Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 63: Wearily, William, I've Waited For You

Letter, Alana Bloom to Margot Verger

12 October.—

I miss you dreadfully, Margot. Please tell me Mason has boarded a ship for America already. I know you've said that my involvement would only make things worse, that he would get his "hooks" into me, but perhaps if we gave him a morsel or two he'd be satisfied and move along. I know I'll be well soon and can suffer his slings and arrows. You've said all he wants is to make you miserable for a while, to remind you of his dominance. He can say what he pleases to me and I shall let it roll off of me like rain from an umbrella. I know it would be unwise to travel at the moment, but I'm on the mend. I can feel it.

How good they all are to me. I quite love that dear Dr. Van Crawford. He certainly has strange methods, but one cannot argue with their effectiveness. Today he brought a box of garlic flowers all the way from a greenhouse in Harleem and strung them all over my room. I can't imagine a proper greenhouse raising and selling common garlic, especially in its flowered form, but perhaps they specialize in providing medicinal plants when they are otherwise unavailable.

When I questioned these alleged medicinal properties, he was almost harsh with me. I wonder why he was so anxious about these flowers. He positively frightened me, he was so fierce. And yet he must have been right, for I feel comfort from them already. Somehow, I do not dread being alone tonight, and I can go to sleep without fear. They certainly don't smell as delightful as lavender, but I'm sure you're familiar with the feeling of calm derived from taking a deep breath of that particular scent. This garlic is having the same effect!

I shall not mind any flapping outside the window. I'm sick to death of these night birds on my windowsill. Oh, the terrible struggle that I have had against sleep so often of late; the pain of the sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, with such unknown horrors as it has for me! How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams. I know you're well aware of the toll nightmares can take, and my dear, the Mason in your dreams is far more terrifying and powerful than a man can possibly be. Besides, in waking life, you have my love to strengthen you.

Well, here I am tonight, hoping for sleep, and lying like Ophelia in the play, with "virgin crants and maiden strewments." Everyone is going to get some rest tonight; I sent Will home to the dogs, as he has certainly been neglecting them for me. I never liked garlic before, but tonight it is delightful! There is peace in its smell; I feel sleep coming already. Good-night, my love. I shall send this off with my maid to be posted tomorrow.

Your Loving Alana

***

I am a midnight shape in a black-milk sky, a shadow against the fog, darkness upon itself, the color of blood when it is within the chambers of the heart away from any source of illumination. Or the way it looks glassy, liquid obsidian in the moonlight.

As I descend from the sky I send out tendrils of consciousness to find Will's mind. He is, as Abigail predicted, in his own bed tonight. The dogs are not kenneled; instead, they sleep on a rug before the hearth, and the smallest has climbed up next to Will and is curled against the bow of his back. He isn't dreaming, but the dog is.

His return to the cottage is a mixed blessing. I cannot look upon him while he sleeps; it will surely disquiet the dogs. However, his absence from Hillingham proper shows that his concern for Alana Bloom has waned. His insisted involvement in her care and his compassion for her is inconvenient. He's repaid her a thousandfold for the bit of nursing she did in Budapest and Whitby; his ledger is firmly in the black after giving her his blood, which he had no right to give. No matter; I've taken back what's mine and more besides, and I will do so again tonight.