Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

Epilogue Episode 3

"My parents, I saw them inside."

"They're... not moving."

"Mister?"

"Can you help them?"

"Please, mister..."

"I want my parents."

I don't want to be alone.

...

"Hellsing!" he shouted, shaking him with both arms. Free from his trance state, his eyes regained a certain focus that allowed him to be present.

"Sorry, I was thinking about something."

The bar was quiet and its occupants were reserved, as if all hiding their vicious secrets behind their cruel, glaring eyes. Lincoln and Hellsing both were sitting on stools with their chests pressed to the bar top. Lincoln waved a languid hand to the bartender and he came over.

"Yes, sir?"

"A glass of whiskey for my friend here. He's having some homesickness I think, and he needs a taste of home."

"Very well, sir."

Hellsing felt ill; his mind still trying to rescue a boy in another state from a different time. He saw his son's face on that boy's, and nothing crippled Hellsing more than the thought of a child made waif, forsaken by parents who'd perished with pale, blood-dried bodies. Not a day went by that guilt didn't stir a gross nausea inside him. A turning, disastrous storm of misery and grief that begged to be vomited out. No hose on earth is powerful enough to clean sins that a man has applied to himself. He didn't even want to drink.

"I paid good money for that whiskey."

"Not thirsty."

"You're kidding. Hellsing—the biggest closet alcoholic I know—not thirsty for a drink?"

"Maybe you don't know me all that well, then."

Lincoln hesitated before finally giving up. He couldn't quell whatever obstacle was holding Hellsing's mind captive, so he surrendered his efforts and stood from his seat. Hellsing followed suit and followed behind, hanging from his own body in a way of remorse. Leaving from the door, the light shone on them for a moment before the door clacked behind them and night set itself stronger around them. A car passed by and jetted a wave of water over Lincoln, darkening his clothes. He made an offensive gesture at the fleeing car and then they both turned the opposite way to head away from the gloomy outside of a Southern California bar and venturing to a cheap motel to stay for their last night.

"Checking in?" asked the receptionist.

The place was dilapidated and shedding its trashy skin; wallpaper peeling down and revealing rotted wood, and beige carpeting stained with vile, unpleasant colors. The receptionist was equally neglected; fairly aged and tired, obviously fantasizing about retiring at this point in her life. Lincoln handed her a low sum of money and she handed him a key.

"Third room down the hall," she said. "Oh, and if Mr. Dimitri is in there, bring him to me! He runs off all the time and I can never find him for the life of me!"

"Mr. Dimitri?" Lincoln asked.

"My little Dimitri, only a kitty! I haven't seen him for weeks! I'm afraid he's lost," she said.

"Damn kook has animals running about the place," Hellsing complained silently.

"We'll watch for him!" Lincoln shouted to her.

She smiled, then went back to desk work. They both walked down the hall and came to the third door, inserting the key and unlocking their way inside. It smelled awful and Lincoln pinched his nose, immediately going to search for the cause. He peeled up the bedsheets to find nothing, turned over cushions, and tore aside curtains, finding nothing to be the source of the stench. Hellsing walked past Lincoln, his eyebrows low and stern.

"Give up. It's probably something in the ceiling," he said.

Hellsing turned around and fell into a chair. He folded both arms behind his head and laid back, trying to finally relax, but his body stayed tense and rigid. He outstretched his legs when he felt his shoe bump something under the bed. He poked open one eye and saw a small black lump behind the corner leg of the bed. He bent down slowly and cautiously reached out his hand. "What the..." he muttered to himself. He gripped it, feeling a field of hair against his palm, and pulled it out into the light. What showed dangling from his grasp when he raised it, was a deceased gray cat, which they both assumed was Mr. Dimitri.

"Aw, for God's sake," Lincoln said, his lip snarling from disgust.

"You tellin' her or am I?"

"Hell no. You found the damn thing, you tell her!"

"Fine. Clean the place up a little, okay? And light a candle or something in here."

He retreated from the room and left Lincoln there, confused, and scrambling around to find a can of air freshener. That night Hellsing slept in a chair and Lincoln slept on the bed, both of them waking up intermittently throughout the night by sounds of trash cans being pushed over by raccoons and rats squeaking from outside their room's door. Additionally, the tumultuous cries of the mourning receptionist groaned through the walls. When Hellsing awoke, he was frightened by a beast that lay on his chest: A rat, which he batted off him, and it fell and flopped under the bed clumsily. Lincoln awoke shortly after, rubbing his eyes and looking at Hellsing.

"What's got you so scared?"

"Shut up. Let's just get out of here, alright?"

"Sure. I'm ready for Michigan. I bet Stark County's been missing us. The two bravest warriors in the whole town!"

"Don't get your hopes up—and don't be so arrogant."

They both exit the building and travel to the airport, ready to return to their town. They catch a flight, hours pass, the world turns as always, and soon enough they land where they longed to be for months. Michigan.