LETTERS FROM HELLSING X

So, here I sit in my little cell in the dungeon recovering from the last round of testing and waiting for the next. I finally found the books I had brought with me and have read them all though twice. Ironically, although I am technically the librarian here at Hellsing, I have been allowed nowhere near the library which is two floors up and quite nice so I am told.

I have not been allowed out of the building or even off of this floor for over a week but I have been monitored, poked, probed, tubed, drained and refilled more times that I can count by the mad scientists who call themselves my medical team. They won’t answer any of my questions about what they are doing and tend to refer to me in the third person even in my presence. They barely acknowledge me as a person but oh how they fawn like crack addicts over my blood and urine. I’m not sure what my test results are showing but they run about waiving lab reports at each other like stock traders in a bull market. I am, it seems, pork futures and country ribs are looking good this year.

Ahem, but, I digress.

I have not seen Alucard or that “Sir” woman since that first night. I have in fact only seen Walter and the lab staff and begin to wonder if the outside world really exists anymore. The only thing I look forward to are my phone calls home. Every night around 7pm Eastern Standard Time ( about 2am here), I call my son to say good night to him no matter what. We talk for about ½ hour my sweet boy and I and I remember what it is to love and be human. We end the same way each night. The way I have tucked him to bed every night since the day he was born.

“I love you forever and I like you for always and as long as the stars shine*, my baby you’ll be. The end” (* my mother made me change the original words slightly years ago as she thought the words ‘as long as I’m living’ too morbid. Ironic no?) It’s really all I can do not to cry myself to sleep.

I found pen and paper in my room and tried to keep a diary or write letters home but the day to day events of my life are so boring and writing home, well, I mean...

Dear Mom and Dad,
Still locked up in the dungeon. Vein collapsed in my left arm so we are now drawing blood from the right. Lab tech Roberts accidentally pulled out my tube too soon yesterday and sprayed blood all over the book I was reading. Oh how we laughed. Still not sure if I am undead or not. So, how are things at home?

Not really such good letter fodder.

I have finished counting the stones in the wall of my room. I have rearranged my little chest of drawers about 20 times and have moved the chair in my room around about 30 times for no particular reason. I am trying to teach myself to write backwards but, being left handed can barely write forwards. Perhaps if I arranged my socks by wear in the heel....

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It was my 9th day (evening actually) of captivity at Hellsing and I was contemplating unraveling the throw rug so I could garrote Walter, steal his keys and escape when next he came to bring me my dinner at exactly 8:07pm, ask if I needed anything then tell me the Doctor still had not authorized my release from the dungeon. I was singing a number from Chess when a head appeared in the doorway.

“Odd,” I thought.

It was a nice head anyway. Pert little mouth and a turned up button nose all topped of with short wild ginger hair falling over wide, red, dreaming eyes. “Hmmm” I thought. I stopped singing and smiled up at it.

The head blinked twice as if startled. “Oh, hello.” It said.

“Hello floating head.” I said.

“What? Oh.” Said the head. “I was trying not to disturb you.” She said as she stepped into the doorway. She was a pretty little thing. Petite but curvy, positively bursting out of her uniform in all the right places and young too, maybe 23. I was trying hard not to instantly hate her on general principle. “They said not to disturb you. Sorry.”

“They?”

“Well, the lab staff said...” She trailed off uncertain.

“The lab staff said?” I prompted.

“Well, they said until they determined your viability status, they were unprepared for potentially adverse interactions between yourself and other non-viable subjects.” She recited, spreading out her hands apologetically.

“So,” I said. “No playing with vampires until the geniuses next door decide whether or not I’m dead?”

We stared at each other for a few moments then burst out laughing.

“I’m Corrine.” I said.

“Seras.” Said she.

“Won’t you come in?”

“May I ask you a question first?”

“Sure.”

“Why were you stabbing the throw rug with a pen?”

I glanced down at the pen in my hand and blushed. “Well..” I said. Took a deep breath and told her.

She pondered this for a moment and laughed. That’s when I knew we’d be friends despite her appallingly good looks.

“But seriously,” She said. “That plan would never work on Walter. He’s not easy to fool. He knows everything.”

Damn it’s those Evil Butler superpowers again. “He’s psychic isn’t he?” I asked.

“Possibly. He is also rather good with string himself you know.” She said with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “You might just end up on the wrong end of that rope.”

“Do tell.” I said .

So she did. It was quite gruesome and several dismembered and decapitated ghouls were involved.

“Gosh.” I said. “Scary.”

“Yes.” She said.

“Well, I guess that plan won’t work then.” I said with a smile.

“Not on Walter anyway. But the lab staff on the other hand...”

“Too many of them.”

“I guess.”

“Rats!”

“We’ll just have to come up with another plan then.” She said. “What are your thoughts on electrocution?”

We grinned at each other.

We talked late into the night. Seras was “On Call” but she said she could hear the klaxon just as easily from my room as anywhere else, so we just hung out.

She said she had heard me singing for days now and had gotten curious. I had taken to singing in the hallway and the bathroom quite loudly Because:

1) I liked the way the sound echoed against the bare stone walls.
2) It made me feel less lonely and afraid.
3) It really annoyed the lab techs.

Apparently Seras’ bathroom was located directly below mine in the sub basement and, much like evil butlers, vampires have uncanny hearing.

She said she would have come sooner but they had been called out every night so far this week . They had apparently been rushed off of their feet dealing with the latest outbreaks of the “New Vampires” whatever those were. By the time she got back in the wee hours of the am I had always stopped singing. But today she had woken up early (about 5pm) and I had been singing this particular song and she knew she just had to come see me.

“Which song?” I asked.

“The one about the girl who is mean to the boy who loves her and there is a flower growing. I don’t remember the name.”

I thought for a moment. “Barbara Allen?” I asked.

“Yes. I think so.”

“Oh yes, it’s an old English ballad. Very pretty but very sad.”

“Yes, that’s the one. The boy dies.”

“And the girl.”

“I had to come when I heard it. It reminded me of, well.. it just made me happy to hear it.” She paused, looking so sad and lost it hurt my heart. “I don’t suppose. That is, would you sing it for me?”

How could I say no? “Alright” I said and started to sing but stopped when she began shaking. “Are you OK?” I asked.

“Yes. Please don’t stop.”

“But it’s making you so sad.” I said.

“No! No, it’s just that...well... my mother used to sing this song to me when I was little. It was her favorite. She would hold me and sing to me and I would feel safe. And then when she died....” These last words were choked out. “ I’m sorry. I don’t know why I am telling you all of this. I just haven’t heard the song in so long. Please.” She looked so sad and small. I could feel the pain and loss radiating from her. What could I do?

