“Two unarmed people, gunned down in cold blood? No. I’ll never understand this. As God is my witness, I’ll see you in jail for this yet.”
Van Helsing smiled. “Do as you must, Detective. In the meantime, an ambulance is on its way for the deceased. They are to be bagged and brought to a crematorium at once . . . according to that court order in your hands. Check its validity if you wish, but I assure you everything is in order.”
Dixon reached for his handcuffs, then remembered he’d used them to keep Hieden from following them in. Then he heard Captain Gilbert’s voice from the entrance of the dingy basement. “Hold it right there, Detective.”
Gilbert and a group of uniformed officers rushed over. “Is everyone all right?” the captain asked.
“I was about to place Dr. Van Helsing under arrest,” Dixon answered. “I saw him gun those two people down in cold blood.”
Gilbert looked at Vladamir and Alyssa, then over to Dixon. “Forget it. This came into my office from the Atlanta Center for Disease Control.” It was a faxed copy of the court order Van Helsing had given the detective. We’re directed to assist the doctor.”
Dixon glanced at Gilbert, then looked at Van Helsing. His face was void of expression. He felt empty, no longer in control of his movements or emotions. He quietly walked away, defeated, certain there was no justice left in the world.
Van Helsing called, “Give it a day, Detective. I promise by tomorrow this will all make sense. You will come to see things as they truly are.”
The detective said nothing, only shook his head. He never looked back.
As Dixon started up the stairs, an ambulance attendant, wearing aviator sunglasses and a clean white uniform, passed him, pulling a stretcher covered with two folded black plastic body bags. Dixon paid no attention, except to allow the attendant to move past him on the stairs.
In the light of day, the detective stumbled to his car. He drove away numbly. So ends the bizarre case of the vampire Dracula. Or so he thought . . .
TWENTY-SEVEN
Vladamir and Alyssa, wrapped in black body bags, were carefully loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance. Van Helsing walked with Captain Gilbert. When they reached the ambulance, Van Helsing apologized for inconveniencing him and his officers. He was truly sorry things had to end as they did. He expressed his deepest admiration for Detective Dixon.
Gilbert helped Van Helsing into the back of the ambulance. Before the captain closed the metal doors, Van Helsing said, “I wouldn’t worry about Detective Dixon.”
“I wish I could agree, Doctor,” Gilbert said. “I hope I’m not going to lose a damn fine detective over this.”
“He’ll be fine, Captain.” Van Helsing winked. “Give him a day or two.”
“I hope you’re right, Doc. It’s tough for a young fellow to witness so much death and pain, and not understand why.”
Van Helsing sat on a bench between the two bodies. After a few miles, he tapped on the Plexiglas divider that separated the driver and the rear of the modular ambulance.
The driver turned his head. Van Helsing said, “You know where to go.” The attendant nodded, and headed for the Atlanta Airport.
In sight of the airport, the driver drove to a large hangar rented by Van Helsing. They passed through the large doors to park next to a private jet.
The light inside the hangar was dim. Still, Van Helsing pulled down the shades on the rear door windows, making the interior of the ambulance even darker. He pulled open the zipper to Vladamir’s black bag, then did the same for Alyssa.
“All clear,” Van Helsing whispered in Vladamir’s ear.
Bloodshot eyes popped open. Vladamir looked at Alyssa. When he saw her sweet lips form a smile, Vladamir slowly sat up. He turned to Van Helsing. “Bravo. Magnificent, Doctor. A wonderful job. You missed your calling—you should have been an actor.”
“I can’t take all the credit.” Van Helsing helped Alyssa sit upright. “I had some help from a friend of yours. . . .”
The driver in the front took off his dark sunglasses and turned to look over his shoulder at Vladamir. Renfield smiled warmly.
Vladamir’s eyes widened with surprise. “How is this possible?”
“It was touch and go for a while,” Van Helsing said. “Fortunately, I was able to convince the authorities to release his body into my custody. I took him to a secluded warehouse, where I could work undisturbed. He required more of the serum than usual, to repair the damaged organs. But, as you can see, the serum worked extremely well.”
“Yep, I’m fit as a fiddle—back from the dead, Master.” Renfield’s smile broadened.
Vladamir laughed, “For the love of God, Carl, please stop calling me Master.”
Renfield sighed. “There’s a lot I don’t understand. The Doc, to begin with . . . Why have him lead everyone to believe he was out to get you? And what’s he to you?”
Van Helsing turned to Renfield. “Vladamir saved the lives of my family during the outbreak of the virus that nearly killed off our village. I am forever grateful to him. As for having the authorities believe I was out to destroy Dracula . . . well, it’s best to know what the other side is doing. I was the spy in the enemy camp.”
Renfield scratched his head.
“Let me explain it to you, Carl,” Vladamir interrupted. “For so very long, I believed my Alyssa to be dead, along with our beloved child. I left Romania— wandering this world, cursed with immortality. Then the good doctor discovered she was indeed alive, living in Atlanta with an American soldier. She had no memory of me. I couldn’t just abduct her. I had to win her trust and love again.”
“But we knew someone would come looking for Alyssa when she left,” Van Helsing added. “Her husband, the major, for example. We devised a plan that involved the police. They would witness the deaths of Vladamir and Alyssa. There would be no one to look for. They may discover the faxed court order you sent to the captain was a fake, Carl. But we’ll be long gone by then, and the authorities will still believe both are dead.”
Renfield turned to Alyssa. “Do you remember the Master?”
