Night of Dracula Read online

  Jonathan’s panic was quickly replaced by bewilderment. He glanced back down the hallway to his office. There was no trace of the smoke that had temporarily blinded him. It was as if Vladamir had never even been there.

  EIGHT

  “My God . . .” Mina called for Jonathan to come to the front door at once. When he reached the front entrance, he found Mina hugging Heather. His eyes widened with shock at the sight of their dearest friend. Heather’s face was covered with dirt. Her knees were bleeding. Her dress was ripped at the shoulders, and her stockings were torn.

  “Jesus! What happened?”

  “Two men, they grabbed me, and . . .” Heather broke down, crying. Jonathan picked her up and carried her to the living room sofa. He settled her down carefully, directing Mina to get a blanket at once.

  Jonathan knelt on the floor beside Heather and held her hand. “It’s all right, dear. You’re safe now.” His voice sounded calm, in control of the situation. “Take your time, and tell me what happened.”

  Heather raised her tear-filled eyes. Her lips quivered. “Two men. They grabbed me at the bus stop by the Midland Mall. I was trying to do my Christmas shopping. I didn’t do anything!”

  Two men, Jonathan thought to himself. They grabbed me. As if Heather were trying to justify her innocence. That could only mean one thing to a trained physician such as Jonathan, who had once worked in an emergency room in New York City.

  Jonathan’s voice dropped to a whisper. His expression softened in deep compassion. “Heather, as your friend, and as a physician, I have to ask: these two men, did they . . . ?”

  “No!” Heather sobbed. “They tried to, but Vladamir . . .” She started to cry again. “Vladamir saved me!”

  Thank God, Jonathan whispered to himself. He held her hand tighter. “Dear, tell me everything that happened. Take your time.”

  Before Heather could speak, Mina returned with the blanket and a glass of brandy. Heather took a grateful sip as Jonathan tucked her in. Mina also brought a washcloth to wipe Heather’s face, but Jonathan stopped her.

  “Wait. I want to get some pictures. The police will need them for evidence.”

  “Evidence?” Mina looked at Heather, shivering beneath the blanket. “Honey, what did those animals do to you?”

  “Mina, please,” Jonathan said calmly. “Just get the camera—please.”

  When Jonathan and Heather were alone, he asked her again to tell him exactly what happened at the mall.

  Heather took another sip of brandy, then sniffed and wiped at her tears. “I was walking up to the bus stop. I saw the bus pull out, and knew at that hour it would be half an hour before the next one. It was foggy. I didn’t think much about it.

  “Two men walked up from behind. They were filthy. One of them said I shouldn’t be alone in the dark. He offered to wait with me. I thanked them, but refused. That’s when the other man grabbed my arm. The first one stepped in front of me and tried to put his arms around me. I yanked my arm away, dropped my bags, and started to run. They grabbed me again, pushed me down on the pavement. One ripped my dress, but the other said, ‘Not here!’ Then he and the other man pulled me out to the darkened parking lot.”

  She began crying again. Jonathan was quick to reassure her. “It’s all right, dear. You’re doing fine. Take your time.”

  Heather sipped more brandy. The glass quivered in her hands. After a few minutes she nodded, ready to talk again.

  Jonathan smiled warmly. “You mentioned Vladamir. How did he help you?”

  “As the two men dragged me, I pulled away again. I got to my feet and ran into the lot. I thought if I could find somebody with a car, I’d be safe. I ran as fast as I could, and never looked back. I screamed for help, but no one was around.

  “They were getting closer, so I crawled under a car to hide. I covered my eyes and tried to stay quiet. That’s when I heard the scream.”

  “Scream?” Jonathan looked at her curiously. “Who screamed?”

  “It must have been one of the men who grabbed me,” Heather sobbed. “Then a second voice yelled, ‘Who the hell are you?’ He started screaming, too. I peeked out from underneath the car. I heard footsteps approaching, turned away again. That’s when I heard his voice . . .”

  “Whose voice did you hear?”

  “Vladamir’s.”

