Dracula Theory Read online

  Dracula Theory

  By Jack Wallen

  Copyright © 2019 Jack Wallen

  This book is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise noted, names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously (unless otherwise noted). Any resemblance to actual locales, events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without express permission from the author. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  *****

  Edited By Mary Ann Peden-Coviello

  Beta Reader: Kathryn Ransburg

  Proof Readers: Shelby Brown and Courtney Sellers

  Dracula Theory is dedicated to all of those who still believe the things that go “bump in the night” are always more frightening when viewed in black and white.

  Stay creepy, my friends.

  ACT I

  THE JOURNEY TOO NEAR AND FAR

  ONE

  A Proposal

  “O wär ich schon mit dir vereint und dürfte Mann dich nennen! Ein Mädchen darf ja, was es meint, Zur Hälfte nur bekennen.”

  Mina leaned into me, her hand trembling at the power of Beethoven’s music. “Her voice is magnificent, don’t you agree?”

  “Not as magnificent as your beauty, my love.”

  “Oh, Jonathan, you are incorrigible.”

  I couldn’t help but inhale the scent of my dearest Mina. Everything about her captivated me to my soul. She was perfection incarnate. Even watching the woman enjoy her most beloved art form brought me back to the first time I knew I couldn’t possibly live without her in my life.

  “Mina, there’s something I want to ask you.”

  She placed a gentle hand on my knee. “Not now, my dear. You may pose your question the second the intermission starts. Until then, behold the majesty of Fidelio.”

  Mina did hold some similarities with her father, the Baron. The man was a force in the world of business. He’d amassed a wealth few in the city could match. Along with that fortune came a level of power not one man would question. Of course, he being such a captain of industry translated to every man in the city courting his daughter with the hopes of being the recipient of the man’s fortunes someday. That singular—and possibly lucrative—purpose caused nearly every suitor to overlook the inner and outer beauty of that which was Mina Murray.

  Although the idea had crossed my mind, it was not the driving force behind my adoration of Mina. No woman in my life had ever captivated my heart and soul as had she. Mina was art made human, the perfection of nature given life. And so, the fortunes of her father were nothing to me … not compared to the satisfaction of Mina’s touch, the sound of her voice, the thoughts in her mind, the taste of her skin.

  And so I sat, in rapt attention, watching my love watch the drama unfold on the stage. Intermission couldn’t come soon enough. Even my passion for music was being put to the test this night. For once, I had no patience for tenors, sopranos, or orchestras.

  Time passed. Minutes. An hour. It wasn’t until the final strains of “The Prisoner’s Chorus” dragged me from my reverie that I realized the first act had finally concluded. Thunderous applause rang out to herald a period of time for audience members to mill about, drink champagne, and relieve themselves in preparation for Act, the second.

  Mina turned to me, her smile bright and her eyes reflecting the glow of the chandelier above us. “What was your question, my dear?”

  My heart raced. I’d been anticipating this moment for days. I reached into my jacket to extract the token of my love before dropping to one knee in the aisle.

  “My dearest Mina Murray.”

  Mina’s eyes widened, as her hands quickly covered her mouth to silence a gasp.

  “You have been sent from Heaven to bring a joy to my life I am not quite certain I have earned. I would ask that you make an honest man of me and…” For some unknown reason, the words eluded me.

  “Jonathan?” Mina prodded. “And what?”

  “Mina Murray, will you marry me?”

  She blinked. I couldn’t be certain if the motion was to prevent a waterfall of tears, or if it was doubt that crossed her mind. It wasn’t until she spoke that all concern was put to rest.

  Mina offered me her hand, so that I might slip the ring over her finger. “Of course I will marry you, Jonathan Harker.” Mina admired the gemstone given to me by my mother. The ring had been passed down from her mother, and was the one heirloom in our family. As I was the only son, logic would dictate the lone bit of finery would come to me.

  “It’s beautiful.” Mina held her hand aloft. “Father would approve.”

  “Of our union or the jewelry.” I had to ask.

  “If I am being completely honest … of the ring.”

  “Will he deny—”

  Mina cut me short. “He would want to, of course.”

  “He’ll say no one is worthy of—”

  Again, I was silenced. “It has nothing to do with me, Jonathan. You know of my father’s reputation. His first and only love is his business. My father owns this city. He is more feared than respected, which is the very reason why I stand before you—or rather sit beside you—unwed. Until you came along, no man dared attempt to woo me for fear my father would have their heads.”

  I swallowed. Hard. I knew of the Baron’s reputation and his irrational paranoia that everyone was out to steal his fortune. I, however, had little interest in absconding with anything but the heart of his daughter. Even so, I still feared the man as much as any other.

  “Father will hate you for this—at least until you prove to him your loyalty. If there’s one thing the Baron values above all things, it’s loyalty. He might well ask you to undertake tasks you would never have otherwise considered. Say yes to his every whim, and he will accept you as my husband and, eventually, his son-in-law.”

  “And so…” I prompted.

