The Van Helsing Resurgence

The first of Clara's senses to return was her hearing. Her mind swirled in a drug induced haze, which made it all the more challenging to concentrate. Every sound was distorted, clipped, and focused on the lower frequencies. At first, Clara was not sure what to make of it.

Eventually, the reverberation lessened, and pitch increased enough so that words filtered through. Curious, she maintained her heart rate, measured her breathing, and kept her eyes closed. People had a tendency to loosen their tongues when they believed their prisoners were unconscious.

"What do you have?" some man asked from the other side of the wall and, since no name was used, Clara settled on John.

Clara's ears perked up, so it was fortunate that her hair concealed the motion. She concentrated and found three distinct heart beats. The one who asked the question had just arrived, indicated by the footsteps and closing doors.

"Female, Caucasian, in her early-thirties," a woman replied and, this time, Clara christened her Jane.

"Not what she seems?" John asked.

"Well, fingerprints came up clean, although there were matches to partials lifted from crime scenes in the Twenties," Jane answered. "A search through our main databases came up empty; she is squeaky clean. A bit too clean..."

"What do you mean?" John queried.

"Queries through all of our secondary sources also came up empty," Jane replied. "She has never visited a hospital in any of the Five Eyes nations or even within a NATO nation. Her facial and retinal scans tells us that she never travelled by commercial air, was arrested, nor ever had a picture ID."

"Looks like she wouldn't need to board a plane," John said.

There was a slight snicker from the third occupant but nothing else. Since that man's resting heart rate was so low, she figured this was the sentry.

"Noticed that, did you?" Jane asked. "A bit hard to miss, really."

"Are those real?" John wondered.

Something slid across the table. At first Clara believed it to be a series of photographs, but this object was heavier and metallic. Nevertheless, when John gasped, she figured they caught on that her wings were not part of an elaborate Halloween costume.

"That threw the doctors for a loop," Jane said. "No signs of surgery, and the genetic sequencing of those wings matches her own."

"Mutation?" John asked.

"Doubtful," Jane said. "All tests indicate that she is human and within normal genetic variance. There is nothing in her genes that would account for them or her blood."

"What?" John pressed.

"Temporary," Jane said. "The blood we drew from her looked like liquid gold but turned red after a few minutes."

There was a pause in the conversation. Clara maintained her vitals steady in an attempt to keep up appearances. She even drooled a bit to put on a convincing show. Anyone from the Tower would have done the same. After all, subterfuge was an old friend to their kind.

"Alright," John said. "I'm going in."

Clara heard him grab something from the table. Judging from the sound of shifting ice, she guessed it was a water pitcher and with that, deduced the rest of his grand plan. A door opened and a set of soft soled shoes exited the adjacent room. Without surprise, his steps approached until a loud buzzer rang out and released the locking mechanism.

Before she knew it, that same pair of shoes was circling her position. Clara remained indifferent, as though she were still unconscious, a hangover from the drugs. Deprived of sight, Clara focused on her remaining senses.