I began to sing again and before I knew it I had gathered her into my arms like a child and was rocking her back and forth. I sang all of the old songs I knew with her there in my arms and stroked her hair and cried out her pain for her while she clung to me because, vampires can not cry.

At some point I looked up and saw that a tray of food had been placed on a table just inside my door. There was also what appeared to be a small bag of blood. Seras’ dinner I guess. Walter had come and gone and I never even heard him.

LETTERS FROM HELLSING IX

After speaking to the American ambassador, a very nice man by the way, I felt mildly reassured that I would not simply disappear while in the clutches of the Hellsing estate and so agreed to do the press conference. Again, I should mention I was on drugs at the time and everyone seemed nice in comparison to that “Sir” woman. When a nurse came in to help me dress, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Walter, (whoever he was and why was he going through my underwear?) had selected an attractive yet comfortable outfit for me. A long, loose, brown knit skirt with an elastic waist, black knee high stockings, black pumps, a plum silk shell and a matronly beige blouse with a peplum that hid the elastic waist of the skirt nicely. I examined the results in the mirror. It practically screamed “librarian”. I was tempted to pull back my hair into a severe bun and stick pencils in it, (don’t laugh, it works) but Walter had apparently decided that this would be a bit over the top and had sent along a pretty tortoise shell hair clip instead. He had even sent some makeup and toiletries. A little creepy, but thoughtful nonetheless. So there I was, Marion the Librarian, just sitting in my wheelchair, buzzing along on Vicodin, humming show tunes and wondering how Walter knew that my flats did not work as well as my pumps with this skirt since I didn’t even know it until just today, when the press arrived. I do not remember much about the press conference. Fortunately, I really wasn’t required to do much. Any direct questions tended to get deflected by the ambassador or “Sir” Integra’s people. My job was to sit there, smile bravely and look humbly heroic. About halfway though this farce, it dawned on me that I should probably be feeling far more apprehensive about the fact that I had just turned myself body and soul over to a woman who employs vampires and was still trying to decide whether or not to kill me but what the heck...(I’ve mentioned the drugs, yes?). Plus I had made a promise to God and that “man”. I would just have to trust in them both. I did, however, make a promise to myself to stop taking those heavy duty pain killers when I realized everyone in the room sounded like the adult voices in a Peanuts cartoon. Thus, two hours later, a bit frightened and very much in pain, I was packed up from the hospital and driven to a large estate somewhere on the outskirts of London. The ride down was a bit bumpy and the medical team traveling with me never spoke to me directly but instead kept referring to me as “The subject” as if I wasn’t even in the van with them so you can imagine what a gloriously chirpy mood I was in when we arrived. When they finally addressed me directly for the first time it was to order me to sit in a wheelchair so I could be “unloaded”. I peevishly pretended not to hear them and instead squeezed past the orderly to step/stumble out the side door. It hurt a lot and was pretty stupid of me but I did not care. I stepped away from the van and got my first good look at my new “home”. I was standing in a cobbled courtyard over which loomed a huge, somber building of gray stone. It was built more like a fortress than a house with heavy oak doors and high narrow windows. The courtyard was surrounded by a high stone wall. Its single entrance was protected by armed guards and a heavy iron gate. I also spotted what appeared to be gun emplacements on the roof. No one looked at me or talked to me and I felt very small and alone. I shuttered at the thought of spending six months in this cold, unwelcoming place. I glanced up at the main entrance. The doors were open and a ramp had been placed over the granite steps so that the equipment, myself included I supposed, could be wheeled right in. “Well, in for a penny” I whispered, took a deep breath (“Ow!” mistake) and followed the equipment up the ramp and into the building. The foyer was huge with a large floating staircase in the center of the back wall leading up to a dark, open gallery on the second floor. There was a smaller, less impressive staircase off to the left leading down. The medical team was filing off into to an alcove which seemed to contain an elevator. What few furnishings I saw in that large marble space looked very old and very expensive. A man stood to one side directing the operation. I could tell he was in charge because he had a clipboard. That, and the fact that everyone was coming to him instead of the other way around. He seemed to be doing about 20 things at once. Phrases like “Tea will be served in the Green room” , “Unacceptable. You have two hours to replace the entire unit”, “Move the blue settee into the drawing room”, "Yes, 50 boxes of the explosive shells" and “An additional 20 pounds of shrimp will be needed for next Thursday.” drifted across the room in competent, cultured, British tones. People were constantly moving towards him with invoices, swatches and other ephemera then washing away with answers like the moon pulling the tide. All the while, he kept an eagle eye on the medical team and its equipment, calmly ticking off incoming items on his clipboard with an uncompromisingly polite air of fascist dictatorial authority. “Wow, a real live English butler.” I murmured awestruck. The man must have ears like a bat because at that moment he glanced up from his clipboard and over at me. He nodded and ticked something off on his list (me perhaps?), handed his clipboard off to an assistant who had appeared as if by magic at his elbow and walked over to where I stood. He glided across the room without sound his face composed in a perfect balance of cold courtesy and polite disinterest. He stood there a moment giving me an appraising look like I was a melon he was uncertain he should purchase. I felt a wave of guilt under that gaze for consuming his obviously valuable time by the sheer stupidity of my existence (a standard reaction apparently by those novices, Americans especially, not yet indoctrinated to evil butler superpowers). I was transfixed, unsure what to do. Neither fight nor flight seemed appropriate actions so I just stood there and gawped at him. He was, after all, quite impressive. He was tall, thin and impeccably dressed from his shiny black boots to his, I kid you not, gold rimmed pince-nez monocle. His Charcoal gray trousers were perfectly pressed, his white linen shirt stiffly starched and his red silk tie was tucked arrow straight into a well tailored black wool vest. He seemed neither young nor old but instead radiated a timeless stern quality which rendered him ageless. White cotton gloves, a watch chain and a pair of gold garters on his sleeves completed the whole “Upstairs/ Downstairs” on steroids effect. The only inconsistency to the package seemed to be his long black hair which was pulled back behind his head in a ponytail. But it was his eyes that held my attention. They were gray. Not a soft gray like morning mist or a warm gray like German silver but a hard, cold gray like gun metal. When he finally spoke to me his manner and poise were polite and his tone courtesy itself but his eyes... There was little warmth there and no room for nonsense. His eyes were steel. “You would be Ms. Doyle.” he said without preamble pronouncing the non-existent “z” in Ms. It was not a question but I nodded anyway unable to do much else. I felt like a deer trapped in headlights. Vampires are one thing but butlers are just too scary. “I am Walter Dollneaz,” he said, omitting the existent “z” in Dollneaz. “Retainer to the Hellsing estate. I will be in charge of your needs while you are our guest.” ...Walter? The Walter?....As in going through my stuff and picking out my clothing Walter? He must of read my mind because he gave my outfit a quick glance and inclined