He was sat outside, watching. The reflection of the moon rising from the car bonnet was the only indication of the time, of how long he had been avoiding going in, of facing the truth. Her house seemed so empty, so devoid of life. He gave a wry chuckle - it was only ever full of half life.

He pulled a hip flask out of his pocket, guzzling back the single malt it held. Whether it was for courage, addiction or thirst, he didn't know any more, but the ache he felt for the burn and sting of the whisky should have rang a dangerous bell.

He went for another gulp when a police car came into view. His hand dropped to his lap - splashing the liquid onto his dark grey trousers - as he watched the uniforms glideby, not casting a second glance to the classic silver mercedes parked across the street. He wasn't outside the police afterall, no matter how much effort he put into protecting the streets of the city.

When the car was sufficiently out of view, he swigged the flask again and, with a deep sigh, got out of the car.

The door slammed behind him, though the sound barely made an impact. His stubby fingers were fiddling with his keys, trying to find the one that Mina had given him. He slipped it into the lock - again wondering why hotels had those credit card things that never worked first time - smelling the spicy, warm aroma he had come to look forward too. Anything was better than the cat piss and stale cigarettes of his current abode.

"Mina?" he called, deep down knowing the effort was futile. He wiped a sweaty hand over his face and heaved another heavy sigh, flicking the hall light switch on.

He walked a familiar path to her kitchen, casting a glance into the living room. He stopped, staring at the dialysis machine that had always managed to keep her...human. What he wouldn't give, right now, to see that doped, spacey look on her face as her blood was cleansed of the impurities that now kept her away.

As he stepped into the kitchen, he spotted the bottle of whisky on the counter, a note propped against it.

She was never predictable, Mina Harker. Always a surprise. Though he didn't begin to understand how she would be able to write, he never underestimated for a minute that she was capable of anything.

He poured a dram of whisky, knocking it back before sliding a thick finger under the tab of the envelope.

He'd never seen her writing before, he realised, but it was exactly as he had imagined. Cursive, old. Not quite straight but perfectly legible and...pretty.

Rupert,

I had no other choice - forgive me.

Luke needs you, London needs Luke.

You know what you have to do.

Always love,

Mina.

In the fold of the letter he found a long dark strand of hair. "Oh Mina," he sighed.