Alyssa clasped her beloved Vladamir’s hand. “No, but I’m sure it will come to me. If not, we will just have to fall in love all over again.”
“What about Dr. Steward? Why go after him?”
“That was unfortunate,” Vladamir answered. “I had hoped to recruit a man that we could trust, but . . .”
Renfield shrugged. He still didn’t understand. It didn’t seem to matter. Their plan had succeeded.
“Now, we are off to Europe.” Vladamir fastened his stare on Alyssa’s deep, blue eyes. “We must travel to Romania. I have a small matter to attend to.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Dixon sat quietly in his glass-enclosed terrace. He loved working in his garden, while the sounds of Mozart and Beethoven filled the air, like the sweet scent of his flowers. Here, Dixon could be alone with his thoughts. It was a small piece of heaven on an otherwise hellish earth, especially to a homicide detective. It was difficult to enjoy his quiet evening at home, despite its simple beauty. The tragedy of Vladamir and Alyssa was too vivid.
How sad—how very sad, he thought. To search for and find the one you love most passionately, only to lose each other again. It didn’t seem fair. He saw no logic or suitable explanation to justify such a tragedy.
Dixon reached for his glass of wine. He raised it to his lips, glancing at his workbench. Before he could take a sip, the doorbell rang. Dixon threw down a quick gulp, then climbed off the wooden stool and walked to the door.
A courier stood in the hallway, holding a small box wrapped in thick, brown paper. The delivery man looked at Dixon’s green apron and baggy pockets questioningly. Dixon shrugged, started to explain that he was working in a garden, but the courier obviously didn’t really care.
Dixon took the package back to the garden. He knew of no one who would have sent him something through a courier service. There was no return address, and that made
him uncomfortable.
He carefully set the box on his work bench and lowered his ear to listen for ticking. A mail bomb wasn’t impossible, given his line of work. There were no sounds. He decided to chance a peek inside.
He removed the wrapping paper, and opened the top of the cardboard box. Inside was a small, antique wooden chest, and a card, that read:
“A good man is hard to find. Not since Louis Pasteur have I met such a good man.
Eternally grateful,
D.
P.S. Dr. Van Helsing said to thank you again for your kindness.”
Dixon laughed. Despite his training and instincts as a law enforcement officer, he couldn’t help but be happy for the vampire and his beloved Alyssa. After all, who had he harmed? Criminals, of the worst sort imaginable? “ ‘D,’ Dracula,” he whispered, and he smiled. “You clever, clever son of a bitch.”
Van Helsing had told him several times that bullets would not kill a vampire, and yet he’d bought the scenario!
He brushed the note against his cheek and stared up at the star-filled sky. “You were right, Doctor. I understand everything now—thank you.”
Dixon suddenly remembered the wooden box. He set the note aside and lifted the tiny chest. Inside he found a small glass vial filled with a greenish gel. “What the heck?” He held the glass vial up to the light, then glanced over to the note. Dixon studied the two lines closely, and noticed how the name Louis Pasteur was underlined.
Dixon put the vial back in the box that it came in, walked into the living room, picked up the phone book, and looked up the number for the research division of the Atlanta Center for Disease Control.
Beyond the green swelling hills of the Mittel Land rose mighty slopes of forest up to the lofty steeps of the Carpathians themselves. Right and left they towered, with the afternoon sun falling full upon them and bringing out all the glorious colors of this beautiful range, deep blue and purple in the shadows of the peaks, green and brown where grass and rock mingled, and an endless perspective of jagged rock and pointed crags, till these were themselves lost in the distance, where the snowy peaks rose grandly. Here and there seemed mighty rifts in the mountains, through which, as the sun began to sink, the white gleam of falling water was seen. All at once the wolves began to howl, as though the moonlight had some peculiar effect on them. A heavy cloud passed across the face of the moon, and the land was swept away into complete darkness.
Bram Stoker
EPILOGUE
In a rundown orphanage near the village of Strodtberg, Romania, a small child sat quietly on his bed of straw. The boy was familiar with pain and sorrow: he greeted them nightly, when he awoke from the daytime hours; he hid from the light of the sun. Misery, in return, seemed to greet him as well, when the sun set below the low gray roofs of the village and the smoke from the chimneys filled the dark blue skies.
Close to midnight, the child heard a door creak open on its rusting hinges, the door to the hallway outside his room.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, coming closer with each step.
His door suddenly burst open. A strange fog seeped into the room.
In the dim hallway light, the child could see the distinct figure of a man dressed in black. He entered the chamber, wreathed in cold mist.
The stranger’s voice was gentle, when he finally spoke. “Fear not, my little one. You shall never be alone or have cause to fear the night again. Papa has come home.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My deepest appreciation to those people who offered their support and assistance during the writing of this book—my wife and sons: Debbie, Chris Jr., and Dan. My agent, Ron Laitsch of Authentic Creations Literary Agency. John Ordover, Executive Editor, Pocket Books, and Mr. Gordon Linzner, Project Editor; Robert Novelli, Ph.D., Peter Auerbach, M.D., Anthony Dilullo, M.D., Michael Schrempf, M.D., and Patrick Doherty, M.D. A very special word of thanks to my dear friend, Mr. Dwight D. Frye, son of the late great actor Dwight Frye, who portrayed the character of “Renfield” in the 1931 Universal Studios version of Dracula.
My dogs “Monster” and “Max,” who patiently and faithfully remained at my side during all of those lonely hours of writing.
To movie legend Bela Lugosi . . .
Introduction by Bela G. Lugosi
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Night of Dracula Page 12