his head in a brief nod. Ears like a bat and psychic to boot. I am definitely in trouble. I tried smiling and nodding this time quite sure I looked like an idiot. Well, a nicely dressed one anyway. “Your room is just down these stairs on the left but you will probably wish to go down in the elevator with the rest of the lab equipment.” He said gesturing with his arm to the alcove through which the medical team had disappeared. With the rest of the what? My head snapped back as if he had slapped me with that arm. Sudden realization washed over me. Lab equipment. That is what I am to this man...to all of them. I am not a person, I’m an experiment. Something to be observed. A piece of inventory. A tick on their #@*%! clipboards. The Spell was broken. The idiotic smile dropped from my face. Inane pleasantries forming on my lips evaporating in a flash of rage. All of the fear and resentment I had been feeling for the past week came crashing down to focus on this man...this, this Butler. It was all I could do not to choke him I was so angry but realizing that attacking this man would be a suicidal maneuver, even if I had the strength to try, I instead opted for the refuge of the stupid and angry. Stubborn, pointless defiance. I swallowed my rage and with what I hoped was my politest ‘bite me’ customer service facial expression and tone said “Thank you no, I prefer to walk.” A frown creased his brow momentarily. Probably as a result of his trying to decipher the facial tics and squeaky tones I was emitting to determine if I was having a seizure. I’m afraid I don’t defy authority well. “Mz. Doyle, surely in your condition you would find the elevator...” “Thank you Mr. DollneaZ, I prefer to use the stairs.” I nimbly hobbled around him and set off quick like a bunny (a 3 legged brain damaged one) towards the stairs Walter trailing after me probably wondering if he would have to “un-tick” me from his clipboard should I fall down the stairs and break my neck. It was maybe 60 feet to the stairs but my heart was pounding and my head swimming by the time I reached them. I placed my hand on the top of the railing to steady myself and glanced down. I nearly swooned. The stairs were very steep and there were a lot of them. The anger that had been dulling my pain began to ebb. There was no way I was going to make it down those stairs. I sighed deeply then had to quickly bite my lip to keep from crying out. Behind me, Walter cleared his throat. I looked up at him prepared to concede but when I saw the appropriately polite look of concern on his face and what I am sure were the perfect placating words forming on his lips yet in his eyes nothing beyond a trace of annoyance, I felt the rage surge up again and before I knew it I had charged down 4 or 5 of the stairs. A stab of searing pain slapped me back to my senses. What was wrong with me? Why was I so angry at this man? Why on earth should he care at all about me? Who was I to him? Nothing. A tick on his clipboard. Why should I mean anything else? Because! Because they had a folder on me. Knew everything about me. Had gone through my possessions. Had completely taken over my life. Yet still, did not care about me. How could I have turned myself over to a group of people who did not care if I lived or died? How could I be so stupid? And this man, this Walter, who had read my file I’m sure (actually, I found out later he wrote it). Who had gone through my most intimate possessions. Who had dressed me for God’s sake! Knowing what I had gone through and knowing everything about me, how could he look at me with those hard, cold eyes and just not care? Someone here had to care about me! I had been inching my way stubbornly down the stairs and was about ½ way down when my foot slipped off of one of the treads and came down with a jarring thud on the next step. My knees buckled and this time I let a sob escape my lips. God, it hurt and I could taste copper in my mouth. I had never felt so lonely in my life. “Ms. Doyle, may I be of some assistance?” I glanced up, or down rather, to see a pair of mirror polished boots shining up at me a few steps down from where I was sitting. I was in so much pain I hadn’t even noticed Walter passing me on the stairs. Tears began welling up. They were hot, stinging my eyes. No! I swore back in that theater. No self pity! I roughly dashed my tears away leaving burning, shameful tracks on my cheeks and sad wet warmth on my knuckles. Walter cleared his throat again. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. I couldn’t even look him in the eye. “No thank you Walter.” I said quietly to his boots. “I just need to sit for a minute I’ll be fine.” I closed my eyes and tried to think. Now what? I opened my eyes and looked at Walters boots some more. “Um really, I’m OK. You don’t need to wait.” I tried to sound convincing but those boots did not budge. “I’m sure you are quite busy. Just tell me which room it is and I’ll get there eventually." “Ms. Doyle, I really couldn’t leave you in this state.” I continued to inspect his boots waiting for the word ‘unconscionable’ but it did not materialize. Great, now we’re both stuck on the stairs. I had given up trying to find a single blemish on his perfectly polished boots and so instead began inspecting his shins for any deviation in the trouser crease. I could feel the waves of impatience rolling down upon my head. I really was wasting his time with my stupid stunt. I looked up into the face of filial fortitude and long suffering patience. Not one bit of his posture betrayed his annoyance at this stupid American woman who was cluttering up his stairwell. But those eyes staring down at me were still cold, gray and dangerous. His eyes scared the heck out of me. I quickly looked away. This wasn’t going to work. I wasn’t going to win. Win? Win what? What was it that I wanted? What exactly was I trying to prove? More than anything else in the world at that moment I just wanted Walter to go away and let me die in peace but I could see that simply wasn’t going to happen. You know, it wasn’t fair. I didn’t ask him to follow me down those stairs damn him. It wasn’t my fault he felt responsible. Who asked him to take over my life anyway? Not me! He could just do what I asked and leave me couldn’t he? Yes! I mean he should have thought about the inconvenience before he tricked me down these stupid stairs! (Alright, that part’s not fair but who cares, I’m angry.) So, now what? I sighed, reached up and by gripping the bannister with both hands, managed to pull myself into a semi-upright position. Spots swam before my eyes blurring my vision. Pretending I could see, I spoke to what I estimated was the general location of Walter’s head. “See, I’m fine. I’m coming down so...go ahead, I’ll follow.” “Very well Ms. Doyle.” The fuzzy spots at approximate Walter head level said. “If you are sure?” “Yes, yes. I’m sure.” I said to the spots. I was beginning to get cross with them. Didn’t they know that I needed to get down these stairs quickly before I passed out or threw up or both? Stupid spots! I squeezed my eyes shut trying not to faint and muttering something incoherent under my breath about butlers putting you in dress shoes then luring you down steep staircases, began to inch my foot forward across the tread. Unfortunately, I was still a bit wobbly so it will come as no great surprise to you that I miscalculated the height of the riser and came down with another bone-jarring thud. I gasped with the pain. I swear I felt something tear inside me and the taste of blood had returned. The spots were back in full force, this time forming a solid fog of gray punctuated by little red dots and my ears were ringing. It was all I could do not to collapse again. I felt a presence at my elbow. “Please leave me alone Walter.” I hissed through clenched teeth. I was blindly trying to find the next step with my left foot but my knees were so weak I could not support my weight with only one leg. I realized the presence was still there. “Walter,” I said both relieved and annoyed. “Why...” I stopped, as at that moment, my hand had brushed against him but instead of crisp linen and silk, I had encountered soft, warm wool. “Walter why what?” Said the familiar voice. “Oh, it’s you.” I said gripping the fabric tightly in an effort to