LETTERS TO HELLSING XVI

That afternoon we arrived at the library to find the door behind the spiral staircase, which had heretofore been locked, standing open. I glanced at Walter, then scurried to the opening for a peek inside. It was a study attached to the library and it had to be the coziest room I had seen since arriving.

There was a dark mahogany desk and chair with the requisite brass lamp with green shade tucked into the back of the room. There was a fireplace with a simple yet elegant wood mantle built into the wall opposite the door where I stood with a lovely oriental rug in front of the stone hearth. A small fire had been laid and was crackling merrily. To my left there was a small couch and two wing chairs in oxblood leather clustered around a low mahogany table on top of a smaller, even lovelier oriental rug. The mahogany was continued in the bookshelves lining three of the four walls which were crammed with novels including row upon row of paperback fiction. The floor to ceiling french door windows from the library continued into the study letting in the bright winter light and affording a lovely view of the gardens and grounds of the estate. I fell in love at once. It just looked so homey.

“What is it?” I asked Walter who had entered the room behind me.

“It’s the late Lord Hellsing’s study.”

“It’s wonderful.” I said. “So...friendly.”

“I thought you might find the seating here more comfortable.”

“Oh yes, thank you!” So, Walter had finally tired of finding me tucked into every odd corner of the library instead of using the chairs. Don’t get me wrong, I love old, hard, wooden chairs. I just don’t like sitting in them. Too much like school I suppose.

“Feel free to browse the collection in here but, please, do not disturb anything in or on the desk.”

“Certainly.”

“Shall we say two hours then?”

“All right.”

Two hours later, I had explored most every nook and cranny of that den. True to my word, I had touched nothing in or on the desk but that had not stopped me from looking.

It was a wonderful old desk, big and heavy with a large green blotter that had seen years of use. It had big, deep drawers with carved brass pulls. It even had an old ink well and quill set off to one side next to a handsome display of antique fountain pens. There was an appointment calendar dated from over 10 years ago with what appeared to be a tortoise shell comb just peeking out from between the pages.

Here there were also those lovely personal touches one would expect to see. An ashtray with a pipe. A paperweight very obviously made with the painstaking care of a young child wishing to please a father “on the occasion of his birthday”. Then, of course there were the photographs. One of a man and a woman holding an infant. Another portrait of a young girl of about twelve (Sir Integra perhaps as a child?) And a snapshot of three men standing in front of the manor. Two of the men, one of whom was the man from the family portrait and one whom I did not recognize, stood with their arms about each other’s shoulders like family or old friends. The third man was Walter. A bit younger perhaps, but it was him. He stood next to the man from the first photo but stiffly and slightly apart. Something about that photo made me feel sad and I suddenly felt like an intruder so I turned my curiosity away from the desk to the rest of the room which, unlike the desk area, showed signs of recent usage.

Several current titles in paperback, mostly science fiction, graced the shelves nearest the windows. I discovered a coaster and some pens resting on a side table next to one of the wing chairs and some recent newspaper editions in the hopper next to the fireplace neatly rolled into tight logs for kindling. I unrolled one. It was a section of yesterday’s New York Times containing the crossword puzzle. It was filled out in precise lettering, in ink, without error or correction. Walter, I thought shaking my head in admiration.

I again opted not to sit on the chairs, as comfy as they might have appeared, but had instead chosen the box seat which had been built into one of the windows just next to the furniture grouping. It was the one thing that did not quite fit into the homey but masculine decor of the room and must have been added later.

It was a white wooden box with a hinged lid and pretty embroidered cushions. When I peeked under the lid I found some lovely knitted afghans, a sewing kit, a sock in need of darning and a small box of delicate tatting. I again felt that sad sense of loss so I quickly selected an afghan and closed the lid.

When Walter returned he found me curled up in the window box under the blanket, ruminating over a Frank Herbert novel trying to decide if I should try re-tackling the Dune series. I glanced up from my book when I heard the mantle clock chime and there he was. I have no idea how long he had been standing there but, just for an instant, I thought I saw a shocked expression on his face as if he had seen a ghost. It was gone as quickly as it came making me almost doubt I had ever seen it. I blinked and his face was once again its usual bland polite mask.

“Hello Walter. Has it been two hours already?”

“Yes. I see you found the blankets.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. It was a bit chilly. I hope it’s OK.”

“No. Of course. I should have put one out for you... You find the room comfortable?”

