Even If There are Monsters In It

“I called you because of this unusual bite I found during my autopsy of the body,” the portly gray haired man said as he slipped the black rubber apron on.

The man he was speaking to stood in the corner of the morgue partly hidden in the shadows by two rows of fluorescent lights that the medical examiner always left turned off when he called for assistance from the special investigator. The tall man adjusted his posture and took a look at the area in question.

“Go on, Dr. Renfield,” the low voice of the man prompted for more information.

Renfield took the cue and began to relate more of this strange case that had landed on his plate. The body came into the morgue just as he arrived for the midnight shift. “The victim, as I now think it is safe to call her, has a bite mark on her neck consisting of two circular puncture marks. No other injuries appear anywhere on the young woman’s body.” Dr. Renfield paused to let what he said sink in and to steel himself for what he had to say next. “The cause of death appears to be exsanguination which caused hypovolemic shock. I’ll know for sure once I look at the organs.”

“If you would turn off the rest of the lights, Doctor, I’d like to take a closer look under low lights,” the shadowed man said. His request was quickly complied with.

The man moved closer and stooped low to examine the body in detail. Renfield watched with interest as this man he only knew by the name Count carried out his examination. He had met Count four years ago when he moved to Saint Louis to take the job as a medical examiner and was approached to offer his assistance with a bizarre death case. Since then, the doctor had called the enigmatic man in on three more odd cases, seeking input.

Dr. Renfield felt a suspicion that, despite the help Count always brought solving each case, there was something that left the man empty. It was as if Count was looking for something in each of the gruesome cases and ended up empty handed each time.

“Interesting,” Count commented, snapping Renfield’s attention back. “Where was the body discovered?”

“A patrol car was flagged down by a homeless man saying he had found a body in the alley behind the Stoker Club,” Renfield answered. “Detectives interviewed witnesses who said the deceased spent most of the evening at the table of a woman in the club. No one is sure if it was a friend or girlfriend.”

“A woman?” Count said, taken aback by the news.

“Yes, no one got the name of the other woman,” Renfield stopped mid sentence as he noted that Count had disappeared from the room when he was looking back at the body. “Strange one that fellow,” he said to the room, a strange mist hung in the air and then drifted out the door and down the hall.

The mist floated through the front door as a police officer came into the building and turned down an unoccupied side street. No one was there as the mist element reformed into the shape of man. Count’s powers had not diminished over the years since narrowly escaping with his life from his home in Romania. He had traveled for a dozen years around Europe before making his way to the United States, realizing that the safety he needed to survive would be easier found amongst the growing population and freedom to travel.

Count hid his identity by using his former title as his name and keeping a low profile. He moved every few years fearing someone would notice that the man didn’t seem to age at all. One constant he followed in each place he settled was to offer his services to the local authorities as an academic on the occult. He had the forged documents and references to back up his claim and typically won over the local law enforcement and coroner with his insight into strange cases.

Count kept his feedings hidden from notice, never taking more than needed and never following a discernible pattern. His motives in helping law enforcement were not as noble as they might appear. He knew by keeping a pulse on the strange events of his current city of residence he might be better guarded if those who pursued him were getting close. For all his years in America he had never felt the danger of the current hunter of the Helsing clan closing in and he hoped to keep it that way.

Even more than the pressing concern of being discovered, he wanted to pick up the trail of the one that got away. After all these years, maybe, just maybe, he had picked up the trail here in St. Louis. He arrived back at his townhouse in plenty of time to avoid the rising of the sun. Count would sleep for the day and investigate the Stoker Club with the coming of night.

The sun had set hours ago as Count made his way along the streets leading to the club. The streets were full of dangerous people at this time of night, predators on the hunt for prey. His approach to the club was not marked by any danger for himself. Even predators recognize when there is an apex in their presence.

The bouncer at the door was the first obstacle Count ran into. The hulking muscleman put a hand to Count’s chest as he tried to walk through the door. “Hold up, fancy man.” It was an obvious dig on Count’s attire. That was the one thing he refused to waiver on, the suit made the man he always believed. “You’re a little overdressed for the place we run here.”

Count noticed that the few people he saw entering the club, bypassing the fracus the bouncer was causing, were dressed in more of a dark fashion, lots of black, lots of metal.