  “What time did this happen?” Jonathan’s voice grew insistent. “Please, it’s important. About what time did you hear Vladamir’s voice?”

  Heather closed her eyes in thought. “It was shortly after eight-thirty. I’d just missed the eight-thirty bus.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “It couldn’t have been Vladamir, dear. He was in my office about that time, and it’s a forty-five minute drive from the hospital to the Midland Mall.”

  “But it was Vladamir! I didn’t see him at first, but I heard him say, ‘I promised you would never have to fear the night again.’ Then he came up to the car. He had my bags and purse. He helped me up.”

  “You saw him?”

  “Yes! He helped me get a cab and waited for me to get going. I asked about the men who attacked me. He only said they would never harm anyone again.”

  Heather quickly covered her mouth. She stared fearfully at Jonathan. “Oh, my God! Jonathan, you don’t suppose he . . . ?”

  Jonathan said nothing. He studied her round blue eyes a moment, as his mind drifted to his own earlier encounter with the Romanian, recalling the look of panic in Vladamir’s eyes, as if his senses had sounded an alarm to alert him of Heather’s peril. “I won’t let them do it!” That’s what Vladamir had said before he raced out of the hospital. “This is a matter best left to me!”

  “How could he have known?” Jonathan whispered. “No! It’s impossible! No one can foresee the future.”

  His thoughts were interrupted by Mina’s reentering the room, holding a camera. Jonathan rose, letting his fingers slip from Heather’s soft hand. He turned to Mina. “I want you to take pictures of everything: the rips on her dress, her face and knees—everything. Use the entire roll of film. Then take Heather upstairs, help her wash up, give her something to wear, and put her into bed.”

  Mina rolled her eyes. “And I was going to invite the neighbors in for bridge!”

  Jonathan ignored her sarcasm and turned to Heather. “You’re bunking with us tonight, dear. I’ll give you a checkup before you go to sleep.”

  Mina helped Heather to her feet. As Jonathan headed for his study, he heard the clicking of the camera’s shutter, and his peripheral vision picked up bursts of light from the flash. He also heard Mina asking Heather to turn or move for the camera. Mina had never been so kind, so gentle with another human being in her life. It was obvious she felt Heather’s pain.

  When Jonathan was certain Heather and Mina had gone upstairs, he dialed Detective Dixon’s home number. After five rings, a groggy voice answered. “Dixon . . .”

  “Gene, this is Jonathan Steward. I’m sorry to bother you at home.”

  “Well, it is kinda late.” Dixon cleared his throat. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”

  “There’s been another murder!”

  “Whoa! Wait a minute. What did you say?” Jonathan sucked in a deep breath. “There’s been another murder. Two of them. At the Midland Mall.”

  “First things first. Where are you calling from, Doctor?”

  “I’m at home. A woman I know was grabbed by a couple of men at the bus stop.”

  “Are you saying she murdered someone?”

  “No—lord, no! But I know the men who assaulted her are dead.” Jonathan stumbled over his words. “It’s difficult to explain. Send a patrol car out to the Mall parking lot. I’m sure you’ll find two more victims.”

  Detective Dixon was quiet for a minute, then asked, “Does this have anything to do with the incidents on the yacht and down in Columbus?”

  “Yes,” Jonathan replied. “I can’t explain over the phone.”

  “Where’s your friend now?”
/>   “Here, at my place.”

  “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. You keep your friend at your house. I’ll have dispatch send a couple of squad cars to the Mall. I’m also sending a uniformed officer to your house. He’ll wait with you while the patrols investigate your report—”

  “I’d feel more comfortable if you came here,” Jonathan interrupted.

  “I’ll be over, don’t worry. I’m heading to the Mall first. I’ll let you know what we find.”

  Jonathan thanked him, then hung up, left the study, and headed upstairs. Mina had already helped Heather into bed, and was sitting by her side when Jonathan entered the guest room. He smiled at Heather, to reassure her again that everything would be all right, and quickly checked Heather’s injuries. Then he asked Mina to step into the hallway with him.