“Oh yes! Very much so.” I said, relieved to feel the awkward moment lifting. “Have you read all of these?” I asked gesturing towards the shelves.

“Most of them.”

“I’m impressed.”

He shrugged, picking up my little stack. In addition to Frank Herbert I had also picked up a copy of “Will” by G. Gorden Liddy and a couple of Terry Pratchett novels. “Interesting Selection.” He said.

“I felt like reading old friends today.”

“Oh yes?”

“Gloomy days always seem to make me feel retrospective.” I said smiling.

“I see.” He said.

“Yes, a blanket, an old book and something warm to drink and I am quite content.” I was comfortable and stalling for time and he knew it but instead of his usual use of evil butler superpowers (such as, *shudder*, the quiet and patient yet disapproving stare) to roust me from whatever nook I was clinging to, he simply nodded his understanding.

“Well, I am glad to say I think I can be of some assistance in that Ms. Doyle.” He said crossing to the doorway. He retrieved a tray from a side table just outside and placed it on the low coffee table in front of where I was sitting. It contained a tea service with two cups.

“Goodness Walter, it’s like a magic trick. How do you do that? Do you keep trays of tea squirreled away everywhere just in case someone mentions it?”

“Nonsense.” He said. “As you say it is a dreary day and Sir Integra is away so I thought I would take tea early.”

‘Take tea’ I thought. I love it! God bless the British. “Oh yes?” I asked staring meaningfully at the second cup not quite sure on the exact etiquette of inviting oneself to tea.

“I had hoped that you would join me.”

“Oh yes please, it’s very kind of you.”

“Think nothing of it. Shall I pour?”

He poured the tea, Earl Grey my favorite (now that can’t possibly be in that folder. Can it?), and I tried to impress him by eating my scones English fashion, sweeting them one bite at a time, but my butter and preserves always seemed to run out on my plate before I ran out of scone. Walter’s plate, of course, always came out perfect. Each bite with just the right amount of clotted cream (does nothing for me, tastes like wimpy butter) and a dab of preserves a sip of tea and everything gone at the same time. Must be some genetic English skill that has been bred out of my line over the generations.

I also had some trouble balancing my cup and plate from my perch on the window box (In all fairness to me Walter had a side table). Leaning over to repeatedly retrieve my tea from the “coffee” table was uncomfortable and I was not about to rest it on the cushion and risk ruining that lovely embroidery. I suppose I could have just moved over to the other chair or the couch but instead somehow ended up sitting on the floor. Walter was not annoyed by this but actually seemed mildly amused by my “Japanese style” approach to an English high tea. He even told me an amazing story of a barely averted international incident involving Emperor Shōwa and a tea service which occurred during a trip he took to Kyoto some years back.

It was my first tea party at Hellsing and I enjoyed it a lot despite my fear of spilling or breaking something or otherwise behaving like an uncivilized colonial in front of Walter. Other than that, it was very relaxing.

Walter would absolutely not discuss work. My one or two questions about Sir Integra or what was going on in the lab were deftly deflected. I took the hint and I soon understood why. There was something about that room. It seemed to be a little separate space divorced from the rest of the world where one could get away from oneself and just, be. Walter had let me into his sanctuary much like Mr. Wemmick had for Pip in “Great Expectations” . I was touched and honored and felt the fragile beginnings of a friendship forming between two people who had, if very little in common, the need to just not be a part of everything around us for an hour or so.

Afternoon tea with Walter soon became a regular and gladly anticipated part of my day. By unspoken agreement, the relationship we shared in the study had no baring on our interactions during the rest of the day. Walter especially, seemed adept at compartmentalizing all aspects of his life into his varied “roles” serving Sir Integra and the Hellsing estate. I had more trouble with it but tried very hard to respect his wishes in this matter as I did not want to, even inadvertently, betray his trust. I owed him at least that much.

-----------------------------------------


As much as I enjoyed my first tea party in the study, I paid for my pleasure the next day. Word of my little stunt in the barracks had apparently reached the lab staff and they were positively livid over my “premature and unauthorized interactions with other [not potentially but established] non-human subjects.” They demanded both vampires appear in the lab first thing in the morning to begin “interactive testing”. Alucard of course, not only refused, but so vividly and descriptively elaborated his contempt of their summons to the technician who was sent to fetch him that the poor man had to be sedated and sent away for observation.