  Mina coughed, her eyes fluttering and her breath heaving. For a brief pause, the color drained from her cheeks, giving way to the palest white I’d ever beheld on a living human. I assumed the lapse in countenance was due to the moment at hand. After she followed the cough with her delightful laugh, a sound as angelic as any other, she finally answered my question. “We shall be married.”

  *****

  The Baron sat behind his massive desk, arms crossed over a barrel chest, puffing madly at a cigar as thick as a constable’s baton. His eyes bore metaphorical holes through my flesh and into the marrow of my bones. Hatred dripped from his lips, in a tobacco-stained spittle.

  After a drawn-out moment, he leaned in toward me, extracted the cigar from his mouth, and sneered. “You? Why, in the name of profit, would I offer my daughter’s hand in marriage to a lawyer? You have next to no standing in this community, your net worth is barely enough to keep Mina in the life to which she is accustomed, and…” The Baron dabbed at his mouth with a well-used handkerchief. “I don’t like you.”

  “Sir—”

  The Baron cut me well short. “However, for whatever God-forsaken reason, Mina seems to fancy you enough to agree to this proposal, so I am inclined to give you my permission.” Before I could respond, the Baron silenced me with a raised hand. “Inclined being the operative word.”

  The hope swelling in my chest deflated as the Baron poured himself a tall glass of amber liquid. The smell of sweet, smoky alcohol drifted my way. The man holding my future hostage caught sight of my brief desire, raised his glass my way, and swallowed the drink in one loud gulp.

  “Tell you what, Mr. Harker, I will consent to the marriage
if you undertake a crucial task for me—one that would pay considerable dividends to my already substantial holdings.”

  I sat up straight. Mina had prepared me for this very moment. “Anything you ask, sir.”

  The Baron withdrew an envelope from his center desk drawer and slid it toward me. “I want you to deliver this to a certain Count in Romania. It is imperative that you see to it the directions in this missive are followed. No matter the circumstances, no matter the danger, follow this to the letter. Should you fail me, Jonathan Harker, you will never see my daughter again. Take that as either a threat or a promise. Either way, it is truth.”

  The forces of my conscience were nothing against those of my desire to wed Mina. No matter how dire the Baron’s directive, I would not fail him. And thus I snatched the envelope from the desk, slipped it in my breast pocket, stood, gave the Baron a curt nod, and answered, “I will not let you down, sir.”

  “See to it that you don’t.” The Baron extracted another envelope and handed it my way. “Here you’ll find plenty of funds to make the trip there and back. Whatever remains, you may keep,” The Baron poured another drink, “so long as you are successful. Should you fail, my guess is no amount of money will help you.”

  TWO

  The Visit

  I had chosen to chronicle my journey from England to Romania. Although I’d firmly believed this would prove an exercise in futility, I could not possibly turn down the one who would soon become my father-in-law. After all, the Baron had made it perfectly clear that my future with Mina hinged on the success of the task before me. The Baron Murray—as my fiancée Mina had instructed I address the man—was one of great wealth and influence. I did believe, however, such power had caused a portion of his mental acumen to dwindle. Why would I dare consider taking such a bold position regarding the man who could stand in the way of my desired future?

  Future. Ironic that word, given the situation.

  The Baron seemed to be convinced he had, through no dint of his own intellect or powers of deduction, fallen upon a discovery that would not only bolster his financial holdings, but could very well change the course of humankind forever. What could possibly alter the trajectory of the human race? According to the documents I now possessed, the Baron had happened upon a theory, one that I would posit is quite mad. This theory he called the Dracul Theory—or Dracula Theory.

  “Tickets please?”

  A gentleman with a most impressive handlebar mustache and the uniform of someone of import to the train approached, his outstretched hand awaiting my proof of passage.

  “Here you go, my good sir.” I did my best to smile. Mina was always on me about putting forth a more pleasant image, forever harping on me that I Scowl like a man who knows he’s been tragically wronged. I could not say she is incorrect in her diagnosis. After all, I was a trained lawyer, not a concierge ready to do the bidding of anyone who’d pay me a shilling or pound. Unfortunately, that was my current station—having to bow to the whim and will of the man who would soon lord over me the power to deny his daughter’s hand in marriage.

  Should I fail him.

  Which I would not.

  Mina Murray. A woman so utterly exquisite as to steal the very breath of those who dared gaze upon her beauty. She was grace, elegance, wit, and desire made mortal by the hands of God himself. How a man so flawed as I could be so lucky as to convince a perfect angel as she to take my hand in marriage I would never understand.

  Thinking of my bride to be sent rivulets of frustration racing through my system. The Baron knew how I hated being away from his daughter. And yet here I was, chasing nightmares for an incredibly wealthy lunatic.

  All in the name of eternal life.

  The fountain of youth.

  A passion of the Baron’s, one that had me caught up in his mad machinations.

  In my pocket was a map, given to me by the Baron. Emblazoned on that map was a great red X, marking the location of one Castle Bran. According to the Baron, it was rumored that within the ancient stone walls of that crumbling edifice existed a caretaker whose veins ran red with a gift so profound, it would transform the Baron into a God of sorts. That blood was a part of an ancient lineage that dated back to the earliest recorded moments of humanity.