steady myself. “What are you doing here Angel?” “I, I’m...” My head was spinning. I blinked rapidly in an effort to clear my vision. A gloved hand cupped my chin tilting my head up. The vampires face swam into focus before me. He had a mildly amused expression on his face. “What exactly is it that you think you are doing Angel?” “Going to my room?” “We have an elevator here you know. Walter did mention the elevator?” “Yes, he certainly did.” I said with mild defiance. There was a moments pause then a slow smile spread across his face. “Are you giving Walter a hard time Angel?” My jaw tightened. “He’s a very busy man you know.” I turned my head away grinding my teeth. “I am sure there was just some miscommunication.” Came Walter’s voice from below. “That must certainly be it.” Said the vampire. “Because my Angel is as docile as a lamb. Not a mean bone in her body. Very cooperative. Isn’t that right Angel?” I can not repeat the phrase I said under my breath but it ended with the words “and the horse you rode in on”. I’m not suicidal enough to say that out loud to a vampire. “Why not use the elevator Angel?” I leaned against the wall of the stairwell and said nothing savoring the cool sensation of the stone against my cheek. “Well? Are you trying to kill yourself or are you just very stupid?” I shot him an angry glare but remained silent. He glared back at me. “I worked very hard putting your sorry body back together and you repay me with a stupid stunt like this?” He said. “You can’t make it down these stairs and you certainly can’t go back up.” I rubbed my temples, full of frustration. “You wont accept Walters help. You are ripping yourself apart. Why are you being so stubborn?” “I’m not!” I started to shout, regretting it instantly. “You are.” He said. “You are foolish and stubborn when you get angry and you do stupid things like hitting vampires on the head with bibles.” “I didn’t know you were...” I sputtered. He leaned in close and asked “What are you doing here Angel?” I knew he did not mean the steps. I sighed. “I made a promise.” He leaned in even closer. “Yes,” He whispered into my ear. “and you will keep that promise?” “Yes” I said. “No matter what?” “Yes.” I said quietly trembling. “This is not a good start.” “No.” I agreed. “See Walter, I told you, gentle as a lamb wouldn’t you agree?” He said patting my head. Walter made a noncommittal gesture neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Alucard’s assessment of my temperament. Great, I’m being double teamed by Jeeves and Dracula I thought. I wished I had the strength or nerve to swat his hand away so instead settled for glaring at them both. Alucard glanced down at Walter’s impassive face then back up at me. His smile broadened. “Angel, are you angry with Walter?” “No.” I said unconvincingly. “Walter, what have you done to my Angel to upset her so?” Walter said nothing. He leaned in close again and said “Why are you so angry Angel?” “I am not a piece of lab equipment.” I said in a low voice. “Oh, ho?” he said mockingly. “Tell him,” I said defiantly “I am not a Pi... Ow!” My legs chose that moment to give out entirely. I landed painfully in a heap at his feet. “Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!” I cried gasping for breath. I tried to pull myself up again but there was nothing left but empty anger and defiance. I pounded my fists on the riser “I’m not! I can’t! I won’t! I ...”. All of my loneliness and self pity came boiling up to the surface, choking me until I could no longer speak. Alucard crouched down next to me on the stairs. It felt disquietly intimate and familiar. “Of course you are not a piece of lab equipment.” He whispered stroking my ear with a finger. “Not at all. You, Angel, are a lab rat.” I stared at him shocked, trying desperately to read his expression. I still had a glimmer of survival instinct left. Enough to know not to hit a vampire who is teasing you anyway. “Humans can be so stupid.” He said into the silence. “I am.” I said quietly. “Which, human or stupid?” “Both, I think.” He nodded his approval, patted my head again and straightened up with a daring gleam in his eye. Growling, I somehow managed to pull my self back up again then looking him in the eye, reached out, grasped his lapel and pulled his head down toward mine. I heard a small gasp of surprise from Walter below. I knew I was gambling with my life but I did not care. “But I am not a lab rat.” I said quietly but firmly. We glared at each other for a few heartbeats. Then that slow smile spread across his face. He threw back his head and laughed. “There’s my Angel!” He said and swept me up into his arms. I was so startled that I could only squeak slightly in pain. He lifted me without effort as if I weighed less than a kitten. He laughed again down at an astonished Walter. “Ah Walter, you should have seen her in the theater, my Angel. Standing there in the middle of those ghouls. Swinging away with, what was it Angel?” “A folding chair ?” I ventured. “A folding chair.” He laughed. “Then trying to save me from that scum that called itself a vampire. Hitting him on the head with a bible no less!” As he said this he squeezed me and I squeaked again in pain. He chuckled at this and began sweeping down the stairs. I felt no movement. We just seemed to glide down. “She was gloriously violent Walter. You would have loved it.” We’d reached the bottom of the stairs and had entered a small room. “Here we are home sweet home. We’re going to have a lot of fun Angel you and I.” He said as he lowered me gently to my feet. The look he gave me sent ice water through my veins. “Now behave yourself Angel and be a good girl for Walter.” He said pleasantly then glanced at Walter with an evil smile. “Try not to hit him with anything. He’s not as young as he used to be.” “No more stunts Angel. I might not be there to help you next time.” He reached up and gently stroked my cheek once then pinched it so hard it raised a welt. Then suddenly, he was gone. I wobbled a bit and reached out for the back of a chair for support. “Ms. Doyle.” I glanced up. Walter was standing there as cool and composed as ever as if this sort of thing happened everyday and perhaps here it does. “Would you like for me to send someone down to assist you in dressing for bed?” “What? Oh. Yes. I mean no. I mean I think I would like to...um.” Like to what? I glanced about the room. Bare stone walls, a small dresser, a chair, a small wardrobe and a big hospital bed. Not much to do here. My bags were nowhere in sight (I discovered later that Walter had already unpacked me). So, nothing to read. No radio. No TV. Really not much to do. One of my nightgowns and a robe (sans belt) were neatly laid across the foot of the bed. In my present condition I could probably kill off a good 45 minutes struggling into them but, then what? “I...” I think I was in a mild state of shock. My head was buzzing and my limbs slightly numb. “Ms. Doyle?” “I think I would like to sit down and rest here for a while.” I said sinking into the sad, lonely little wooden chair. I was so cold. “I think perhaps I should fetch the doctor.” Walter said from somewhere high above me. “No, don’t!” I yelped. The thought of going back to those cold busy people was just too horrible to contemplate. “No, please.” I said more calmly. “Please Walter don’t send for the doctor. I’m fine.” I clasped my hands together tightly in my lap so he could not see their trembling and lied. “I’m fine.” He gave me an appraising look then said slowly “Very well then Ms. Doyle. If there is nothing else you require?” "No, I guess there isn’t.” “Then I will take my leave.” I looked up at him relief and fear warring within me. He was leaving? “If you need anything, please press the call button next to the bed and someone will arrive to assist you. The lavatory is just down....” The words were swirling in my head. I wasn’t really listening. I really did not want Walter to stay but I was terrified of his leaving. Walter had stopped talking so I looked up at him and nodded squeezing my hands more tightly together to try and keep from crying. I forced my self to remain perfectly calm as he ‘took his leave’. “Good night Ms. Doyle.” “Good night Mr. Dollneaz.” The door closed in my little room and I closed my eyes and gave in to the creeping numbness.