In answer to their complaint about Alucard’s behavior, Sir Integra had informed them that if they could not even handle one of his mild verbal tirades without a staff member being hospitalized, how did they expect to control him once they got him in the lab and started making him really angry? She suggested that they content themselves with Seras who, while cranky and complaining bitterly, had complied with their summons and was also far less likely to murder the entire lot of them.

So Seras and I spent several hours being poked, prodded and subjected to every stupid test the lab staff could think of until Miss. Pringle got the brilliant idea of doing a scratch allergy test on us with a silver pin and Seras “accidentally” punched her in the bread basket. I am afraid to admit that I was glad to see it happen. Stupid woman. (Good thing Alucard had not been there as he would not have stopped until every single solitary member of the lab staff was, not only dead, but disemboweled, dismembered, run over, burnt and their ashes scattered to the four winds. Unless, of course he was in a bad mood in which case his actions do not bear thinking. Either way, I never would have gotten the blood stains out of my clothing. Stupid, stupid woman).

Needless to say that after that, the staff became a bit more cautious around Seras. They picked Miss. Pringle up off the floor, handed us some specimen cups and pushed us out the door to the bathroom.

As we meandered towards the bathroom, Seras kept glancing at her cup with a puzzled expression. When we reached the door she looked up at me. “What should....I mean I don’t..” She started.

I raised a hand to stop her. “Seras, there are just some things that it’s just too soon to know about each other.”

We looked down at our cups then back at each other.

“We could just leave.”

“Or switch cups.”

We eyed our cups with evil in our hearts.

“Oh, that (giggle) would be wrong.”

“Yes. Yes it would be (giggle) very wrong.”

“Yes, very wrong indeed.” Said a voice behind us. We yelped and turned to find Walter standing about five feet away. How does he do that? He was giving us a thoroughly disapproving look. I felt like the principal had just caught me smoking behind the gym.

“We weren’t really going to do it Walter.” Seras said.

“No, of course not as that would cause confusion, generate more testing and extend the duration of both your time’s in the lab.”

“Oh!” She squeaked.

“Then of course there is the added expense. The wasted staff time. Quite...unacceptable.”

“Yes, of course.” I said with proper chagrin.”

“Ms. Doyle, Sir Integra has requested you meet with her in her office.”

“Certainly. When?”

“Now.”

“OK.”

“Miss. Victoria, you are dismissed from the lab for the remainder of the day.”

We smiled at each other glad to be released from the lab.

“But first...” Said Walter, glancing significantly at the specimen cups.

We sighed and trundled off into the bathroom.

LETTERS FROM HELLSING XV

“I’m not too sure about this.” Seras said as we approached the barracks.

“It will be fine.” I said.

“They might be angry. There’s a big match on tonight.”

“Don’t care and neither should you.”

“The Captain will be annoyed.”

“Poof him if he can't take a joke.”

“Walter won't like it.”

Oops! OK, that one got me. “Were doing nothing wrong.” I said unconvincingly.

She gave me a credulous look.

“Technically.” I said We both stopped walking, visions of stern Walters radiating disapproval looming before us.

My nerve almost broke. When Walter found out about tonight, and he surely would, he would not be pleased. Technically Seras and I would have done nothing wrong. We were not prisoners. We had not been directly ordered to avoid contact with the rest of the staff, but the implication was certainly there.

This little stunt might very well cause a disruption in the household. Any disruption in the household would most certainly annoy Walter. An annoyed Walter might just find himself too busy to fetch me for walkies. I could very well find myself back to being a full time lab rat.

$%!##) !

I looked at Seras who was standing there indecisively chewing on a finger.

Oh hell Corrine, I thought to myself, what’s wrong with you? Look at her! These stupid frat boys have her cowed because they don’t want a girl in their clubhouse! So maybe you go back to the dungeon for awhile, so what? You can take it for five more months then you’re out! But Seras is stuck here well, indefinitely. She deserves better than this. If they weren’t going to be her friends they could at least show her some respect! They deserved a little freaking out. Seras was my first and only friend here. Risking Walter’s displeasure was the least I could do for her! Plus, it would be funny.

“Oh well.” I said as a smile spread across my face. “Let him not like it. It’s girls night out and he’s not invited.”

Seras relaxed and grinned back. This was going to be fun.