  Beyond Romania, little was known about the name. It was only after the Baron purchased the estate of a known adventurer and world traveler that he found mention of a creature whose age could not be determined.

  Count Dracula.

  It then became my duty to uncover as much information about this Romanian Devil as I could. The deeper I dug, the more ghoulish the rumors grew. Some proclaimed the Count monstrous, while others went so far to say he’d risen from the smoldering ash of Hell itself to gut humanity and feast upon its very soul. I’d never fallen prey to fiction, not even as a youngster. To me, the wanton desire to frighten was nothing more than a momentary flight of fancy, or an urge to hold sway over another’s baser urges. Besides, after dealing with various and sundry captains of industry, nothing caused me to cower. My will had been permanently steeled. I believed that was the quality which finally won my Mina over.

  A throaty whistle warned the train was coming to a halt. I gathered my bags and prepared to disembark.

  “Your first time in Romania?” A roughly appointed woman asked with a quaint smile.

  “Why yes, in fact, it is. How did you know?”

  The woman looked me up and down. “You’re not dressed for this country. You best be prepared to soak in the muck and blood of a people steeped in fear and loss.”

  Without another word, the woman walked away, a slight limp to her gait. The words she spoke cut deep into my consciousness, to leave me wondering what I’d gotten into. I had to remind myself of the spoils of this particular war. No amount of fear, no threats to my life, no uncertainty would get in the way of my succeeding in this mission. All for Mina’s hand.

  Of course, it didn’t help that I hated traveling, never quite feeling at ease in foreign lands. Although fear wasn’t in my disposition, discomfort was. Traveling to faraway countries never failed to leave me profoundly unsettled. Even worse, the idea of being lost sent me into apoplectic fits.

  With a quick pat to the breast pocket containing my map, I made my way to the car’s exit.

  The bitter cold of the Romanian night nipped at my flesh. An odd tang of garlic hung in the air to sting my nostrils and remind my stomach I hadn’t eaten in quite some time.

  “Best find myself a meal,” I muttered.

  A young man stood, leaning against a gas lamp pole, looking as though some form of tragedy would certainly befall him.

  I approached. “Excuse me, young lad. Would you mind pointing me to the nearest tavern where one might break bread?”

  The boy turned to me, his bloodshot eyes wide with what should have been curiosity, but dread had usurped that innocence. “Who wants to know?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “The very man who’s asking, that’s who.”

  The lad relaxed a bit. “It’ll cost ya.”

  I dug my hand into a pocket and extracted a single coin. The boy’s eyes widened, and he offered me a blackened, toothy grin.

  “That should do it then.”

  I handed over the coin, and the boy pointed a bony finger forward. “Down the street to the fourth lamp post and then go to the left. You’ll see a sign with a serpent eating its own tail. That’s where you want to go. Get the stew—it’s thick and meaty. They water down the drinks, but they won’t cut you off after you’ve had more than your share.”

  And with that, the boy raced off into the night, a thick blanket of fog helping him to disappear from my sight. I was alone.

  From off in the dark distance, a lone wolf’s howl disturbed the peace of night. The baleful cry hung in the air a bit longer than its natural state should allow.

  “Reason enough to get out of the cold,” I mumbled to myself.

  As I was about to take a left at the post, a whis
pered voice called to me.

  “Hey, handsome. Care to take a dive into my muff? I’d love to have a crack at what’s there in your pants. I bet it’s a handsome beast.”

  A shape writhed in shadows and fog. I could only surmise the woman in question was looking to lighten my purse in the name of copulation.

  “Terribly sorry, ma’am. I’ve no interest in what you’re offering.”

  “You won’t find what I’ve got anywhere else.”

  “Given the population of women on the planet, it’s fairly easy to ascertain what you have to trade can be found on nearly every street corner, in every city, across the globe. Pardon me for being so blunt, but I must find my way into an establishment immediately.”

  “What kind of establishment do you seek?”

  “I’ll be off then.”

  “Do not turn your back on me, Jonathan Harker.” The woman’s voice grew dangerous, with an undertone of threat.

  “How do you know my name?”

  My question was met with an unsettling silence. Instead of continuing the dialogue, I offered a tip of the hat before making my exit, reminding myself of why I was here. That was my second mistake, my first being the assumption I was safe in the presence of a woman. I felt her fingers wrap around my neck and squeeze. Her phalanges possessed more strength than should have been possible. I struggled against the woman’s grip but couldn’t manage to either turn or break free.

  She pulled me back to her, whispering sour breath in my ear. “Should you wish to continue digging this grave, your betrothed will suffer under the weight of our curse.”

  Hearing this stranger mention Mina lent a strength to my arms I hadn’t know I’d possessed. I reached behind me, grabbed the woman’s arm, spun on my heels, and reasserted my balance.

  “Leave me be, wretched crone, or the threats you make will be the last you utter.”

  The woman backed away, a light cackle escaping her lips. “Know this … the only way you’ll leave our country is in a wooden box.”