Upwyr

by Bill Bowler

Chapter 7: The Count

part 4 of 4

Madame Sonya was gazing deep into the Druid power stone when the door to her parlor opened. A silver Colt .45 with an ornate “YS” engraved on the barrel, and a silver knife in an ankle sheath were laid on the purple felt beside the glowing orb.

“I knew you’d come,” Sonya said softly.

“I want to help,” said Yanosh.

“I know. But it’s dangerous. He’s not at full strength yet but his power is growing.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“He’s killing Hope slowly.”

“He’s feeding off her, draining part of her energy, but Hope has abundant life force, enough for two. It’s a fine line between symbiosis and a parasite.”

“I won’t let him harm her,” said Yanosh. He slipped into the shoulder holster and strapped on the ankle sheath.

* * *

Hope had a small garden apartment on West 54 Street near 10th Avenue. She lay in bed, feverish, in and out of consciousness, shivering under the blanket. Professor von Holzing felt her forehead. She was burning up.

Von Holzing helped her to a sitting position and handed her two pills and a glass of water. “Here, take these. It will bring the fever down and you’ll feel much better.”

Hope swallowed the pills with a gulp of water and lay back down. She fell back asleep at once.

Von Holzing left her to rest. He opened the back door and walked out to the “garden,” a little backyard patio between the rows of buildings that faced the street. It was calm and quiet in the rear of the building, away from the noise and bustle of the streets.

Von Holzing gazed at the rear windows and fire escapes of the buildings that lined the courtyard: all these people living their lives, he thought, not knowing what he meant but feeling a tinge of sadness for them.

The sky was growing dark. It glowed low in the west, over Jersey, where the sun was setting. No stars were out yet but the bright dot of Venus glowed in beauty and isolation. The crescent moon was rising in the east. Von Holzing turned, went back into Hope’s apartment, and sat at the kitchen table. It was eight o’clock.

Von Holzing was dozing in the dark apartment when he was awakened by the sound of a key in the door. The door swung open and someone came in. In the dim light, von Holzing made out Vladimir in the entranceway as Vladimir removed his black cape and hung it on a hook in the closet. Vladimir’s eyes blazed in the darkened apartment. Like two glowing orbs, piercing the darkness, the eyes found von Holzing and von Holzing felt them upon himself.

Von Holzing turned on the light and faced his adversary. Vladimir looked much younger now than his advanced years. His long hair and moustache were thick and jet black. No wrinkles or creases could be seen in his face. His skin was ruddy and youthful, as if he had reversed the course of time.

“What are you doing here?” von Holzing asked Vladimir.

“I might ask you the same question, professor.” The Count removed his gloves and lay them on a table. His hands were smooth and white, unblemished.

“We know what you’re up to, Vladimir. You won’t get away with it.”

Vladimir’s eyes flashed with anger but he regained his composure at once.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, professor. Hope and I have grown very close. She’s the one who gave me the key. We’ve fallen in love, if you have to know. But what business is it of yours? I’ve come to see how she’s feeling. Perhaps I can help.”

“I know why you’ve come, Vladimir. You can save your lies for the gullible. I must ask you to leave.”

Smoldering anger flashed again in Vladimir’s eyes. They focused on the professor and von Holzing felt a smothering darkness descend around him. He began to swoon. Objects in the room began to swim before his eyes as he struggled to stay conscious. With a supreme effort, he shook off the wave of psychic energy that was engulfing him. He straightened up and looked defiantly at Vladimir.

The Count smiled in grudging admiration. “Your will is strong, von Holzing.”

The professor, swaying unsteadily on his feet, took a silver crucifix from his breast pocket.

“I’ve asked you to leave. If you refuse, I’ve no choice but...”

Vladimir raised his arm as if gesturing “that won’t be necessary,” but then clenched his hand into a fist and twisted it slowly, a grim smile playing on his lips and his eyes boring deep into von Holzing’s soul.

“The old myths die hard, professor. It’s true, I don’t care for garlic, but those religious trinkets do little more than give me a headache.”

The cross fell from von Holzing’s hand and he collapsed unconscious to the floor.

* * *

There was no answer when Yanosh rang the bell. He called through the door: “Hope? Uncle Abe?” But there was no reply, only silence within.

Yanosh tried the door. It was unlocked. The knob turned and the door opened. The interior of the apartment was dark. Dim light from the alley came into the apartment through the window in the rear that looked out to the garden.

Yanosh stepped into the apartment. He thought he heard a faint rustling, like a mouse scurrying across a counter. The door to Hope’s bedroom was open. Then Yanosh saw the crumpled form of Uncle Abe unconscious on the kitchen floor.

Yanosh crouched and drew his pistol. Every sense was now focused and acute. He felt now the throbbing aura that pulsed from the bedroom and filled the air with a stifling gloom.

