Dracula: Jonathan's Story

The Convent

Author's note: I watched the Netflix 2020 version of Dracula over three days.  I liked it, but they underused Mina and Jonathan.  It also suffered from storyline holes between the second and third episodes.  This is my attempt to fix that.

Jonathan Harker lay under Sister Agatha's bed. He wanted to die. That was the plan at least, when he let the devil into the convent. "I'll do it Johnny, if you let me in." He couldn't stand the way Mina looked at him with such pity; and the temptation she represented. He could've killed her from the cut alone. He watched with a kind of detachment as Dracula approached, and took him in a lovers' embrace. The more he was touched, the more he craved until the point where it felt as if the other man were dissolving into him.

He also lied about killing him. "Relax Johnny, shh, shh..." And then he was up moving around as if nothing were wrong. He hadn't spent a month in a gothic castle as the plaything of the Prince of Darkness. As if he hadn't been made like him. He remembered the sun on his face that morning, its warmth. He would've paid more attention if he'd known it would be his last. "You're just like me Johnny," a taunt meant to push him to his death.

The screaming stopped long ago.  It was the shrill terrified sound of those who were dying and clung desperately to life. The scent of blood had awakened him, and warred with the desire to avoid discovery. He heard the rats skitter across stone floor; he would grab one when the hunger got too much. The incident would attract the authorities, and then robbers, and vagrants seeking shelter. He would have a chance to feed soon, and complete the process the devil had begun.

"You're just like..." John clapped his hands over his ears. "No. Nononono, I'm nothing like you," he said out loud. His voice echoed; an alien sound to himself. The sound of heartbeats reached him, and he was quiet, counting the men who'd entered.

***

"It's a ghost Alexei," Ilya told his young companion as they entered. They'd been dispatched as part of the cleanup after an incident at the convent. They walked past nuns' bodies with sheets laid out in the chapel for burial.

"Ghosts don't talk. I know I heard someone," Alexei answered. How anyone would've survived the massacre. "A secret room?" he led the way up an aisle to the alcove where he began probing the solid stone archway.

He found one loose and pressed on it. "After you," he motioned to his superior. The massacre had found its way into this room. Blood stained the stone floor, a chair was upended, the table bearing scratch marks. Paper stuck out of the one drawer, and he pulled it out rifling through it.

"Under the bed," Alexei pointed to a foot sticking out from underneath. Jonathan pulled himself out, and managed to stand up. He swayed, sitting down the bed. Ilya took the blanket and covered the man with it.

"I don't remember anything," Jonathan realized ignorance was the best.

Ilya's belly shook with disbelieving laughter. "The only survivor of a massacre remembers nothing. It is logical I suppose, that such a traumatic event would be supressed." He draped an arm around Jonathan's shoulders meant to comfort. "You've an accen. , British I think. You were up at the castle..." the euphemism used for Dracula.

Something switched on inside Jonathan. He could either walk into the sun and be done with this life. Or he could feast on the banquet that walked into the room. He should want death, crave it as a punishment for what he could do to his beloved, as a release from the torture. But at the same time, he didn't want her last memory of him to be of the monster.

"Close the door," he told Alexei. He refused to feed in front of a witness. "You will remember nothing of what happened here," the sound was stronger, commanding. The arm across his shoulders froze, the heartrate pumping ever faster.

There was a taste of sweat, and sunshine on the man's neck and Jonathan licked it. His fangs broke the skin and started to drink gulping it, as if it were the last drop of water. 7, 8 swallows. The heartbeat slowed, an 9, 10, 12. Ilya's arm fell slack. Finally Jonathan pushed arm off, and the man slumped against the pillows. He pressed his fingers the eyelids closing them in death, and folded the hands across his stomach.

Jonathan stood, and adjusted his night gown across his shoulders. He opened the door to find Alexei standing guard and motioned the young man inside. "Burn the body, bury the ashes in the cemetery. Return here tomorrow night. Speak of me to nobody" he commanded.