  There, Jonathan whispered to Mina, “The police are on their way. I have to go somewhere, so I want you to wait with the officer. Detective Dixon will also stop by. Tell him I’ll be right back.”

  Mina furrowed her brow. “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t say,” Jonathan replied. “Just tell the police I had to run out for a few minutes. A patient emergency. I’ll be right back. Don’t let anyone speak to Heather until I return. Tell the police she’s gone through a terrible ordeal, and I insist on being present when they question her.”

  “But—” Mina began.

  Jonathan cut her off. “Look, Mina, I don’t have much time. Just do as I say—please!”

  For the first time since they’d become husband and wife, Mina didn’t argue with Jonathan. She promised to do her best. Jonathan appeared truly grateful, confident she would allow no one near Heather until he had returned.

  NINE

  Jonathan stood at the massive oak door of Carfax Manor. Its top formed a Gothic arch. As he reached for the rusty lion’s-head knocker, he heard the squeal of a turning dead bolt. The door creaked open about two feet, then stopped. “Renfield? Carl Renfield?” Jonathan stared at the face poking out the door. “How did you get . . . ?”

  Renfield held an index finger to his lips. He looked back over his shoulder. “Quiet. He’ll hear you.”

  “I want him to hear me, Carl!” Jonathan said angrily. “Take me to him at once!”

  “No.” Renfield shook his head fearfully. “You don’t understand. He’s not in a good mood. For your own sake, Dr. Steward, leave now!”

  Then a distant voice echoed behind Carl. “Don’t just stand there, Renfield. Show the good doctor in.”

  Carl closed his eyes. “It’s too late,” he whispered. “I’m so very sorry, Dr. Steward. Forgive me.” He reluctantly pulled the door open to admit Jonathan.

  Vladamir stood in the middle of the long flight of ornate stairs that led to his desk. He wore his black suit and a long black overcoat that resembled a cape. In his hands was a beautiful old leather book. He never once looked down to Jonathan at the bottom of the staircase.

  “How did you know about Heather?” Jonathan demanded.

  Vladamir ignored him, slowly turning the pages of his book.

  Jonathan climbed the stairs until he reached the step just below Vladamir. “How did you know about those men in the parking lot?”

  Vladamir finally spoke, but only to read aloud from the book:

  To me, who find,

  Reviewing my past way, much to condemn,

  Little praise, and nothing to regret

  (Save some remembrances of dreamlike joys

  That scarcely seem to have belonged to me)

  If I must take my choice between the pair

  That rule alternately the weary hours,

  Night is than day more acceptable; sleep

  Doth, in my estimate of good, appear

  A better state than waking; death than sleep:

  Feeling sweet is stillness after storm,

  Though under covert of the wormy ground!

  Finished, Vladamir looked at Jonathan. “William Wordsworth,” he said, smiling.

  “To hell with Wordsworth! How did you know that Heather was in danger?”

  Vladamir snapped the book shut. “You couldn’t care less about Heather.”

  Jonathan cocked his head, staring back at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Vladamir laughed out loud, then turned to walk up the stairs to his desk. “Come now, Doctor. We both know why you’re here.”

  Jonathan quickly followed. “I’m here for Heather’s sake!” he insisted.

  “Nonsense.” Vladamir stepped behind his desk and dropped his book on its mahogany surface. “Do you know how many men of your position have stormed through my front door, making demands of me? No, Dr. Steward. You’re not the first. Nor shall you be the last.”

  Jonathan’s voice grew quiet. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do.” Vladamir waved a hand through the air in front of him. “Louis Pasteur—Jonas Edward Salk—Albert Schweitzer. The great healers of humanity. And now, Jonathan Timothy Steward, the man who discovered the cure for AIDS.” Vladamir stared deeper into his eyes. “That’s why you’re here, Doctor. Let us dispense with this ridiculous talk of your concern for Heather, and get down to business.”

  Jonathan was at a loss for words. He slowly settled into a cobalt leather chair facing Vladamir’s ornately carved desk. He glanced at the green marble floor beneath his feet, ashamed of himself. Vladamir was right.