“Well, friend,” Count said, “nonetheless, I would like to still enter the establishment.”

“Not happening,” the bouncer pushed hard against Count intending to send him toppling backwards. The big man was so used to his intimidation and muscles giving him power that he failed to recognize the overestimation in his abilities.

In a motion that was too fast to respond to, Count sidestepped and drew his arm around hooking the bouncer and with a quick snap broke the man’s arm. Count walked casually past the injured man and into the Stoker Club.

The pounding music was an instant dislike to Count. The crowd of people seemed to swarm all through the large room. On one side was a long bar serving the libations of the day. Adjoining the area next to the bar were packed tables which gave way to a large dance floor, even more crowded than the tables. On the far side of the room was the music man sending the pulse beats into the throng of the entranced dancers.

Count pushed his way up to the bar where he was greeted by a bartender who may have been a Greek god in a former life. “What will it be,” the Adonis asked, if he was aware of Count’s appearance not being in line with the other club goers he didn’t show it.

“Just looking for some information,” Count answered, “Did you see the girl who was killed in the alley inside here last night?”

“You don’t look like a cop,” Adonis said, “plenty of people are waiting to order a drink, if you don’t want a drink then make way for a paying customer.”

Count slid a one hundred dollar bill across the counter, “No drink, just info.”

The bartender quickly pocketed the money, “She was in here last night with a girl.”

“Do you know who the other girl is?” Count questioned further.

“Looks like the drink line is stacking up behind you, paying customers, you know.”

Count could see where this was leading and sent another Franklin sliding across the counter, “Her name?”

“She goes by MH,” the bartender added slyly, already anticipating the next question and the next bill.

“Have you seen her here tonight?” Count was getting tired of this game he was being forced to endure. With the revelation of the name he was sure he was on the correct path.

“Will you look at that drink line,” the bartender started, but cut himself short as he looked at the man he was fleecing across the bar.

Count’s eyes locked onto the bartender and the man could not look away, something primal in the gaze had a hold of him. In a flash of a smile, two fangs sprouted and retracted, a sight that sent the bartender stumbling back. Count asked the man, “Do I need to ask my question in a different way?”

Fear spread through the bartender, “The back room she hangs out in the VIP room in the back.” By the time he regained his composure the man was gone from sight.

Count skirted around the edge of the dance floor making his way toward the only door other than the front door that he could see. It was marked with a neon sign over it that read, “Wolf Country,” and he recognized the connection, those words were not new to him.

No one guarded the passageway that led to the back room, as if everyone knew their own station and this was only a place for those invited. Count pushed through the swinging door and was taken aback by the strong metallic smell. This was something he was familiar with, the smell of blood. The room was almost pitch black and Count could see the outlines of a few people milling about.

There were seven people in the room and they moved away from him as he entered except one, the slight figure across the room bagan to walk slowly toward him until the outline of the woman solidified in his vision. Count, unbelieving after all this time he should finally meet up with her again, was taken aback by her actual presence here before him.

“As I unlive and breathe,” the woman’s voice played out like a song across the distance between them. “Dracula.”

Count had not heard that name in a hundred years and the power of hearing it emboldened the meek personality he had dissolved into. “It is you, Mina Harker. I knew that one day I would find you again.”

A laugh bubbled up from Mina, “Took you long enough. We have done a lot of traveling around looking for you as well. Laid our own Appian Way, except with bodies instead of stone, knowing that eventually you’d find it and trace its path back to us.”

Count caught the subtleties in her words, “We? Us?”

“Just as you made me what I am now, I have become a missionary to that blood gospel and made my mark on this earth,” Mina said, her tone tinged with hate. Hate for the man before her, hate for what she had allowed herself to become. She had allowed this feeling to consume her and retribution she felt was her only cure.

In his periphery Count sensed the other people in the room now closing in on him. He was fast, but the others were faster. He was swarmed by a flurry of arms lashing out, sharp claws ripping at him. The press of bodies bore down on him and he lashed out with unrestrained power catching one of the attackers by the neck and flinging them across the room.

The others, he now knew based on their inhuman strength, were of his own kind but turned by Mina Harker. These were the progeny of his own creation. The vampire brood rained punishment down on the man their mistress abhorred. This was not a fight Count could win, these numbers were too great for him.

