Sanctuary to the Lost and Damned

Chapter 27 : The Mystery Letter

69696969696969696969696969

AN: Sorry for taking so long to update. I've been busy, so I haven't been able to.

Thank you for all you who are still interested in the story and have given me reviews. They really do help.

Please leave more. :)

69696969696969696969696969

Warsaw, Poland

The prodigy Doctor sat on the floor alone in a lab surrounded by blackboards full of bits of data and fragments of mathematical equations.

His finger trapped between his teeth as one might have expected a dog to do to a man, not a man to himself. Especially, a man of his intelligence. This was a clear sign of stress for the man who had no so long ago left his native land of Germany to study the object of his obsession.

'She' was strung up across from him like some sort of scientific savor.

His mind was filled with so many questions for which he simply had no viable solutions, no answers to satisfy his inquisitive mind. Worse yet he had no equation, thus no way to solve these questions. He had been scribing what he knew of 'her' on the black boards, erasing that, scribing more, erasing that, in a cycle which continued quiet a while until he finally sat down on the floor in contemplation. (What ,when, why, and how; all began his mussing on 'her'. No answer and nowhere productive to start.) He knew who 'she' had been, but she had evolved passed that point to become...where that was partly what intrigued the doctor so greatly; what had 'she' become?

What was possibly troubling for him were the words of a female werewolf by the name of Siobhan

Schrödinger. "'she' spoke to me".

Could it be, he wondered, that she was more than a corpse acting as carrier of true monstrosity? Could she be aware? If she truly did speak to the female werewolf after so many years why then? Why say nothing for so long? As much as he wanted to doubt the werewolf, he wanted more for her to truly have a presence. There was so much he could learn from her in her present state, but he knew that there would be vastly more data to be collected from 'her' if 'she' was aware and communicative.

"Hallo. Mein Name ist Alan Napier. Ich bin Arzt und ich helfen kann. Der Annahme, dass ..... Ich bin nicht verrückt ..." he said in his native language muttering the last part.(1) He wondered if he really was crazy. He was, as far as he knew, talking to an empty shell.

The doctor then paused for a response. Though he had greeted her several time that night he had always done so in his native language. It occurred to him, embarrassingly, for the first time that night, her native language was not his. For the first time he wondered if she knew German. He did know that she spoke English, so if he had any hope of communication it would be through that language. "Hello. My name is Doktor Napier. I can help you."

There was no response from the motionless figure.

But had he truly expected one? He wanted some sort of response, but as far as he had ever learned 'she' was dead, well not completely as she, in the beginning had been known to thrash around. The Doctor had attributed this to the curse. In the doctor's mind she had previously been, not alive, but animated. Could there really be someone...something still upstairs; Could the mechanic of her mind still function; could she be aware?

Maybe if he quested her on personal matters...

"Do you have any sister's? Or brothers?"

There was no answer from the still figure.

"I have a brother," the doctor started, " His name is Johann. He's in school to become a doctor as well."

The doctor's mind ventured backward in time.

He remembered one clear summer night, he lay with his younger brother under a starry sky.

"Alan?" a younger blond boy sat up.

"Yes, " he replied shifting his weight on the soft grass. To face his brother.

"Do you need to leave tomorrow?"

He frowned. "Yes. That's when the train leaves ...and I need to get settled into my room before my classes start again."

"I know, but...Couldn't you stay a day for two?" his brother said looking over at his bare-feet. He had a pair of shoes at home, much more worn than the ones his brother was currently wearing, but he didn't want to wear them anymore than he needed to because, while his big brother had only to ask, he would not be given a new pair for a long while.

Alan, the first born, the genus, was the favorite child. Recognized as a genus before Johann had even been thought of. As such he had been pampered by his parents who watched over him with an inflated sense of pride indirectly taking credit for all Alan's accomplishments. They were so proud of their son, and themselves for making such a child. They thought that he was destined to become the next great thing for Germany. The next Robert Koch, Max Planck, or Daniel Gabriel Fahrenheit.(2) And he did not disappoint them.