--------------

It really was a nice lounge, I reflected as I sat in Walter’s office pretending to listen to the senior captain or lieutenant or whatever the heck he was screaming about “undead creatures mucking about in [his] barracks !“.

Yep. Big TV, dartboard, pool table even...

“Exposing my men to a potential bio-hazard!”

Nice comfy couch, stereo...

“...depraved sophomoric behavior!”

Kitchenette. Put in a wet bar and a dance floor in there and you could have a pretty decent nightclub. ‘Club Hellsing; no service to the undead or the potentially not human’.

“Ms. Doyle.”

“Yes Mr. Dollneaz?”

“What do you have to say about all of this?”

I looked up with an innocent expression. “I don’t see what all of the fuss is about. We just wanted to watch a little TV.”

“Nonsense!” Interrupted the Cpt./Lt. “You came in to disrupt my men!”

“Disrupt your men? I asked for pepper.”

“You pretended to drink blood!”

“I did not. I pretended to drink tomato juice. I can’t help it if they just assumed it was blood.”

“You had it in a plasma bag!”

“I didn’t want to spill it on the way over. It’s medically prescribed you know.”

“You led them to believe that you were drinking blood!”

“Nonsense, who puts pepper and celery in blood?”

“You feigned disgust at the thought of drinking it.”

“That was not feigned disgust. It was tomato juice after all wasn’t it? Tomato juice is disgusting.”

The captain dismissed me with a wave of what, I am sure, was unfeigned disgust.

“Excuse me,” I said, “but did we break any regulations by coming to the lounge or break any rules while we were there?”

“Technically no.”

“So then, what’s the problem?”

The captain turned to Walter. “I will not have my men disrupted in this manner! Our jobs are stressful enough without having to deal with...with...”

“Deal with what?” I jumped up, surprising even myself with my outburst. “Why don’t you just come out and say it!”

“Ms. Doyle.”

“I’m sorry Walter but it’s bad enough for the men to treat Seras this way, but her own commander? Perhaps she would of been able to earn their acceptance, their friendship even, if he had had the courage to treat her like a member of the unit instead of systematically segregating her from the others and...” I turned on the captain panting with anger and pain, my wound throbbing in time with the pounding of my head and heart. “What chance did she have? You turned her into a pariah! Treated her like an animal! Do you have any idea of what she has gone through?”

“Mz. Doyle!” My head swung back towards the desk. “That is quite sufficient thank you. Please wait for me outside.” Walter’s expression brooked no argument. My jaw snapped shut my anger completely derailed. I nodded and staggered towards the door.

My ears were buzzing and I had a headache. I was unnerved and a bit frightened. Where was this anger coming from? This was not like me at all. This was like the incident on the steps on my first day here. A sort of blind uncontrollable wave of rage. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t how I behaved. I was supposed to be nice and cooperative. Always trying to get along with others. That’s who I was. That’s who I wanted to be. Wasn’t it?

There was a chair just outside the door, I numbly sat down. Something wet hit the back of my hand. I stared at it uncomprehending for a moment then reached up to touch my cheek. My face was flushed and wet. The skin was so hot it almost felt steamed. I hadn’t even known I was crying.

It was strange. I did not feel angry or sad anymore but tears still streamed hot and wet down my cheeks. Perhaps I truly was going mad.

I sat quietly for some time absently wiping at my tears which continued to flow in a slow but steady stream down my face. At least the buzzing and the headache were gone. My reverie was interrupted when a blurry green silhouette entered my field of vision and spoke to me.

“Ah! What’s this? You are leaking.”

I blinked a few times and the image resolved itself into Captain Burnadett commander of the Wild Geese. According to Seras, the term “Wild Geese” referred to the mercenary troops Sir Integra had been forced to hire to temporarily replace some men which had been lost recently in a particularly brutal attack on the estate. I liked him. He had been the one who had passed me the pepper.

He was a comely, if not somewhat scruffy looking man. His kind eye and wicked smile belied the lines and scars on his face which spoke of experience well beyond his 30 odd years. He wore less of a uniform than a military amalgam. It gave the impression that an army surplus store explosion had occurred in his immediate vicinity.

A handkerchief appeared like a conjurers trick from one of his many pockets. He offered it with a flourish. “Is my pretty new friend sad?” His accent, like his uniform seemed to come from everywhere but his heart, so he had told me, would always be French.

“Not so much sad as confused. Oh, thank you.” I said accepting the handkerchief .