This was not a fight for a man, but one for a monster. Count felt himself slip the shell of the imposter he had become and embrace his real persona, Dracula. The tide of battle turned as these neo-vampires met their one true king. Dracula caught an attacker in each hand and squeezed while flicking his wrist and the resounding snap sent the writing bodies he held instantly slack.

Mina screamed, “Bastard!” She looked at the four remaining of her brood, “End him.”

The four held by the sway of their master charged Dracula. The violence burst in the room like a broken dam. A storm of blows and lacerations flew in both directions. Dracula took the hits and cuts and lashed back, his was an inferno and quickly overtook the campfire of the young vampires. The last of the attackers' bodies slumped to the floor.

Dracula turned to face Mina, blood smeared across his personage and awash on the floor surrounding him. “Satisfied?” he questioned her.

An unsettling smirk played across her face, “To see the demon that haunts me defeated? Yes, satisfied would be one way to put it.”

Dracula held open his arms to the carnage they lay around him, “Defeated? My dear, this is the spoils of the victor.”

The smirk stayed on her face, almost unsettling to Dracula, there was something he was missing. That thought was caught short as a pain burst to life in his back. He summoned a reserve of strength and burst in speed across the room with the sharp pain buried deep within his back.

Feeling the distance had provided him with a small measure of safety he looked back to where his adversaries stood. Next to where Mina glared at him stood a tall powerfully built man. He was young and in his left hand he held a wooden stake, his empty right gave him the indication what the pain he felt resonated from.

Mina laughed, “I am guessing from the look of recognition on your face you can see the Van Helsing resemblance. Let me introduce you to Jakob Van Helsing.”

Dracula could feel the silent hatred radiating from the hunter. “Mina, why would you agree to work with this man, he is the enemy to all of our kind.”

The smirk played across Mina’s face as she pressed a hand against Van Helsing’s chest, “Oh you know, Drac, strange bedfellows and all. I have learned to adapt with the times and so has my dear Jakob.”

“You stand there weakened, just an imposter of the monster my ancestors fought,” Van Helsing sneered. “You tried to bury your nature. I will finish what Great Grandfather Abraham started all those years ago, prepare to die Count Dracula.”

Van Helsing charged across the room swinging the stake in a wide arc. Dracula danced back avoiding the instrument of destruction. The pain in his back flared from where the other stake was still lodged, thankfully in the first attack Van Helsing had missed the heart. He might be a hunter, but he was still inexperienced.

Dracula lurched forward to grab the hunter, but was surprised as his intended target spun on his heel and launched a kick to his midsection. Dracula reeled backward, tripping over one of the vampire bodies he had dispatched earlier. The fall sent him flat on his back driving the stake there deeper inside of him. Pain flared through his body. Van Helsing was on him in a heartbeat, gripping the stake with both hands he inched the point aimed over Dracula’s heart.

“As I said you’ve forgotten your former glory, you are now just an animal to be hunted,” Jakob taunted.

Animal, Dracula thought, he is correct, I need to remember what I was before. As the stake tip slowly came into contact with the vampire’s skin, there was a sudden collapse as Dracula disappeared from under Van Helsing. The stake slammed hard into the concrete floor of the club, breaking the tip off.

The hunter felt a flutter of a leathery wing against his cheek and realized all of the incredible stories about the vampire king were true. Dracula had transformed into a bat and escaped his grasp. A sudden weight slammed down on Van Helsing as the vampire took the form of a man again. Van Helsing was pinned as Dracula reached for the stake that became unlodged from his back in the transformation.

Dracula hissed in Van Helsing’s ear, “Thank you for the reminder of who I am.” The vampire drove the stake through the hunter’s temple killing him instantly.

“Noooo,” the scream from Mina Harker echoed around the room. She launched herself at her creator, sharpened nails slicing ribbons of blood open across his face.

It was too late for her now, the monster had been restrained in the abyss too long. He longed to be free again. Dracula grabbed Mina, pinning her arms to her side and biting down on her exposed neck. He drank long until he felt the life force he had given her fade into nothingness.

Dracula released her body and let it crumble to the floor. He had denied who he was for too long. Things were about to change, America could ready herself for a new nobility and the rise of the vampires he would unleash.