𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐦

Act II, Scene II

"Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer — both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams."
~ Bram Stoker, Dracula

__________

Lucy recited her tale of woe.

It was difficult to trudge through the chronicle, panic rising inside of her, but she recounted to Virgil every detail she had told Dr. Reed. She spared no observation or particular regarding the appearance and behavior of the Nosferatu, or the strange, foreign words he had uttered.

When her story had come to its end, Virgil said nothing. He stared at the tabletop, eyes narrowed, posture rigid and tense. Reminiscent of a cornered wolf about to pounce.

His stillness caused in her more dread than had his earlier words.

Lucy watched him in expectation, but he seemed to have forgotten she was present.

"Virgil?" She broke the silence, being able to endure it no longer. "Virgil. Please. Say something."

Virgil did not move or look at her. "The water is boiling."

"Oh!"

A steady jet of white steam erupted from the tea kettle's spout. Lucy jumped up and ran to the range, allayed the kettle of heat, and moved it to an elevated cooling rack. She took two teacups from the cupboard above her, and began preparing the tea with shaking hands. She glanced over her shoulder at Virgil, but he hadn't moved. His gaze was still on the tabletop as if in a trance.

Lucy inhaled deeply in an attempt to steady her mind and her hands. The delicious aroma of the tea leaves gave her momentary reprieve. Her new and quite restrictive diet had not forbade her the consumption of tea, and she was beholden for that small miracle. The loss of her favorite beverage would have been one tragedy too many.

At last, Virgil spoke, his voice more solemn and humorless than Lucy had ever heard it.

"Just to clarify my comprehension of the finer points," he said, "the Nosferatu appeared to you after you shouted at him?"

"Yes," Lucy answered. "I thought he was an intruder. A human thief."

"Hmmm," Virgil hummed. "And when Arthur got between the two of you, the Nosferatu made no attempt to drink Arthur's blood? He simply...tossed him aside?"

Lucy swallowed against the lump that was forming in her throat. Like a fool, she closed her eyes. She saw Arthur's body sailing through the air like a disregarded rag doll. She heard the grotesque crunch of his head making contact with the metal trunk. Despite her best efforts, the memory would not fade or lose potency.

When she answered, her mouth struggled to form the words. "Yes. Arthur's official cause of death was a broken neck."

She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. She stared down at the colorful leaves in the teacups until the edges blurred into an image reminiscent of a Van Gogh painting. Blinking again, harder, she poured the steaming water from the kettle into the cups, destroying the illusion.

"Hmm," Virgil hummed again. "And when he pointed at you, he said the words: 'ant laa, zawjati?"

"Screamed them at me, more like."

Lucy brought the teacups to the table, and set one in front of Virgil. She sat down and wrapped her fingers around her own cup. The heated porcelain felt comforting against her cold skin.

"And I haven't the faintest idea if those were words," she added, watching her tea swirl around in its circular confines. "I've never heard a language like that in my life, and I like to think I'm fairly well read."