I was confused too. I had thought the night had gone rather well. Only a few men had reacted hostilely when Seras and I had shown up. Most of them had simply but pointedly ignored us. Admittedly, it had gotten a bit dicey when we pulled out the plasma bags and began to assemble our “cocktails”. A few of the men had even left with horrified expressions on their faces but as soon as the rest realized it was tomato juice and not blood in our ‘Bloody Marys’ , they all thought it was pretty funny. Some of them even joined us in a toast to Sir Integra.

It had been Captain Burnadett who had broken the ice by passing the pepper over when I complained about the taste and one of his own men, a private Zelig, who had taken me up on my offer of trying my drink. He had laughed, declared there was too much Tabasco sauce in it and had offered me a diet cola instead.

After that, the room had warmed up a little to us. A few of the men, Capt. Burnadett and pvt. Zelig among them, even pulled us over and found us space on the couch. We had been arguing over the finer points of cricket (a game who’s rules I will never comprehend no matter how much PBS I watch) when the klaxon had sounded and Seras and most of the men had to leave.

Long story short. I had trundled off to bed that night thinking happy thoughts and feeling a bit proud of my clever self only to be informed the next morning that I was not to go to the lab but to report immediately to Walter’s office so I could be chewed out by Captain Underpants who hadn’t even been in the lounge last night.

“So Capt. Chambers has decided to make a situation of last night?”

“Apparently so.”

“Yes, they told me in the barracks. I came as soon as I heard. He, of course, could not bothered to wait until I returned from the mission to consult me for my opinion before running like some little girl to Mr. Walter. Ah, no offense.”

“Apparently not.”

“Perhaps I shall give my opinion now ne pas?”

“Sure.”

“He is a swine to yell at such a pretty lady.”

“I think so.” I said smiling slightly.

“I should thrash him for making my friend cry!”

“Oh, he didn’t.”

“Surely not Mr. Walter?”

“No. No, of course not.”

“Then why, may I ask, are you crying?”

“Good question. I’m not sure. But I’ve stopped now see? Thank you.” I said smiling and holding out his handkerchief to him.

He encircled my outstretched hand in his. “Women are truly strange yet wonderful creatures.” He said smiling back at me. He bent his head and brushed his lips lightly over my knuckles (French men do this quite well) while deftly removing the cloth and returning it to his pocket in one swift movement. He straightened up and gave me a wicked smile. “Now I think I should go give my opinion of Capt. Chambers.”

“You mean give your opinion to him?”

“This too.” He said grinning. “Adieu my pretty friend. We shall see each other soon? We will discuss your silly American football.”

I would like that very much.”

“Good, good.” He said still smiling. He turned to the door, knocked once then, putting a theatrically stern look on his face, marched into Walter’s office.

I had to cover my mouth to keep from giggling out loud. There was a calculated charm to his Gallic chivalry that made him irresistible. I am quite sure that, in addition to a long string of girlfriends, there were countless little old ladies dotted across the continent just waiting to feed him a hot meal or bake his favorite cookies.

He was just so incredibly likable but, like Walter, I could tell that there was blood in his past and that, again like Walter, he was more than capable of performing tasks without flinching that most of us would be too squeamish to even consider.

That is probably why I was fascinated by them both. You see, in general, I am not a strong willed person and, recent events not withstanding, tend to be quite soft and non-confrontational. I don’t argue well. I tend to feel guilty when others are angry with me and try to appease them so they will like me and showing my anger makes me feel like a bad person. Besides, people tend to just pat me on the head and dismiss me when I become indignant.

Now, when I was younger, there were a few instances where I had truly lost my temper in a very disturbing and frightening fashion. A rage would come over me and I would literally see red, then black. I would lose all control over my words and actions lashing out violently. It did not happen often but when it did it was horrifying and I was always ashamed afterwords. Once I left adolescence I seemed better able to cope with my anger and there had been no further episodes but I am still terrified of that part of myself.

Now, lately angry Corrine seems to be leaking out more and more. Leaving me an emotional train wreck. I admire people like Walter and Capt. Burnadett who are strong, forceful, capable of performing any task but always, always in control.

Walter. I just hoped he wasn’t too angry with me.

My thoughts were interrupted when the office door opened. Capt. Chambers strode out fuming. He spared me one glance of pure malice before storming down the hallway. Capt. Burnadett strolled out casually behind him, his face a careful study in neutrality. “Mr. Walter asked me to ask you to go in.” He said.