LETTERS FROM HELLSING VIII

Apparently I had become some sort of minor celebrity.

The press, labeling me a hero wanted interviews which my spokesperson, whomever that was, had been refusing due to my "critical" condition and I noticed that my door was guarded. Even my parents, who had flown over on an emergency visa, had not been allowed to visit me for more than a few minutes a day and had never been alone. So I was startled when on my last day in the hospital a young woman breezed past my guard and entered my room alone.

I studied her as she quietly closed the door behind her. She looked to be in her early 20's, was dressed in a man’s business suit and carried an unquestionable air of confidence and authority that can only be bred by generations of elitism and class consciousness. There were no preliminary niceties; she came directly to the point.

"We have to decide what to do with you."

"Oh?" I said trying to sound casual but suddenly very apprehensive. I had recognized that voice at once. She was the angry shadow figure who had stood in my doorway and seemed to resent my not being dead.

"Yes." she said. "Here is the problem. As far as the public is concerned, the theater was attacked by an obscure sect of religious zealots bent on bringing on the end of days by massacring a large group of innocents. These zealots, who were armed, would not surrender. Several civilians had already been killed. The remaining hostages were in immediate danger so the police were forced to open fire. None of the suspects survived. Those who weren’t shot committed suicide. It’s truly a wonder more people weren’t killed."

She paused, locking gazes with me. "If it weren’t for the actions of a brave few, who kept their heads.......Who knows how many more would have died."

I stared at her in disbelief, mouth open no idea what to say. Surely no one would believe this story. People had been torn apart! And eaten!

She seemed to read my mind. "This is, anyway, what we have told the press and they are running with it. ‘Slaughter of the Innocents’ they are calling it. ‘Cult of Death’. Very heady stuff. Still making front page news I’m afraid."

"But, witnesses, surely..."

"Most of the survivors were not in there very long. They were frightened and confused. It was easy enough to convince them they saw guns and knives. After all, there are no such things as ghouls and vampires. What sane person would believe in that these days? No, they are no problem. They don’t want to believe the truth and we can control the press but you, you are a problem. You were exposed for far too long and saw too much to be convinced our cover story is true."

"Then, there is whatever it was that Alucard did to you. We're not even certain if you are still human. You are quite the liability."

Frightened and angry I blurted out, "I am so sorry that my not dying has interfered with your ridiculous little cover story! I don’t know who you are or what government agency you're with but I do know when someone is trying to intimidate me. Too many people would miss me if I just disappeared and if you had wanted me dead outright, an air bubble in this IV any time over the last week or so would have worked just fine. I did not ask for any of this, so stop trying to scare me and tell me what you want!"

The woman narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh my God she is going to kill me’ I thought. Then she relaxed slightly and said. "I am simply stating the facts." She paused to light a small cigar, exhaled and smiled sardonically. "Of course you are correct in that if we had wanted you dead, you would be so already. Still, we can't allow you to jeopardize public safety..."

‘Who is this woman?’ I thought.

"I want to be sure you understand you position before I make this offer."

"Offer?" OK, here it comes.

"Yes. We don’t wish to detain you against your will but we can't allow you to leave our care until we are sure you are not a danger to others."

"Danger to others?" I asked, completely taken aback.

"Alucard seems to think you may be of some use to us." She continued, ignoring my question.

"Danger to others?!" I shouted.

"I don’t think you fully comprehend what has happened to you. You have survived a vampire attack. You suffered injuries from which you should not have recovered. You have been brought back to life by the powers of the undead but seem to have become neither a ghoul nor a vampire. We are still not certain what precisely it was that Alucard did to you. We are not even sure that you are still human."

"What! Have you lost your mind? Of course I am human!"

"How do we know you’re human?"

"Look at me! I’m human! Don’t you think I would know if I wasn’t human?"

"Not necessarily. You could be unaware or in denial of your state."

"No!"

"How can we know you’re still human?"

"I’m telling you, I would know!"

"Ah, but would you tell us if you weren’t? After seeing what happened to the other undead?"

"After seeing what the undead did in that theater, I wouldn’t wait for you to kill me. I would do it myself. "

"An admirable position" she said smiling tightly though a thin could of smoke. "But how do we know it is a true one?"

"Ask your monster, what was his name again?"

"Alucard"

"Alucard. Ask him what I said when he offered to save my life. When I thought he was going to make me like him! Like that, THING that killed those children!"

The woman made a noncommittal gesture. "Nevertheless..."

"I flopped back on my pillow panting with pain and anger. "So what is it that you want from me?"

"I’d like to offer you a job."

"A job?"

"Yes."

"A job?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean ‘a job’?"

"A job is an assigned task or tasks for which one often receives monetary compensation."

Ha, ha, ha. I thought, giving her my best "Yes, you are a funny bitch." smile but said nothing.

She opened a file folder up that she was holding and flipped through the contents. "I see you have worked in both public and academic libraries and have some customer service skills, supposedly." She glanced at me quizzically.

I said nothing. Just sat there with a fixed smile on my face, concentrating on trying to make her head explode.

"I thought perhaps we would offer you a position in the library, re-cataloging our private collection."

"Really?" I asked perking up a bit. "What kind of catalog system are you currently using? Dewy decimal, Library of Congress perhaps?"

