Guilt Chapter 2: Pugna

Van Helsing was in the small cell he had been given while he stayed in Rome. He was due to leave in the morning and was catching up on some much needed rest. Or at least, trying to. He lay on the shoddy bed the order called a cot and stared at the picture of Anna he held in one hand. He had had Carl find it for him shortly after their return from Transylvania and had carried it in his Brest pocket ever since. He missed the Romanian gypsy princess greatly, more with each passing day. Each passing day also built up his guilt over her death. It threatened to overwhelm him. Every time he ate he remembered her, he hadn't been able to drink any alcohol lest he remember their time in the windmill.

He had seen less and less of Carl in the three month since their return electing, instead, to spend whatever time he could in his cell, staring at her photo and running over in his mind the many different scenarios of Anna's death, each one portraying the many ways he could've saved her. He shouldn't have allowed her to come. He should've made her stay at her home. Shouldn't have even involved her. Then, maybe, she'd be alive right now. Looking at Carl now just drove home that Anna was never coming back.

A knock on his door broke him of his reverie. He grunted, giving whoever knocked permission to enter. Telling any of the numerous priests, Buddhist monks, or anyone of the other denominations that were running around, to go away just didn't work. They usually came in anyway with information, or a request to meet the Cardinal somewhere.

The door opened slowly and Carl's head peeped around the door, Van Helsing quickly shoved the picture under the pillow. The monk's blue eyes settled on him for a moment. "Oh good, you're here! I was hoping to talk to you about something."

The friar stood in the doorway looking sheepish and guilty, probably having seen his none to discreet disposal of the picture. Van Helsing watched him in silence for a moment or two, studying the blonde's looks. His face seemed worn, his eyes were red as if he'd been crying. His hair was a mess, but this was Carl and that was typical of the absent-minded Friar. The helmet contraption he usually wore when working was perched precariously under one arm the goggles bumping into his shoulder. Van Helsing finally sighed. "Are you going to come in and tell me what it is you want or just stand there all night?"

Carl seemed confused for a second then he jumped into action as he stepped father into the room and shut the door behind him. "Oh right! Sorry, I was just a bit distracted is all."

"I'm sure." Van Helsing replied sitting up and leaning over the edge of the bed. "And?"

Carl pursed his lips, looking undecided and nervous, both very Carlish reactions in these types of situations, which meant he brought bad news. Van Helsing frowned. "Don't tell me they want to send me out now…"

"No…no that's not it." Carl replied hastily, his eyes staring at the pillow where Anna's picture was hidden. "It's…well…I feel we need to discuss some things."

Van Helsing instantly grew suspicious, it wasn't like Carl to act so nervous and indecisive if he was going to discuss something. He was always more than ready to jump in and talk if the discussion involved something he knew a lot about, or he had an opinion on. That was obviously not the case here, whatever the friar had come to talk about was not something Van Helsing was going to enjoy. "Like what?"

"You know very well what!" Carl regained himself and snapped motioning to the pillow and it's hidden treasure. "You've been obsessing for three months now! She's dead, can't you accept that? She's dead and she's never coming back!" Suddenly, his eyes widened comically as his hand flew to his mouth. Van Helsing straightened up, giving the friar a scathing glare. Carl, smartly, backpedaled toward the door muttering apologies. "I-I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I didn't mean it to sound like that…"

He sounded frightened of what the hunter might do to him, and admittedly the brunet was envisioning several painful ways of killing Carl, but he'd never attempt any of them. Carl was too good a person to do that to, he just had a problem with being too blunt some times. Well that and assuming you were stupid, he had a bad habit of doing that too. Seeing as how he hadn't yet leapt off the bed to strangle the life out of him, the friar straightened up and tried again. "Wh-what I meant to say was, you've been mourning her for three months now…don't you think it's time to move on?"

That wasn't much better phrased but it would have to do. Van Helsing sighed deeply, having known that Carl would eventually come to him for this very purpose. He was being rather obvious about his loss of Anna, but it was his fault she died. It was because he couldn't control the werewolf that she was killed. It was his fault, he was a murderer after all.

"It wasn't your fault you know." Carl said not daring to move from his place against the wall just yet.

"Yes it was." Van Helsing replied dully. "If I had just been able to control the werewolf inside of me for a few more seconds she would've lived."

"You couldn't have controlled it." Carl argued receiving another look, one he ignored this time. "In the thousands of years of recorded history no one has been able to control the werewolf past the final stroke of midnight on their first transformation. What makes you think that you're any different?"

Van Helsing didn't reply, couldn't really, and Carl pressed his advantage taking a step forward. "Did it ever occur to you that it might have been someone else's fault entirely?"

"Like whose?" Van Helsing eyed the blonde, who decided to look away from him at that moment.

"Mine." The reply was a barely audible whisper mumbled into the man's shoulder. Only because Van Helsing's hearing was sharper than average now was he able to pick it up. He stared open mouthed at the inventor as he slowly peeked at him out of the corner of his eye. "It's my fault Anna died."

