke to each other again.

  A few nights later Isabella was sitting in her hotel lobby waiting for Nicolae. She was watching the hustle and bustle of the activity going on in front of her. She felt a rush of air behind her head. Someone was trying to hit her with something. She heard Nicolae cry out and she turned around. She saw Nicolae holding the arm of the man who was trying to wound her. She looked at his face—it was Abraham Van Helsing.

  THIS BATTLE HAS BUT BEGUN AND

  IN THE END WE SHALL WIN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  He was watching her as he had done so many nights before; she glided down the empty street, her golden hair glimmered, even in the blackness of night. She was a vision. She looked so beautiful and pure that if he had not seen her kill he would never have believed she was capable of it. He waited for her to approach him before he showed himself. When she was just steps away from him he faced her.

  “I was looking for you.” Her voice echoed like music through the air. The bewitching creature leaned into to kiss him and he appeared receptive to her embrace. His hands were at his back and he slowly brought them around. To an onlooker it seemed that he was about to hold her in his arms as she kissed him. But then his motion gained speed and he pushed her from him. He reached for his knife and slashed his own wrist. Blood seeped out onto the blade. The creature he had pushed from him ran back towards him with the intention of ending his life but he was to end hers: she ran onto his blade. She screamed out in agony and fell to the ground. She would no longer trouble this world. He walked away satisfied that he had done what he had come here to do, for he, Abraham Van Helsing, had just killed his first Vampire.

  Isabella’s shock at seeing Van Helsing quickly turned to thoughts of revenge. She saw traces of Vlad in his eyes and it reminded her of her promise to avenge Vlad’s death. Her need for retribution had been reawakened. She wanted her revenge. She was filled with fresh hatred for those who had killed him.

  Nicolae was holding back Van Helsing’s arm. Isabella looked into the old man’s eyes. The two Vampires were more than a match for him. He still had great strength but it was not enough; the only way he could possibly kill Isabella was by creeping up behind her and striking before she knew he was there. Thankfully, Nicolae had stopped him on this occasion. Nicolae was about to kill him, but Isabella spoke before he did.

  “No Nicolae, death is too good and too quick for him.” Isabella had never hated Abraham. At one point in her life she had even grown close to loving him, but he had killed Vlad and Isabella had never been one to forgive, no matter how tempted she had been. “We will let him live.”

  “Let him live?”

  “Just a little longer.” Nicolae let Van Helsing go and he scurried out through the door of the lobby. “We must be careful from now on,” Isabella said. She was concerned for Nicolae. She had now lived for four hundred years and the threat of death would not stop or even deter her from getting her retribution, but she felt that Nicolae should be free to choose his own path. She would not condemn him; she had no right.

  That evening Nicolae asked her, “Why did you let him go? He has the power to kill us both.”

  “He may well succeed some day; I have to tell you something.”

  “I was warned that our race of Vampires would die out, and I believe that going back to England to seek my retribution may be the last thing I ever do.”

  “Then why go?”

  “I have to go.”

  “Then I have to go as well.”

  “No. Nicolae you have to consider this thoroughly, you have a grave choice to make.”

  “I have already made my choice.”

  Isabella was exasperated by Nicolae’s response. “You haven’t even begun to consider what you are facing.”

  “Won’t you listen to me?” Nicolae protested. Isabella sighed. She had to make him listen to her. He had to understand what he would face. She went over to her dresser and pulled out a bottle; it was all that she had left of Van Helsing’s blood. She placed a few drops on her knife, not letting Nicolae see what she was doing. Isabella then turned around and calmly stabbed Nicolae in the heart. Pain surged through his body, pain he had never even been close to feeling that way before. This new torturous sensation was unendurable. Nicolae dragged his eyes up from his wound and glanced astounded at Isabella. She of all creatures on this earth had killed him; he never would have believed her capable. Blackness started to invade his vision and he fell forward into Isabella’s arms.

  Of course, Nicolae was not dead. For Isabella would never let him die and she knew that she could bring him back from the brink, but she wanted him to taste death so that he understood completely what accompanying her might mean.

  A few nights later when Nicolae awoke his room was empty. He had a tiny scar over his heart where Isabella had stabbed him. He got out of bed and looked around for Isabella; there was no sign of her. Nicolae got dressed, went outside and started to wander the streets, not knowing how he would react when he saw Isabella.

  After a few hours he found her. She had turned another Vampire, a young girl. Isabella was walking down the street with her. Nicolae stayed back out of sight and watched and listened.

  “I’m hungry,” the new Vampire said.

  “I know, child, and you will feed soon,” Isabella answered her.

  “But I am hungry now,” the Vampire wined.

  “Be quiet, Lizzie. Let’s go into the public house up ahead. No doubt we will find food for you in there.” Isabella went in and she saw the man she was looking for. “Wait here,” she told Lizzie. “I will let you kill someone soon, but not until I tell you.” Isabella went over to th
e back corner of the alehouse where Van Helsing was sitting.

  “I have been waiting for you,” Van Helsing began. Isabella said nothing. “Waiting for you to end it.” Isabella watched him in silence for a few moments. He was just a shell of the man Isabella had known so many years ago in Germany. His skin was pale and grey. He was rubbing his hands together at the fire as if he could not get heat into his tired old bones. Isabella finally opened her mouth to speak.

  “I have not come to kill you, Abraham,” she said.

  “You will forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Abraham responded.

  “You can believe what you like, the main reason I have come here is to tell you something.”

  “What have you come to tell me?” Isabella was silent and Van Helsing was getting impatient. He wanted this to be over. “Tell me.”

  Isabella leaned forward and looked into his black eyes. “You have his eyes.”

  “Whose?”

  “Your father’s.”

  “How do you know that? You have never seen my father and anyway his eyes were…”

  “His eyes were?” Isabella asked. “You have such an unusual colour of eyes. They are so dark, almost black.” Van Helsing was nervous; this was the worst thing Isabella could have told him and she knew it. “Do you not realise how alike you are?”

  “No, stop telling me this!” Van Helsing shouted, knowing the truth already.

  “A Dhampir is the child of a human and a Vampire and that is what you are, Vlad Dracula‘s son.”

  Van Helsing, unable to find words, threw his fists out at Isabella, but she quickly subdued his violent outburst and threw him back into the chair.

  “I will leave you now to your grief,” Isabella said. Isabella walked over to Lizzie and whispered in her ear. “You can kill him now.” Lizzie clapped her hands in glee and Isabella watched as she practically skipped over to where Van Helsing was seated. She was like a child who just been told there was a present for her in the corner. No sooner had Lizzie bit into him than she stepped back in agony. Her young skin aging rapidly, she fell back and looked at Isabella, reaching out for her help, but Isabella had none to give her. Van Helsing was not quite dead and Lizzie was going to be dead within seconds. Isabella ran over to Van Helsing—it was not over for him. She slit open her wrist and let her blood drip into Van Helsing’s mouth. He tried to struggle and get away but he was powerless. Lizzie, whom Isabella had dismissed as dead, suddenly found what was left of her strength and pushed Isabella away from Van Helsing. Lizzie wiped away the poisoned blood from her mouth onto her hand. She reached out for Isabella’s face in an attempt to strike her and at least scar her with this liquid that was just about to kill her. Lizzie’s actions had drawn the attention of the other people in the tavern.