Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 60: Art Waking, My Bride, or Sleeping?

Dr. Chilton's Diary

(Kept in Phonograph)

8 October.—I sat up all night with Alana. The opiate worked itself off towards dusk, and she waked naturally; she looked a different being from what she had been before the operation. Her spirits even were good, and she was full of a happy vivacity, but I could see evidences of the absolute prostration which she had undergone. When I told Mrs. Bloom that Dr. Van Crawford had directed that I should sit up with her she almost pooh-poohed the idea, pointing out her daughter's renewed strength and excellent spirits. I was firm, however, and made preparations for my long vigil. When her maid had prepared her for the night I came in, having in the meantime had supper. This entire ordeal has been very trying on my person as well, but it is not prudent to make anyone else aware of this. Luckily, Hillingham certainly knows how to treat a man, especially one as vital to Alana's recovery as myself. Dinner was more than adequate – I believe Mrs. Bloom remembered how much I like salmon!

When I returned to Alana's chamber, I found Will Graham there, still in his clothes from the previous night, looking disheveled and quite pale from his transfusion. He was sitting in the chair I'd occupied, leaving me to sort of hover around a bit before having to take a place on the sofa.

"Will," I said, "you really ought to be in bed yourself, my good man."

He just shot me one of his signature grumpy looks. Alana smiled and patted his hand. "I told him the same thing," she said. "But he won't listen, of course. I said he could stay until I fall asleep."

"I will keep watch over both of you, then," I said. She did not in any way make objection, but looked at me gratefully whenever I caught her eye.

Will got up and blew out the lamps and shut the curtains, leaving us in the firelight. Then he returned to Alana's side and took her hand again. As if I weren't there at all, he brought it to his lips, then rested it on his own unshaven face. "I'm sorry, Alana," he said, and I could have sworn there were tears in his eyes. Alana's illness has certainly affected him - privately, I'll share that I'm not the only one who has wondered about their "sibling" relationship over the years, considering they are not blood related. But certainly, with Count Lecter as a fiance, all youthful indiscretions should be easy enough to purge.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" sweet Alana chided him, putting her palm on his cheek. "You gave me your blood, for heaven's sake, might have saved my life."

Will just shook his head and wiped his eyes. After a long spell she seemed to be sinking off to sleep, but with an effort seemed to pull herself together and shook it off. This was repeated several times, with greater effort and with shorter pauses as the time moved on. It was apparent that she did not want to sleep.

Before I could tackle the subject myself, Will said, "You don't want to go to sleep?"

"No," she admitted in a pained whisper. "I'm afraid, Will."

I interjected, "Afraid to go to sleep! Why so? It is the boon we all crave for."

Now it looked as if Alana was going to weep, clinging to Will's hand. "Not if you were like me—if sleep was to you a... presage of horror!"

"A presage of horror! What on earth do you mean?" I demanded.

"Alana, what are you saying?" Will was even paler now in his concern.

"I don't know. Oh, I don't know." She put her hands over her face. "And that is what is so terrible. All this weakness comes to me in sleep until I dread the very thought."

"But, my dear girl, you may sleep securely tonight. I am here watching you, and I can promise that nothing will happen," I said.

"I'll sit up with you," Will vowed, even though I knew he needed rest even more than she did. He'd napped most of the day after her transfusion, but I could tell how exhausted he still was.