When his brother was born and it was discovered that he was not the genus his brother was, he had instantly become a second-class son in his parent's eyes. They should have been happy to have a healthy little boy, but after Alan their standards were heightened, and there was little pride for them in having an ordinary boy.

Though at times Johann felt jealous, but as he aged a bit he understood that Alan had never demanded the special treatment he received over his brother, it was just given.

The boy, seven years his junior, started to wiggle his toes while he continued to stare at his feet.

"I don't like it when you leave." he told his big brother.

The older boy was not blind to the uneven distribution of love and affection given by their parents to the two brothers. He knew that his brother had to endure his parent's constant reminders of what their parents considered his inadequacies as a son, mainly his average intelligence and lack of extraordinary talent. Ironically Johann shared these inadequacies with their parents who were just as average as their youngest child. Nevertheless, they regarded him as second, sometimes even third-rate person who simply took up space in their family portrait; And they had told him so on numerous occasions.

He was largely ignored and when he returned home from school beaten-up by bullies, he was met not with concern, but apathy.

When his brother was home for holidays for between his semesters things were different. It was like he became visible to the family, dimly so, but still he existed. Better yet, Alan had always listened to him when he spoke whereas their parents just tuned him out. Despite living with his parents the entire time, Alan had really been more of a parent to Johann than even their parents were. When the little boy had troubles he wrote to his brother, called him some times on the telephone even. It was always Alan there to offer him guidance.

"I know," Alan sighed, "when I've graduated, Maybe you could live with me. I'll get a house somewhere in Münich or Hamburg." He had always wanted to live in a big city, not one as big as Berlin, which was why he favored those two cities.

The boy smiled. He turned to face the sky again. "when you get the Nobel Prize, can I come to the ceremony." Johann had heard his parents talk about how confident that Alan would earn such a distinguishing award so many times he considered it fact rather than a possibility. He had asked this question to his parents once; they had told him that he'd need to stay at home ...to watch the cat. Though young, he understood that the cat didn't need to be watched, especially since it was an outdoor cat, and that this excuse was just one to keep him from public image of the Napier family.

"Of course you can." Alan told his younger brother.

When Alan had earned his credentials, he was quick to learn the difference between reality and fantasy. The reality of the world was that someone his age was simply qualified as a student to medicine and science, not one well-educated in the field. So when he had tried to get a job, he was bared on the grounds of inexperience. In other words he was too young for his station, and not able to command any respect because of it.

Another reality for him was the economic state of his country, which had been in an economic downturn since the end of the last war. The currency of his country had become hyper-inflated, foreign trade (a major source of revenue for the country) had drastically decreased and then there was the Treaty of Versailles, which required his country to pay the entire cost of the last war.

Most of the people he knew were flat broke with unemployment being the highest it had even been. Then things got worse. The Global depression hit. Alan was fortunate to have gotten a job with so many in such need job. He had owed that to his father who called in a favor from an old friend. He had worked as a junior cook in a mid-sized restaurant in downtown Münich. I wasn't what he had pictured, but He had developed a taste for cooking, which was far closer to science than he would have ever imagined. More importantly it paid the bills.

It hadn't been until he had met a teenager of the name Montana Max that his life became much more interesting.

His thoughts returned to the present.

"If you can speak; please do." he addressed the still figure.

There was silence.

The doctor did hear a sound come from behind him as the door to this lab opened.

A soldier entered. Confused, He looked around for a moment.

"What is it!" he growled at this person.

"Oh..It's you...I'm sorry Herr Doktor...I thought...I heard the language of the enemy...and...."

The doctor knew what this soldier much have though when he hear someone speaking English behind the door to a restricted laboratory. Betrayal. Espionage. a saboteur.

But he didn't care. "Do I look like the enemy?" he asked with an edge in his voice.

"No...-"

"Then carry on, soldier!" He stressed the word soldier, treating it like an insult because he took pride in the knowledge that while these men in uniforms, if they should fall, would always have someone to fill their spot on the battlefield, whereas he was invaluable to this new project.

"Have you been here all night?" The soldier questioned suspiciously.

"all...night...? What time is it?"