She made an annoyed gesture. "That’s not important. The library job is just a story for the press to keep everyone happy. We just want to keep you under observation for a few months. There is no real job!"

Damn her. Why isn’t her head exploding?

"You may want to dress. There is a press conference scheduled in one hour where we will announce your decision to stay in London for six months while you recover as a guest of your new employer. Your bags have already been sent from the hotel to the estate and arrangements have been made for your family to return to the United States this afternoon. You leave the hospital in two hours."

"I haven’t even agreed to ‘work’ for you yet."

"You have a choice?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do!" you evil non-head exploding... "As you say, the press will be here in an hour, so it is important that I say what you want me to say. I made a promise back in that theater. A promise to uphold his end of whatever bargain was made that night. I do not intend to break that promise but..."

"But?"

"But, I made that promise to God and that man, NOT to you. Frankly, I don’t like your tactics and I certainly don’t trust you so I will only agree to your ‘offer' on two conditions."

"Which are?"

"First, I want to speak to the American consulate.

"We have anticipated this. A representative from the embassy is waiting outside."

"Wait! There is a specific person I want to speak to."

"And this would be?"

I racked my brain. What was his name again? Oh yes! "Bloomfield, Richard Bloomfield."

She glanced down into the file. "Ah yes, the clerk who helped you with your visa stamp error when you first arrived. I see you do not trust us to provide you with an authentic emissary? "

"Not really."

She glanced again at the folder, smiled smugly then reached over to put out her cigar in an ashtray sitting on the table by the door.

An ashtray in a hospital? Where had that come from? I could have sworn it had not been there before.

"Yes," she said "Walter anticipated this also. Mr. Bloomfield is waiting outside with the ambassador."

Walter?

"Your second condition?"

"I want to talk to my family, alone. I want to try to explain to my son...I want to talk to him, see him before...I want him to know I am not abandoning him. I will tell him why, not you."

"Your...?" She stopped herself, frowned and looked in the folder. "You will not tell them the particulars of what happened?"

"Do I look like a woman who would jeopardize the lives of my family? Do I look that stupid?"

"Very well."

"And I want to be able to promise him that I will call him every night before his bed time. Every night, no exception."

"Fine. If that’s everything then." She snapped the file shut. "I will send for the ambassador. You really should get dressed. You don’t have much time."

"But."

"Something else?"

"The clothes I came in are covered in blood and my bags have been forwarded to um..."

"The Hellsing estate."

"The Hellsing estate (Hellsing, are you kidding me?) What am I supposed to wear?"

"We thought you might want something other than a hospital gown to wear when you left so Walter selected an outfit for you when we moved your things. It’s hanging in the bathroom."

Who is this Walter person?

"So if there is nothing else?"

I ground my teeth, defeated. Her head was just not going to explode, but mine was getting close.

"Yes actually, there is miss...miss..."

"Hellsing. Sir, Hellsing actually.

Sir Hellsing. Of course you are. "If I do, in fact, turn out to be... well, undead."

"Yes?"

"I ask that you kill me right away. Don’t observe me or run tests. Don’t allow me to become like those things in the theater. Don’t let me...just, kill me."

She seemed slightly taken aback. Perhaps even a little less smug. She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, nodded then strode out the door lighting another cigar as she went.

LETTERS FROM HELLSING VII

The next few weeks truly are still, well, hazy. I was in a hospital drugged to the gills on pain killers really not paying much attention to much of anything.

People came and went. Sometimes they talked to me, asking me strange questions. Sometimes they stood around my bed and discussed me as if I weren’t even there which, in all fairness, was close to accurate. Often I would hallucinate conversations with people and things that could not possibly be there. At least I think they weren’t really there. It’s hard to tell what’s real when you're hallucinating. I think.

The boy cam to see me once or twice. I know at least that much was real. I remember him holding my hand. His name is Richard. Such a big name for such a little boy. My little boy...
God how I miss my little boy.

The tall man came once, late one night. He said very little to me. Just pulled back my covers to inspect his work while reading my chart. He gave a satisfied grunt and pinched me on my cheek.
He held a brief conversation about me with someone standing in the doorway. She, the figure in the doorway, seemed angry with the man that I was still alive. Demanding to know exactly what he had done to me, why he had done it and what was I?

Good question

He would only say that he had made a deal with her God.

This seemed to make the woman angrier which seemed to amuse the man.

"But what is she? What are we to do with her?"

"She will be my angel and she will be very .... useful to us. You will see."

"Useful how?"

"You will have to figure that out."

"This isn’t a game you know."

He ignored her and looked back down at me. "You will keep your word, won’t you angel?" I nodded feeling slightly apprehensive. Which, considering my level of medication, is amazing.

He bent over the bed, touched my cheek and smiled. "Good girl." he murmured and was gone.

The shadowy person was still in the doorway. I could feel the annoyance rolling off of her towards me.

"What did you promise in exchange for your life?" She demanded, addressing me directly for the first time.

"To obey God’s will." I said.

"God’s will?"

"Yes."

"What does that mean?"

"He made a deal with God."

"What was the deal?"

"I don’t know."

"What is your part in the deal?"

"I don’t know."

"What are you supposed to do?"

"I don’t know."

"Then how...?!"

"God will show me."

With a snort of disgust, the shadowy figure stalked away.

Relieved that the angry voice was gone, I drifted back into a pleasant, drug induced stupor.

LETTERS FROM HELLSING VI

What happened next is a bit of a blur and I am still not sure how much of it was real and how much delusion.

There was a lot of pain, I remember that much. I remember the man removing the glove of his right hand and raising that hand to his mouth. I watched as sharp teeth ripped open his wrist just below the palm. Then saw him swing his arm down towards me and shove his hand, bleeding wrist and all, into my wound.

God, then pain, blood, his, mine, everywhere.

I heard voices babbling. Brushing up against my mind, whispering warnings and secrets, gone as fast as they came.

A woman’s voice, speaking in a language I did not understand swirled through my mind. She seemed to be talking to me about the tall man. Asking me to do something, calling him by name.
I was just starting to grasp her meaning on some level when it slipped away into the current of noise.

Voices, music, and strange, unfamiliar sounds were washing back and forth in my mind. The clashing of two heartbeats surging against each other. Mistimed pulses fighting for control. And everywhere, the pain and the blood.

The stronger pulse won. Two hearts began to beat in time with one another. I could feel it like a tide flowing through me, out of me, into him, out of him, in to me. The voices flowed with the blood, chanting dark secrets best forgotten.

I sensed, rather than saw him, reach out his left arm toward the other flagpole which seemed to fly into his outstretched hand. He pulled his bleeding hand out from inside of me and used it to grasp the silver cross finial of the flagpole.