  “That’s much better, Jonathan,” Vladamir said. “Now that we’ve dispensed with the dramatics, I’ll start from the beginning. What do you think of the wood in this desk?”

  Jonathan said nothing.

  “Come now, Jonathan. I’ve seen your collection of antiques. Take a closer look.”

  Jonathan did as he was told. Yes—indeed! There was something peculiar about the wood. It was mahogany, but of a variety he had never seen before. Jonathan prided himself on his knowledge of various materials throughout different periods of furniture-making.

  “I thought you’d find this piece of particular interest.” Vladamir half-smiled. “But you’re wondering, what does this have to do with our business?”

  Jonathan’s confused expression was the only answer he gave.

  “Everything! It has everything to do with my existence, and with Mr. Renfield’s miraculous cure.”

  “You found a cure for viral infections using the wood?” Jonathan asked.

  Vladamir shook his head. “It’s not that easy, I’m afraid. Still, this desk has everything to do with what I’ve mentioned, and more.”

  Jonathan still appeared confused.

  “Very well, from the beginning,” Vladamir said. “Before the year 1898, the villages of Transylvania were quite peaceful and, more importantly, well-protected. By protected, I mean we were fairly isolated from the diseases of the rest of the world. Transylvania had nothing to offer, except its natural beauty, of course. Beauty can be found anywhere. There was no reason for modern man to impose himself on us, or so we thought.

  “Then, a single piece of furniture slipped out of Transylvania. Something insignificant—a chair, perhaps, made of wood from a tree that only grows in the Carpathian Mountains. The chair might have been carried out by a nomadic merchant. It doesn’t really matter. It found its way to England, then to the United States, where someone quickly realized how beautiful this wood was, and how easy it was to work with.”

  Vladamir turned to face the darkness surrounding the two men. His stare was fixed and cold. He whispered, “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The industrialists—they arrived, with silver beards, top hats, and smiles. God, how they smiled . . .

  “They were charming, and treated even the lowest of peasants as if he truly were important to their plans to bring prosperity to our village. Prosperity?” Vladamir laughed, then turned back to Jonathan. “Death! That’s what they brought us—death!

  “Within months, men and equipment were brought in to strip the mountainside of its beauty. Beauty can be f
ound anywhere—except for the Carpathians, now ravished of those simpler pleasures only nature could provide.

  “I tried to stop the invasion. I did! But I was only one man—a single voice trying desperately to warn our people what was to come—death, Dr. Steward!” Vladamir shrugged with melancholy. “Who could blame me for turning my back on the fools?”

  “So the virus was brought into Transylvania by the lumberjacks,” Jonathan said, glancing up.

  “Or the millworkers. Or the whores that followed the workmen in. Take your pick,” Vladamir replied angrily. “Where over twelve thousand people once lived happily, peacefully, only three thousand survived in the end. But I did discover an antibody!

  “My Alyssa and my dear child lay sick and dying. I worked day and night to discover a cure. I myself was infected by the virus. But I finally produced an antibody.”

  “How could the drug affect you so dramatically? It wasn’t due to the . . .”

  “The antibody?” Vladamir laughed again. “How little-you understand, Doctor. The antibody proved more curse than blessing, I can assure you. There were side effects to the drug, from using the blood of a vampire bat imported from South America. The vampire is a mystical creature, with powers that contradict the basic laws of science, powers you could not even begin to imagine.”

  Jonathan looked at him curiously. “Side effects? What sort of side effects?”

  “No tolerance for bright light, especially sunlight. The antibody also increased my levels of adrenaline. And this . . .” Vladamir opened his mouth to show Jonathan a sharp set of fangs, much like the vampire bat’s—his kindred spirit.

  Vladamir walked to where Jonathan sat. He grabbed the lapels of his jacket and lifted Dr. Steward from his chair. Vladamir held him in the air with one arm. “As you see, Doctor, I have the strength of at least ten men.” Then he dropped Jonathan back in his chair.

  Jonathan pulled out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead. He cleared his throat. “Go on,” he finally said.