Yanosh crept towards the bedroom door and looked into the room. Hope was sprawled on the bed, her nightgown open, the blankets tossed aside. Someone lay on the bed beside her, his face buried against her neck.

Yanosh recognized the aura now. He took another step towards the bed and saw the red trickle that ran down Hope’s neck and stained the pillow. Yanosh heard the faint sucking sound as the vampire drew her blood.

“It’s over.”

In his ecstasy, Vladimir heard the voice, cold and emotionless, and looked up into the barrel of a silver Colt .45.

“Yanosh. It’s you.”

“Get away from her.”

Vladimir rose from the bed and wiped the blood from his lips with a silk handkerchief. Hope moaned, her eyes still closed.

“It’s not what you think.”

Yanosh felt Vladimir’s mind reaching across the void, probing his own, searching for weakness, taking control. Darkness swirled around Yanosh and came down on his consciousness like a curtain descending. He struggled to focus, to stay conscious, to control his own mind and body, but the Count’s psychic energy flooded through Yanosh. He dropped the gun.

Vladimir pounced, knocking Yanosh to the floor. Vladimir’s long fingers wrapped around Yanosh’s throat, squeezing the air and life from him. Yanosh pulled the knife from his ankle holster and slashed the vampire across the face. Vladimir fell back and howled in pain as fresh blood flowed from the wound.

“What are you doing?” Hope screamed. She had awakened to find the two men struggling in her bedroom. “Stop it!”

Yanosh stood above Vladimir’s crumpled, bleeding form, and looked at Hope in confusion.

“What’s the matter with you two?!” Hope cried hysterically. She rushed from the bed, knelt beside Vladimir and put her arms around him.

“Look what you’ve done!” Hope glared at Yanosh. “You’ve hurt him! He’s bleeding!”

Vladimir looked up at Yanosh with a sheepish grin.

Yanosh stepped back and lowered the knife.

“Poor baby,” Hope cooed to Vladimir and wiped the blood from his face with the hem of her nightgown. “What has he done to you?”

“I’m all right, darling. It’s not serious. It was just a little misunderstanding.”

Von Holzing appeared in the doorway and came unsteadily into the room.

Hope helped Vladimir to his feet. She supported him as they walked out to the living room and then sat him at the kitchen table. Vladimir held the bloody handkerchief to his face. Yanosh and Abe followed them.

“Let me see that, Vlad,” Hope said and carefully pulled Vladimir’s hand away from the wound. “That’s a nasty cut. You’re going to need stitches.” Hope turned to Yanosh. “I think you should go now.”

“But...”

Von Holzing took Yanosh by the arm. “Apparently we’re not needed here.”

“Everything’s fine,” said Hope. “You don’t need to worry. Vladimir and I are...”

“Let’s go,” von Holzing said gently to Yanosh. “We seem to have misconstrued the situation. We’re not needed any longer.”

The two men, old and young, left the apartment as Hope sat in the kitchen beside Vladimir and whispered something in his ear.

When von Holzing and Yanosh reached the street, Yanosh dropped his head and stared down at the ground. Tears welled in his eyes. His guts churned into a knot. He had never, in this short life, felt more empty, more useless, more absurd. He felt as if someone had played a cruel joke on him, had fooled him with a hoax. But who?

* * *

It was twilight. Madame Sonya sat in the darkening parlor, gazing sadly into the crystal globe. Outside, the sun was below the horizon and only faint light now came through the basement window, casting no shadows in the gray gloom. It was silent in the room. The bustle from the street was hushed for the moment. The world had paused before the next wave of activity surged, like the next wave splashing on the sand.

In the globe, Madame Sonya saw an image of a road that narrowed and disappeared into the horizon. The road was empty, going nowhere, and the sight of it filled Sonya with sadness.

She heard steps outside, the door opened, and someone let himself in. Without looking up, Sonya spoke to the figure standing in shadow.

“I can’t see where the road leads.”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not, in the end. The destination is one and the same for all. It’s how you get there.”

“I still have Straker’s gun and knife.”

“Take them. They’re yours now.”

“I’ve quit school and said good-bye to my parents. My dad’s cool with it but my mom took it pretty hard.”

“It’s difficult for them but I think they understand. You mustn’t forget them, though, or Abe and me either. We still need each other, even Hope and Vlad. For better or worse, we’re all in this together.”

“The world is upside down.”

“You just noticed?” Sonya laughed.

“I can’t stand it. I can’t just look away. I have to do something.”

“I know.”

“I feel as if some new evil is concentrating, forming itself into position to strike. I have to try and put a stop to it, no matter what.”

“Good luck, Yanosh. Your heart is in the right place. We’re here if you need us.”

“Thank you, Sonya.” Yanosh stepped from the shadows and put his arms around the fortune teller. “Good-bye.”

He left quickly without looking back.

Madame Sonya turned her eyes back to the interior of the crystal ball. The image of the road disappeared as a thick cloud formed and filled the globe, obscuring all.