It started to glow and stretch, then three thin wires of molten silver began to pull themselves from the cross. They writhed between his fingers like living things growing longer and thinner. There was smoke and the smell of burning flesh began to permeate the room.

Suddenly, he released the cross. The wires snapped and twined reaching, straining, towards his hand growing still longer and thinner. He brought his hand down fingers spread and arching over my wound. The silver threads surged down in pursuit diving between his fingers and plunging into my body.

The searing agony of the molten silver twisting inside me snapped me out of my haze. A scream of pain escaped from my lips and before I could stop myself my hand came up and began beating against his chest trying to push him away.

"Stop!" his voice commanded. Somehow, I obeyed and ceased struggling as the wire bit into my flesh over and over under his direction weaving my torn body back together again. Then he drew his hand back from my body. I could feel the stitches tighten inside me and the heat began to die down.

"Bring it here." he said to the medic who had returned with a Gurney his eyes wide with fear

"What did you do to her?" The medic asked, voice trembling.

The tall man did not even look at the medic. He lifted me gently up, as if I weighed nothing, and settled me onto the stretcher. He smiled down at me and said, "We made a deal with your God, didn’t we Angel?" He brushed my cheek with his hand smearing it with blood.

He glanced at his hand, just seeming to notice the gore. His wrist seemed to have completely healed itself. He brought his hand up to his mouth and casually sucked the blood off of one of his fingers giving me a wicked look. I could hear the medic gasp and choke slightly behind me.

I smiled at the tall man’s mischief and reaching out a hand to grasp his lapel, pulled his head close to mine. "I don’t care if you are a monster." I whispered "You saved those children and I owe you for their lives. I will keep that promise."

"You will live to regret that statement." he said smiling.

"I am sure I will." I said, and then murmured something, I don’t remember what, I don’t even think it was in English. I only remember his eyes widening as he asked me to repeat what I had said.

I did not answer. The music had started again and I was already quietly singing along; "Precious memories, how they linger..."

LETTERS FROM HELLSING V

The tall man stepped over the headless corpse of my attacker and stood in front of me, a puzzled look on his face.

"The children..." I wheezed, unable to take a real breath as the flagpole was pressing against my diaphragm. "The children..." I tried again "In there." I said attempting to gesture with my arms. They felt like lead.

The man nodded once then, placing one hand on my shoulder and gripping the pole with the other, pulled the bloody object from my body.

Dear God, it hurt.

Without the flagpole’s support, my knees buckled and I began to fall. Gently, the man eased me to the ground to one side of the podium.

"That looks bad." I heard a voice say. I became aware of other people in the room. There were several men dressed in combat gear with ski masks over their faces. "SWAT team" I assumed and wondered they would think of this scene and my strange rescuer.

They weren’t even fazed. One man with a medical bag strode up to me pulling out a pressure bandage as he examined my wound. "Hold this here." he said placing my hand over the bandage. "That’s it, your going to be just fine."

"Liar" I thought. He looked up at the tall man and shook his head a fraction. Sometimes I hate being right. The medic’s hand strayed to his sidearm. The tall man glared at him and medic’s hand dropped to his side.

Another man strode up to my rescuer. "Any other survivors?" he asked.

"Children" I burbled a bit louder now that the pressure was off of my diaphragm. The new man avoided looking directly at me staring at the podium instead. You’d think they had never seen a woman bleeding to death from a flagpole wound before.

"In there." my rescuer said pushing the heavy podium aside with a flick of his arm. The new man walked up, tried the knob, then knocked on the door.

"Anybody in there? It’s safe to come out now."

"Who is it? Are you the good guys?"

"The what?" the man said.

"The lady said we mustn’t come out until she or the good guys said it was OK. So, are you a good guy?"

The man seemed totally taken aback. "Well, yes, I am a good guy, I suppose." He said reaching again for the doorknob.

"Prove it."

"What?"

"How do we know you’re the good guys? Prove that you’re the good guys."

"Oh, um, how do I do that?" he asked

There was a brief whispered conversation behind the door, then silence. "We don’t know."

There seemed to be an impasse. I couldn’t help laughing a little but it really hurt. "My heroes, thwarted by five children in a closet." The medic looked down at me meeting my eyes for the first time. They were smiling but sad.

More whispers from behind the door. "Is the lady still here?" They asked.

"Yes" I said.

"Hey lady, is it safe to come out? Is he the good guys?"

I laughed again and locked gazes with the tall man who was looking at me with a thoughtful, puzzled expression. Perhaps he was wondering why I wasn’t dead yet. I wondered that myself. I smiled at him. "Yes, he’s the ‘good guys’, I think."

"Are all the monsters gone?"

"I’m not quite sure..." I said still looking at the man. He gave me an amused smile revealing very sharp teeth. "but I think it will be OK to come out now."

I knew I should be afraid of him but found myself liking him despite the warning bells ringing in my head. What was he? Not human, that’s for certain.

"Please," I said to him "don’t let them see me like this."

Eyes never leaving mine, he removed his overcoat and placed it over me like a blanket. "Why did you do that?" he asked kneeling beside me.

"What?" I asked.

"Hit him." Said the man.

"Well...he was going to kill you and I..." I trailed off, hindsight making that statement ridiculous.

"Not necessary." he said.

"I didn’t know what you were." I said.

"Still foolish." He chided.

"Perhaps" I said.

He looked as if he were going to speak again when the closet door flew open. Five pairs of eyes peered fearfully out upon the wreckage. The tall man stood up, moving to one side so that the children could see me.

"It’s OK." I said. "You can come out. These men will take you to safety."

My little boy ran over to me. "Your hurt." he said taking my hand.

"Not too bad." I lied. "These men will help me. You go with the others now."

"No!" he said. "I won’t leave you!"

"I need you to go with the others." I said. He shook his head. "You are brave. You are my helper. Please help the other children be brave too." My head was spinning now and the boy looked as if he were going to refuse. "Please God," I prayed "don’t let me die in front of him."

The tall man knelt down on the other side of me and looked at the boy. "You are a brave boy" he said. "and the lady is hurt. Will you please help the other children while we take care of her?"

I felt that strange fog again as he spoke those words. A compulsion to obey. Perhaps it was the blood loss but the words kept bouncing around like an echo in my head even after he stopped speaking. To my astonishment, the boy nodded to the man, squeezed my hand, then walked over to the other children who were being herded out the door. I looked up at the tall "man" again. What was he really?

"Go with the children and come back with a Gurney." He said to the medic who was standing behind him fidgeting with the holster of his gun.

"But.." he said, gesturing towards me.

