LETTERS FROM HELLSING XII

I felt quite subdued as we wandered through the estate but managed to nod politely as Walter pointed out various items of architectural or historical interest. I should have been happy. I was, after all, out of the dungeon and away from the lab staff but what Walter had said in the elevator really bothered me.

“Possibly” human? What did he mean by that?

Not dead. Good.

Not undead. Even better.

Possibly not human? Surely Walter was just torturing me but... The lab staff seemed far more interested my test results than simple healing would warrant. Then there was how they were isolating me from the rest of the staff. The techs were always grumbling about having to go up and fetch their own food instead of it being brought down because of me and Walter always brought me my dinner. Even now, the few people who we encountered in the halls had their curiosity cut short by a single forbidding look from my guide. Clearly, this was to be a private tour.

Possibly not human? What then? I desperately wanted to demand further explanation from Walter but sensed the futility of trying to force information from him that he was disinclined to give. Besides I was not entirely certain that I was truly forgiven for that night on the stairs and then there was the fact that I was, well, afraid of what the answer might be. So I followed him about fingering drapes and staring unseeing at paintings until Walter indicated it was time to move on to the next room.

At some point, I realized that Walter had stopped talking. Had he asked me a question?

“Sorry what?”

“Are you all right Ms. Doyle?”

Of course I’m NOT all right! I’m not even sure I’m human! “Oh yes Walter, I’m fine.”

“I am afraid you are not enjoying yourself.”

“No, really I am. I just got distracted. It’s all quite lovely, please continue. I believe you said the drapes were Italian?”

“French.”

“Ah yes, French.”

He gave me an appraising look.

“Perhaps you need a rest.”

“No, I’m fine. Really.” No Walter please don’t send me back. I’ll be good.

The silence was deafening.

Come on Walter, just tell me I’m human. That it was just a big joke. We’ll laugh and laugh and we can go through every stick of furniture in the house and I will be charming and make witty and insightful comments. Please, just tell me I’m human. Please.

“There is something I would like to show you.” He said finally. I followed Walter trying to look both enthusiastic and attentive. I’m sure I looked like a moron. When we reached the elevator Walter said quite casually, “I read an interesting article in your Time magazine recently.”

“Oh yes?”

“It related the results of a study of delayed reaction to traumatic situations of American soldiers returning from combat.” He glanced at me as he pressed the call button.

“Post Traumatic Stress?”

“Yes. It seems that it can resurface weeks, months or even years later unexpectedly causing the soldier to act quite out of character to even a seemingly normal situation.”

Was this an olive branch I wondered, relaxing slightly when I saw him push the button for the 1st floor. Not going back to the dungeon just yet.

“Apparently the effects and duration of their symptoms can be directly linked to the environment in which the subject is initially placed to recover.” There was that appraising look again.

“It sounds like a good article.” I said “I’ll have to try and read it.”

“I am afraid Ms. Doyle that for obvious reasons we have not been able to provide you with a very nurturing environment in which to recover.”

Before I could respond, the elevator doors opened and Walter stepped out. I had no choice but to follow. We walked a short distance to a pair of huge wooden carved panel doors. “Ah, here we are. I think this portion of the tour will be more to your liking.” He said as he opened the doors.

How can I describe it?

Angels singing. Beams of light cascading from heaven. Ode to Joy playing in the background. It was...the Library.

Oh bliss!

I think I cried. It was so beautiful.

Wooden chairs and tables, rolling ladders. A card catalog for goodness sake sitting there prim and proper in the middle of the room. Then of course there were all of those books. Row upon row as far as the eye could see.

Sigh.

And the smell, ah, the smell! Paper, leather and warm wood with just a hint of beeswax and lemon oil. A true bibliophile can hyperventilate on such wonderful scent.

What sweet ambrosia. What bliss!

“Oh...Walter...” Was all I could manage. I took one or two steps into the room and stood. I was literally trembling with joy.