“Thank you.” I said nervously trying to get a read on what had happened from his expression to no avail but as I stood, he slipped a small piece of paper into my hand.

“Adieu mon petit.” he whispered giving me a quick wink before turning and following Capt. Chambers down the hall.

I entered Walter’s office with mild trepidation unsure where I stood. I glanced at Walter where he sat behind his desk for a clue. I thought Capt. Burnadett had a neutral expression but he was a psychotic bundle of nerves compared to Walter’s Tableau Rosa. I must remember never to play poker with either of them.

“Please have a seat Ms. Doyle.” He arranged a few papers as I nervously sat down. He folded his hands on the desk and affixed me with a stern glance that could have unnerved a suicide bomber. Walter is proof positive that neither noise nor physical contact is necessary to induce torture.

I shifted awkwardly in my seat, glancing around the office to avoid that stare. It was small, functional and very tidy but disturbingly impersonal. No mementos, photographs or personal ephemera of any kind. Not even a promotional pen from a visiting vendor. It was less of an office than the Platonic ideal of an office. A study in pure functionality. Being a highly sentimental pack rat myself I found it well, disturbing.

A clearing of the throat brought me back to Walter. “Ms. Doyle,” He began, “Despite the unusual nature of our charter, we run a professional organization here. Captain Chamber’s men especially are under a great deal of stress so we have an extremely low tolerance for the introduction of any stress by external factors.” His piercing grey stare left no doubt that the name of the external stress being introduced was Corrine.

I opened my mouth trying to form some sort of appropriate response but Walter’s gaze had robbed me of speech. Fortunately, Walter chose to continue his lecture thus mercifully ending my useless machinations.

“That being said. We have no tolerance of any of our staff being treated in an unprofessional manner by their superiors. Nor can we allow our fighters to be excluded from any barracks facility without cause. As a result, it has been made clear that Miss. Victoria is to have full access to any barracks facility, appropriate to her gender, any time she wishes to use them.

'Hurray!' I shouted in my head.

“But,” Walter added cutting short my internal victory dance. “I am sorry to say that as result of your little escapade, it has been decided that any non-senior staff members not attached to one of our fighting units, may not visit the barracks without express written consent of said senior staff or by invitation of an officer of the command unit. This means you Ms. Doyle and it will be strictly enforced.”

“Oh dear.” I sad not caring all that much. Then, a thought struck me. “Walter?”

“Yes?”

“You have to have known Seras was being ostracized by the men in the unit.”

“I was aware of the situation, yes.”

“Then why didn’t you put a stop to it?”

“I was waiting for Miss. Victoria to do it herself.” He raised a hand belying my unspoken protest. “Ms. Doyle, while I can control the policy and official conduct of the staff towards each other while on duty, it is not within my powers, nor should it be, to control their attitudes or personal opinions of one another. Any control or forced acceptance we might exert would be artificial and would only breed tension and generate further resentment.”

“More stress?”

“Yes. Only Miss. Victoria’s actions, or lack thereof, could change the attitudes of her fellow unit members towards her.”

“I see.”

“Of course I was beginning to despair of Miss. Victoria ever taking action. Even in life, it seems, she was never terribly assertive. The recent loss of her first commander and several of our men seemed only to make her less inclined to seek out human contact but her attitude seems to have shifted greatly in these last few weeks.” He paused to give me one of those appraising looks again. “Perhaps she is turning a corner.”

“Perhaps, but Walter?”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid Seras won’t visit the barracks without me.”

“Probably not.”

“I don’t suppose you would give me written permission to go there?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then it was all for nothing?”

“Possibly. Unless, that is, you happen to receive a written invitation from one of the unit commanders.”

I took a startled glance at the folded piece of paper I had been holding in my hand.

“But that’s not very likely to happen is it?”

“No, of course not.” I said clutching the paper tightly. Was that a hint of a smile on Walter’s face?

“Consider yourself admonished Mz. Doyle.”

“Yes, of course. I promise Walter that I will not visit the barracks again without invitation.”

“Very good. Then I shall see you at 1:00 pm?” He said dismissing me.

“Yes Walter. Thank you.”

“Ms. Doyle?” He said as I was opening the door. I turned back. Yes, there it was again that hint of a smile. “Please do not take Captain Burnadett up on his invitation for at least 48 hours. It is the finals you know.”