"She’s as good as dead. We both know that" The tall man snapped. The medic looked over at me horrified. Like I didn’t already know. Oddly, I didn’t really care that much anyway. The children were safe and my head was spinning in a pleasant way as if I were a bit drunk and I could hear singing from far away. Old hymns, I loved old hymns. I began quietly singing along.

"Your job is with the living. It’s my job to deal with the dead."

"Precious memories, how they linger" I murmured peacefully.

"But sir," the other man continued his hand on his gun. Odd thing for a medic to do. Oh well.

"So I cherish the Old Rugged Cross..."

"Leave us." The tall man commanded and we were alone.

"Human," he said. "it’s time to listen."

I looked at him but he was not looking at me. He was looking at the flagpole with the cross.

"Thank you." I said. "For the children." I began to cry. "I promised..."

"I know. You'r welcome. You are going to die soon." He said matter of factually.

"I know." I said.

"Do you want to die?"

"Not really"

"I can save you."

Fear washed over me like a cold slap of water. The music stopped.

"No, not that." I said horrified at the thought of what he might turn me into.

"You prefer to die?"

"If that is His will."

"Why did you do it?" He asked quietly. His puzzled expression had returned. "What made you stand and fight?"

"It was the right thing to do."

"It was stupid." He said. "Foolish!"

"Giving up would have been stupid." I said. "You proved that by saving us."

"Then why give up now? Why not let me save you?"

Good question. "I don’t know why but I can feel it. It’s not his will that I become like you. It’s... well... your... wrong..." I reached up and touched his lapel. "I’m sorry."

He smiled. "I am not easily offended."

He looked over at the cross again then back at me. "And if it were his will that you live?"

"His will be done."

"Will you trust me?" He asked looking deep into my eyes. There was no fog this time, only the question. I felt no fear.

"Trust me" The quiet voice whispered.

I returned his steady stare and smiled. "Of course I trust you. You’re the good guys right?"

He smiled back. "And you shall be my Angel."

LETTERS FROM HELLSING IV

Power shot through me like a searing flame. My fear and anger were burnt away leaving only room for that voice. That voice, which I knew somehow, would let me keep my promise to that little boy. I did not even care at this point if I lived or died, but this...thing was not going to get those children!

Another chair bent, then another, and another. They seemed to jump into my hand as I needed them.

The voice, stronger now, was singing through my veins. The blood was pounding in my ears. My head was spinning. Distantly I could hear someone singing. Not well, but loudly.

"GOD IS BIGGER THAN THE, BOOGEY MAN!"

"Stop singing you stupid bitch!" the man screamed.

Startled, I realized it was me singing. I took a deep breath and bellowed out at the top of my lungs, "HE’S BIGGER THAN GODZILLA OR THE MONSTERS ON TV!"

He snarled and began advancing toward me. The blood was pounding so hard in my ears that I could barely hear myself. So I sang out louder. "OH GOD IS BIGGER THAN THE, BOOGEY MAN AND HE’S WATCHING OUT FOR YOU AND ME!!!"

I could almost feel the children smiling behind that door. I smiled back. Tears were streaming down my face and my head was pounding; "Thump, Thump, Thump, Bang!", but I was smiling.

He had just about reached me and I was just about to start verse 2, when he hesitated and cocked his head as if listening to something. I could not hear a thing for the blood pounding in my ears "Thump, Thump, Bang! Thump. Thump, Bang! Bang! Thump".

Bang?... No wait, that’s not right.

The man turned towards the door, he held up his hand and the ghouls instantly froze. So did I.
It was dead quiet.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" Gunshots rang out in the hall. Then the sound of footsteps, then "Bang!" another shot, closer than the last. I sagged with relief. The police. The police had come at last!
A single set of footsteps echoed in the hall.

A man appeared in the doorway. He was tall and thin with wild black hair and dressed from head to toe in red. Well, not quite. His boots were black but his hat, his overcoat, even his glasses were all a deep brownish red. He took in our strange tableau and smiled.

"I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner" he said in a deep, smooth voice "but why don’t you try picking on someone your own size?"

He seemed to be alone. "Where are the others? Where are the police?!" I screamed in my head while frantically craning my neck to see past him.

"What the hell are you supposed to be?" said my attacker.

The man in red ignored the question, glancing at me where I still stood panting with a twisted metal chair in my hands. "Your dance card looks a little full. Do you mind if I take a few admirers off your hands?"

I stared at him speechless. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How could this strange man possibly save us from these monsters?

"I don’t know who you think you are" said my attacker, "but if you wish to die a hero, I am happy to oblige you." He flicked his hand towards the man in red in a dismissive manner. The ghouls swung around and lurched towards my would be rescuer.

Slowly, almost lazily, the tall man reached into his overcoat and pulled out two of the most enormous handguns I had ever seen. One silver and one black, both glinting dangerously in the light.

My attacker gave a snort of contempt "you guns won’t harm me!" He laughed.

The man in red glanced over at me and smiled in a truly frightening way, winked, then addressed my attacker. "No, but the bullets will." and began to fire. A loud terrible booming in that small space. I flinched at the sound, dropping the chair.

The man moved into the room aiming and firing over and over so quickly his arms seemed to blur. I stumbled back as ghouls began to explode around me.

"Yes, silver bullets will most definitely kill scum like you." he said.

"Silver?" my attacker gasped.

"Yes." the man said "Now, will you stand and fight or must I waste more time on your filthy undead puppets?"

"Kill him!" my attacker screamed.

The ghouls lurched forward from all directions hurling any objects they could find at the man in red. The coffee pot whizzed past his head knocking off his wide brimmed hat. He pivoted and fired at the ghouls coming up behind him momentarily turning his back to us.

My attacker pounced on the opportunity. He pushed past me shoving me hard against the podium as he snatched up the flagpole with the Union Jack. He pointed the Fleur-delis finial at the man’s back and began to charge.

"No!" I screamed, as my hands closed down on the only weapon I could find. I ran up behind that horrible man and just as the man in red began to turn around, I brought that big bible down on my attackers head as hard as I could.

He did not go down. He just got angry.

He turned, and impaled me on the flagpole instead. The bible dropped from my hands as the force of the blow drove me back up against the podium. "That’s it for you bitch!" He snarled. He smiled as he twisted the pole "Does it hurt?"

Suddenly the tall man in red was behind him. Gripping his shoulder with one hand he reached around my attackers head with his other arm and pulled. There was a sickening crack as the head was snapped around to face backwards.

"What are you?" my attacker asked.

The tall man smiled, placing the silver muzzle of his gun against my attackers head "You’ll just have to die disappointed." he said, then pulled the trigger.