AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Jonathan flinched, his heart racing. He couldn’t bear the thought of facing Dracula again.
“G-go away!” he cried out, his voice cracking. “I’ll not be made a party to whatever devilry plagues this damned place!”
There was a pause, then the sound of the door’s lock turning. Vigo shouldered his way inside with remarkable strength for one so aged, his beady eyes studying Jonathan with an inscrutable gaze.
The old servant’s gaze immediately fell to the trail of blood on the floor, then to Jonathan’s cut foot. Without a word, he produced a tray of bandages from seemingly nowhere.
“Back to bed with you, Master Harker,” Vigo said firmly, guiding Jonathan to place the luggage down and sit on the edge of the mattress. He began to clean the wounds while speaking in a low urgent tone. “I’m afraid you misunderstand the circumstances at play here, young sir. The Count is not himself... he has not been for some time. And after last night... please, do not listen to the Count’s advice to flee. Youmustremain. You are perhaps the only one who can help me.”
Jonathan’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing with weary suspicion. “Help you?” He shook his head vehemently. “I want no part of this place. Not anymore! Don’t you understand that this place is evil, and the Count...”
He trailed off, his head beginning to throb as flashes of memory assaulted him - him pleading with Dracula not to let him go, a desperate, passionate embrace. Confusion warred with fear in his mind.
Vigo sighed heavily. “I wish my master wasn’t so stubborn. He should never have toyed with your memory and emotions of last night.”
“What?” Jonathan’s voice rose in panic. “What did the Count do to me?!”
Vigo’s hands stilled in their work, his eyes meeting Jonathan’s with a mix of sympathy and resolve. “I cannot betray my Master, but know this - the suggestion to flee, the fear you feel, these are merely planted in your mind. Your true desire is to remain by the Count’s side. Please believe me. I understand how confusing this must be, but I beg you not to give in to the suggestion. As powerful as it is, you must fight it! You must remain and see this through.”
Jonathan’s mind reeled. He remembered feeling an overwhelming sadness, begging the Count to return to him. A tear slid down his cheek as the emotion overtook the pain. “I must leave,” he whispered. “Even if I can’t remember what happened. I’m afraid of what will happen to me if I remain.”
The old man arched one bushy eyebrow in an infuriatingly calm response. “And go where, pray? Back to the life of denial and falsehoods that were already suffocating your spirit before you came here? You cannot unsee what has been shown to you, nor undo the truth you’ve had the courage to finally embrac--”
“ENOUGH!” Jonathan shouted, his voice nearly cracking. “Just... leave me be. Please...”
His face sank back into his hands, shoulders slumped in dejection and fatigue. After a pregnant pause, Vigo let out a world-weary sigh.
“As you wish, sir. Leave for London and rot in that city if you must. The path before you leads only to tragedy and regret, I promise.” He paused at the threshold, his voice softening. “Should you find your purpose again... the purpose that gave youthe courage to embrace my master... You know where to seek me out.”
With that, the wizened servant took his leave, the heavy door creaking shut behind him and sealing Jonathan’s private sanctum of misery once more.
Try as he might to descend back into blissful unawareness, Jonathan couldn’t shake the disquieting sense that Vigo was right.
What was waiting for him back in London? A prop marriage and a society of watchful eyes everywhere. The thought of returning to that life of denial and pretense suddenly seemed suffocating.
Was Vigo’s desperate plea for aid some parlor trick, or the key to making sense of the madness?
With a cry of frustration, he flung his clothes across the room, watching as they scattered like the broken pieces of his former life. He slumped onto the bed, his mind whirling with conflicting emotions and half-formed memories.
Was he truly now a man caught between two worlds? The familiar, stifling safety of his old life in London and the dangerous, intoxicating freedom he had tasted here in Transylvania.
Vigo’s words echoed in his mind: “You cannot unsee what has been shown to you.” It was true. Even if he returned to London and married Lucy and played the part of the respectablegentleman, he would always know the truth about himself. He would always remember the electrifying touch of Dracula’s lips, the passion that had awakened something long dormant within him. Was it Dracula he was now afraid of, or himself?
But to stay... to embrace this new self fully... The risks were enormous. Jonathan thought of the strange, supernatural occurrences he had witnessed, the gaps in his memory, and the fear that still lingered at the edges of his consciousness.
He closed his eyes, trying to sort through the jumble of emotions and memories. There was fear, yes, but also an undeniable longing. He remembered the comfort he had found in this place, the sense of belonging he had never experienced before.
And then there was Dracula himself. Despite the confusion and fear, Jonathan couldn’t deny the pull he felt towards the enigmatic Count. There was a connection there, something deep and primal that defied explanation.
He slipped on his shoes and painfully stood before limping toward his luggage and began repacking the fallen clothes. His mind was made up. He would flee.
Chapter Seventeen
The rickety mail coach jostled and swayed along the rutted forest trail leading away from Dracula’s estate. Jonathan Harker sat alone in the cramped compartment, his body tense and his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He knew he was running away, but the alternative was just as frightening. Facing the realization that something had transpired between himself and Dracula, and from what little he understood, Dracula was rejecting him or perhaps protecting him.
With each passing mile, he felt layers of dread and unease sloughing off like dead skin after a fevered delirium. Yet, a nagging doubt persisted - had fleeing been the right decision? Would he regret this decision forever?
Strange as it seemed, he had already missed the Count, even though he hadn’t yet left Transylvania. He was wise and so elegant, so unlike himself, according to Jonathan. One night, he had caught the Count lounging in his library window, and the two talked about history until the sun made itself known. Or more like the Count talked, and Jonathan was so mesmerized by his knowledge that he couldn’t stop asking him question after question, to which the Count indulged. He had forgotten that he was supposed to play the role of the well-educated man of society, and it was one of the ways he felt at ease here.