“Yes Mr. Dollneaz.” I said, then closed the door quickly before he could change his mind about this afternoon.

LETTERS FROM HELLSING XIV

By the time Walter returned, I had worked my way up to the top of the spiral staircase in the corner by the windows which allowed access to the books on the second story level via a floating balcony. I had tucked myself up into the railing of the top turn, (I often find stairs more comfy than conventional seating. I am also partial to a nice sturdy shelving cart), and was surrounded by several interesting volumes I had accumulated along the way. I was so absorbed in the books that I didn’t notice him until I heard him politely clear his throat.

“Ms. Doyle?”

“Mr. Dollneaz?”

He was standing at the base of the stairs a bemused expression on his face as if he were trying to determine the best method of explaining to me the use of those pretty objects often referred to as chairs or perhaps he was just remembering the last time he had to deal with me on a staircase. I could not help but smile.

“I see you managed to find one or two things to your liking?”

“Oh yes! I don’t suppose I could borrow one?”

“As many as you wish.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I quickly gathered up the books around me into a nice, neat stack, scooped them into my arms then, using my chin to steady the pile, proceeded to wobble my way down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, Walter examined my enormous
stack with a critical eye.

“Are you sure you want so many?”

“Oh, um, too many?”

“No, if you think you can carry them.” He said. “Of course you could always take a few now then get the rest tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, I can bring you back here again tomorrow, if you would like.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I trotted over to a table and lowered my stack. I tried sorting them by age, dewy decimal order, even by color and size but could not produce a single volume I wished to leave behind. I stared at the stack hopelessly. Come on girl get a grip, I chided myself, this isn’t exactly “Sophie’s Choice”. Shaking my head at my own greed, I reached out and grabbed three volumes.
A book on illuminated manuscripts, a quirky pre WWI pastoral novel and, of course, a collection of the works of Jules Verne. I gave the remaining books an affectionate pat before turning to Walter. “Should I re-shelve these?”

“No need. You will want to look at them tomorrow.” He said opening the door for me.

The door leading to the hall.

Which lead to the elevator.

Which lead back to that horrible place.

Yet, somehow in that moment, I did not mind so much. Seras had promised to come visit me as soon as she woke up that evening and Walter had armed me books to read while the staff ignored me in the lab the next morning.

A friend. I had a friend. Somehow, just knowing there was one person in this horrible place who gave a damn about me. Who cared how I felt or even if I lived or died. Somehow, it made rest of it almost bearable. And now, a library to explore and books to read? I was actually fairly close to almost not being miserable.

I glanced up at Walter with my own appraising look as I approached the door. Who exactly was he?

More than a butler? Obviously.

Powerful? Yes. From what little I had seen and heard he seemed to rule over the household with unquestioned authority. Even over the lab staff.

Dangerous? Possibly.

Smart? Definitely!

Who was he to me?

My boss? My chaperon? My warden? Unknown.

A friend? I don’t think he makes friends.

An ally? Too soon to tell.

Well, whatever his motives, he had done me a great kindness today and I would not forget it.

That night with Seras, there was more laughter and less tears. We gossiped, sang, and told each other funny stories as we played some old board games she had dug up from somewhere. We even tried to talk Walter into playing Snakes and Ladders with us when he showed up with dinner. His polite refusal and look of mild horror at our appearance, (we had “done” each other’s hair*), sent us into giggling fits very unbecoming of both a young vampire and a professional librarian.

*Most men just don’t understand the therapeutic value of girls “doing” each others hair. It’s a form of bonding. It’s not meant to look good. Boys hurl phlegm and punch each other. Girls go through each others purses and do unspeakable things to each others hair. Judging from the incredulous look on Walter’s face, Sir Integra had obviously not hosted a lot of slumber parties as a child.

--------------------------

Over the next week or so we settled into something of a routine. Mornings were spent trying to get the lab staff to refer to me in the first person. Then, around midday, usually after one good departing jab with the needle from miss Pringle, Walter would fetch me for some exercise or “Walkies” as I liked to call it. Not from any low self esteem issues or anything mind you, I just like to make Seras giggle when I say it. We would wander through different areas of the manor but somehow always ended up back at the library just as my legs were giving out so I could take a “little rest” while Walter attended to “one or two things”.