"H-how-?" Van Helsing sputtered at a loss for words. Carl blamed himself for her death? But it couldn't have been his fault. He wasn't there when Anna died, he arrived after. How, then, could it be his fault?

"I was the one who should've died." Carl was looking away from him again, but the tears were still clearly heard in his voice. "It should've been me."

"Carl!" Van Helsing's eyes were wide, his voice disbelieving. "What are you saying?"

"I was selfish." Carl continued almost ignoring the other man. "I couldn't face death, not like that, not from you. So…so I let Anna take my place. I should've been the one to take the syringe to you but I let Anna do it, so I wouldn't be killed by you. I let an innocent die because I didn't want to. For the love of God Van Helsing, I'm not a field man! I don't face death everyday like you. Thinking that I might actually die, it just…it frightened me. I'm a scientist for chrissake, how could I possibly hope to stand up to a werewolf, alone and armed with only a syringe? Hope the needle was silver and that you were slow? No, I let myself get distracted by that bridge on purpose. I didn't want to face you, so I let Anna do it for me. I saved her life just to turn around and send her to her death. All because I couldn't bare to face you if I failed to get there on time. I couldn't bare the see the bloodlust in your eyes as you leapt at me to rip out my jugular with your teeth. I'm a coward. It's not your fault, Van Helsing, it's mine. I'm going to be damned for all eternity. It's my fault. Mine."

He stopped suddenly, sliding down the wall drained of all his anger. Van Helsing just stared at him in shock as the friar slowly crossed himself and began to mutter one of the many prayers he knew to himself. He had never realized Carl felt that way. He had never thought about it that way either. It was Carl's fault, he could see that now. It was Carl's fault his love was dead. He glanced away from the form almost sobbing on the floor. It was Carl's fault he would never see Anna again.

"Out." He whispered quietly to the far wall. Carl glanced up mid-prayer looking scared. "Get out."

"I-" He started but Van Helsing cut him off.

"I said get out Carl." He left no room for argument and for a moment Carl looked stricken. Van Helsing glanced away unable to stand seeing the friar any more. Not without seeing her dead face floating before him.

"Alright…I'll go." Carl slowly stood up drawing the hunters gaze again. Their eyes met and Van Helsing saw how dead the friars eyes looked, they reminded him of hers, only a different. His voice was as dull as his glassy blue eyes. "You wish now that our places were switched don't you. That I had died and Anna lived."

It wasn't a question but a statement of the facts, Van Helsing didn't argue. Carl moved slowly, as if the movement pained him, opening the door and starting out. He stopped one hand on the knob, ready to close the door, and glanced back. "I should've died that day Van Helsing. Maybe it's God's will that what was started is finished. Goodbye…"

With that he left, slowly shutting the door as quietly as he had opened it. Van Helsing stared at the door for a long time before his gaze slowly drifted to the pillow. He slid his hand underneath and pulled the precious picture out again. He held it in both hands as he stared at it. She was looking back, not smiling, but looking directly into his soul. Boring deep until she knew all of his secrets. Only she would never know any of his secrets now and she'd never be able to share any of hers with him. Because Carl was a coward, because he couldn't face death.

It wasn't his place. An inner voice argued with him. He couldn't be expected to react to the situation the same as you, it was his first time being exposed to something like that.

Yes, but because of his inexperience Anna died. Van Helsing argued back staring fixedly at the picture. It was because of Carl's cowardice that he lost his one chance of love.

And it's because of you're anger that you're about to loose something else. The voice responded and Van Helsing frowned, furrowing his brows. The voice sounded different than his own, but for the life of him he couldn't place it. Does Carl's friendship mean so little to you, Mr. Van Helsing?

Van Helsing stared at the picture. Friendship? Is that what friends did? Let the one true love of a man's life die to save their own hide? Is that a friend? If it was, then Van Helsing was sure of one thing, Carl's friendship didn't mean a damn thing to him. Carl himself had said so, he wasn't worth being friends with. He was a coward.

Did he not help you when it mattered? Was it not him who figured out how to defeat Dracula? Was he not prepared to risk his life to kill you, if you weren't cured in time? Is he really a coward?

Van Helsing frowned wishing the inner voice would just shut the hell up. He laid himself back on the bed placing the picture underneath the pillow again. He blew out the candle that lit the room ready to go to sleep. The last thought the exhausted hunter had was a bit cruel. He prayed that Carl would be damned for all eternity.

What happens if he dies? The voice pestered and Van Helsing groaned, rolling over. How would you feel if he dies tonight, eh? You'd like that wouldn't you? To have the last remaining link between you and your humanity severed. Don't you remember how good it felt to be able to smile so freely around him? To be able to tease him, and not risk being reprimanded?

"I don't care anymore." Van Helsing muttered into the pillow.