While we walked, our conversation touched on a wide variety of subjects but we never seemed to discuss my alleged humanity or current events. He was always particularly interested in what I was reading. He was quite well read and despite the fact that there seemed to be very little modern fiction in the collection, he seemed to be up on most of my favorite new authors. I suspect, like so many bibliophiles, he was an intellectual snob on the surface but in the secret recesses of his heart he longed for pulp fiction.

If only my little boy were with me I could almost be content in this weird Gothic novel my life had become. His absence hurt worse than my still aching wounds. Still, every afternoon for a few hours, I had free reign of the library. That, and my friendship with Seras, were the best medicine this place had to offer. I wanted to find a way to thank Walter for the walks and not telling the lab about the time Seras and I were spending together. Verbal expressions of gratitude were always deflected or dismissed but the book in the bindery had given me an idea of how I might do it.

My nights belonged to the undead. Well, an undead anyway. I only saw Alucard on rare occasions and usually then he only popped into my room to say something cruel to Seras or something disturbingly ominous to me or just something horrible to us both. He seemed to take great pleasure in berating his little “creations”. Usually though it was just Seras and me and no one else. Apparently, I was being ostracized because no one knew for sure what it is I was. Seras, on the other hand, was being ostracized because everyone knew for certain exactly what she was. So what, we had each other.

We mostly hung out in my room. Seras would sometimes sneak me a treat from the kitchens to supplement the horribly bland diet Dr. Levin had me on. She would use her “abilities” to sneak in and out unseen. Where the cook must of thought all of the roast beef and Oreos were going I don’t know.

We would play cards or board games or do puzzles. Mostly what Seras liked is when I sang to her. There was no radio or TV in our rooms, the stone walls, floors and ceilings making reception impossible and my Walkman had been lost that night in the theater never to be found, so I was the only music box in town so to speak.

-----------

One evening, we were a bit bored. Forty years of television addiction had taken its toll and I was feeling a bit cranky. “Hundreds of rooms in this place, you would think there would be a television somewhere!” I lamented.

“Well, there’s a set up in the offices and one in the control center for monitoring the press but they’re for official use only.” She said listlessly trying to add another card to the fifteen story “house” she had built.

Official use only, I believed it. The thought of Sir Integra scarfing down a pizza whilst watching Eastenders was just too ludicrous to contemplate. I sighed.

“Then there’s the set in the barracks lounge,” she said “but we couldn’t go there.”

“Why not?” I asked smelling an opportunity.

“Well, it’s for staff.”

“We’re Staff.” I challenged.

“But the squad uses it when they’re off duty or on call.”

“You’re in the squad. You’re on call.”

“Yes but...”

“But?”

“Well, I don’t think they want me there.”

“Why?”

“Because...because of what I am.”

“Because you are a vampire?”

“Yes.”

“Let me get this straight.” I said beginning to feel a bit angry. “You go out on missions with them?”

“Yes”

“You protect them?”

“Yes”

“They trust you with their lives?”

“I suppose.”

“But, they don’t want you to spend time in the lounge with them?”

She looked at the floor. And said nothing.

“You’re good enough to fight beside them but not good enough to hang out with them?!” I said. I was really getting mad. Seras continued to look at her shoes. I glared at her. “Have you ever tried just showing up in there and making them deal with it?”

“Yes.” She said quietly.

“Well, what happened?”

She looked up at me, miserable. “No one would talk to me. Some of them even left the room. Afterwords the captain said I shouldn’t come back because it made the men uncomfortable.”

I was enraged. “That is one of the most ridiculously asinine things I have ever heard! Big brave combat hardened troops can't even deal with one little vampire? Big giant babies more like!” I was so angry I could barely see. How dare they treat Seras like this! “You are going back there tonight!”

“They’ll just ignore me.”

“So what?”

“I’ll have no one to talk to.”

“Yes you will cause I’m going with you! Let them sit and sulk if they want. We won’t care!”

She was staring at me horrified. “No, you can’t!”

“Why ever not?”

“They won’t talk to you either.”

“Sure they will. I’m quite charming you know.”

“No. You don’t understand. They think you might be... Well that is, no one actually saw what Alucard did to you and well, they’re afraid that you might be also, you know...”

“A vampire?” I laughed.

“Well yes.”

“Really?”

“Um, well they’re not sure.”

“Reeeally?” I said thoughtfully glancing at my dinner tray. Evil plans began to take shape.

“Seras dear?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you can get your hands on some celery?”