"almost 7... in the morning, Doktor"

"….7...." it had been a quarter-past 9 in the evening when he had first entered the room.

"Sir," the soldier took another look around the room, still a bit confused, "...are you alone?"

"Carry on, soldier."

"It's just that I heard you talking to someone and-"

"I told you to Get out. Soldier!"

"Yes, sir!" The soldier replayed.

The doctor listened to the door close behind him. He was sure that the soldier would later tell his friends in the mess hall or somewhere that the odd doctor had been talking to the corpse or possible to himself. In truth the Doctor knew that their was an equal likelihood that he could be doing both. He didn't care. If 'she' was just an empty container then whatever the soldier told his buddies would only strengthen their opinion of him, but If what Siobhan said was true, and she had some awareness.

That would make things so much more interesting.

69696969696969696969696969

Southern Italy

*Knock, knock* silence *Knock, knock.*

A large blond haired man, waited patiently outside the room for permission to enter the office of an elderly man. The old man had promised to meet with him. The blond was sure that this was the correct day and well, he was a few minutes late, but that shouldn't...

Then a frightening thought appeared in the large man's mind. What if something happened to the old man. He knew the man had his share of health problems. He could be in there unconscious...or dead.

With various scenarios are death and injury circling in his mind, the blond man felt he could not longer wait for the old man to respond to him. He did not think he could forgive himself if the elderly man were laying on the floor or slumped over his desk dying, while he waited outside the door.

He stepped back all the way to the wall on the other side of the hallway before ramming his entire body weight against the door. It didn't budge. He did it again and again. The lock broke.

The tall man immediately moved towards the old man's desk and proceeded to check the floor for the old man.

There was no body, dead or otherwise incapacitated on the floor. There was no one in the room at all.

The large man looked towards the broken door behind him. He knew that he'd have to replace that, but how he would do this is wasn't sure when he'd be able. He had very recently lost his job.

He bent over resting his elbows on the old man's desk. His one hand covering his forehead. His eyes closed he began to wonder how much repairing this man's door would cost and how long it would be before he could get the money.

He opened his eyes. Below him, in a book, was an image of something...it was some sort of human chimera...it had the wings of a bat...the teeth of a dog and it had crimson eyes. Most interesting to the blond man was what the human-like being was doing. It had a human woman in it's beastly grip. It's head was tilted across the human's neck. It was kissing her-no...it was biting her!

The blond man's fingers traced the words below the drawing: Nosferatu.

"Nos- fur– ah- two" he mouthed.

"What was this?" He wondered aloud. He picked up the book to get a closer look. It was a thick book. Heavy to most, but as an ex-laborer and generally a large guy, he barely noticed. While using his thumb as a bookmark, He turned the book over.

It read: Special Division 13, Vol 1

'Special division....13....' He turned his attention back to the creature. Nosferatu....wasn't that...He was sure that was the title of some picture-show. Vincent, one of his friends, had told him of it. It was about a blood-sucking, undead creature who pursued a young attractive woman.

That did seem to be what was being depicted in the image...but did this really belong to the old man? In the short time he'd known the man, he had never known him to be interested in fantasy or adventure books...But this...It looked like a reference book, not a work of fiction.

There was writing in the page next to it. He skimmed through the information about this creature, focuses more on the underlined sections. Must invite them in...equipment must be blessed...nocturnal...transform into wolf, bats or other wild animals....gather servants to do work in daytime...supernatural strength...

He turned the page and skimmed the important information. Flipped to the next page. He did that again. And again. He turned a great deal of pages until he got to another section. He skimmed over that too. He flipped until he came to the illustration of the wolf-man. Below appeared the word: lycanthrope.

It was Covered in dark fur, the half-human, half-wolf, creature held a pose of standing on hind-legs, howling at the moon. In the nearby bushes others were also depicted. The the left one was on the ground biting it's human victim. Werewolves...He was sure he'd seen a few picture-show with werewolves too.

Wolf-men?...what was this some sort of encyclopedia of movie monsters. What was next, Zombies. He flipped to the next section. He didn't read the information, just skipped to the illustration. It showed what looked to be animated corpses, some in later stages of decomposition, chasing a young man. The words below read: Ghouls. Not knowing the difference between ghouls and zombies he took them to be the same.

Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed something which had been underneath the book. It was an opened envelope. On it was a red wax seal. He read the word Iscariot and the roman numeral 13.

Iscariot? The betrayer of Christ? 13?....Judas Iscariot had been one of Jesus followers. But If memory served him there were only 12 disciples...what did the 13 mean? and why was the betrayer's name used for....what ever that was about. why would the old man have such a book either...He was always telling the younger man about how silly some of the superstitions he shared with his friends were. He had always struck the blond man as very down to earth. What he saw in that book, he was sure, was the product of a dysfunctional mind. One had to be mad to believe such ridiculous things. Was the old man mad? Or could it be...No these things couldn't exist.

The blond man did not turn around when he heard the sound of the creaking, broken door behind him slowly open on one and part of another hinge. He knew that it was probably the priest returning from...somewhere. He knew that he'd need to explain why he had forced his way in, but currently he was too transfixed by the page before him. It seemed like fiction, but read like truth.

"Why are you here, child?" the voice inquired.

He identified the voice to belong to the old man he was to visit. "I'm sorry, father, but I knocked on the door, and when no one answered I, ...I feared the worst." The blond man explained in a Scottish accent.

The old man stood beside the much larger man. He saw instantly what the blond man had noticed to be on his desk. He slowly closed the book and pulled the letter into his coat pocket.

"You should forget about seeing these things."

"What was that creature? A Nosferatu? A lycanthrope? ghouls? I don't understand. I thought such creatures were only in foolish folklore."

"For get you saw this and please do not speak of this again to me or anyone. Now why you were here?"

"it's about last Sunday..."

"What about it?"

"You spoke about repentance for past wrongs. If you....If a man gets drunk and doesn't remember the sins he commits...does his soul still suffer for doing them?..."

"Or if a man wakes to find himself in the ward of the hospital with no memories of his past." The old man sighed. "God does not punish people for the sake of punishment. The actions of sin are destructive to your immortal soul. I do not believe that anyone would be barred from entrance into heaven on issue of memory. There are those who can not hear, but if they listen they can hear God speak to them. Those who can not speak can still confess to the world their transgressions. You must understand Alexander, More important than the confession to a priest is the confession to oneself; and the resolution to prevent such transgressions from happening again. Do you understand?"

Alexander nodded his head. He understood this to mean that redemption was of greater importance than simply forgiveness. He still stood there. This put to rest the question of his salvation, at least up to that moment.

"I know that you have many questions. You have told me that you frequently read from the bible, Perhaps if you attended church every week you maybe able to hear his voice. Or maybe you will someday learn to how listen. " The old man placed his hand on the blond man's shoulder. "When I first met you I told you to have faith and only then would you be finally able to listen. You are still having some trouble with faith aren't you?"

"Aye." Alexander admitted, " I want to believe. I really do, but I need proof." the blond man explained sadly.

"What proof do I have that you exist? What proof do I have you you existed 2 years ago? What proof would I have that you ever existed if you disappeared?" the priest questioned.

"You would know."

"Perhaps you are just a dream, thought up by some sleeping boy. Perhaps we all are. "

"I know that I exist."

I know that you exist, Alexander. The same way that I know that God exists. Since I can not prove that we do not exist as part of someone's dream, I must have faith that we are indeed real. Faith is not something that can be taught. It must be learned and experienced. I can guide you, but Only you know the road that shall lead you and and only you have the will to get yourself there."

Alexander nodded his head in contemplation. He was sure he knew what the priest was trying to tell him. "Thank you father."

"You are most welcome, son."

'Uhhh" Alexander said as he faced the door to leave. He had forgotten about damaging the wooden door. "I'll get this door fixed...when I can..." Alexander assured him, feeling quite embarrassed.

"I do not blame you for having concern over the fellow man. And they do say that patience is a virtue. So I trust that you will." Alexander didn't move any farther toward the door. "was there something else child?"

"uh. Father....about that book...I mean there aren't really vampires and werewolves and zombies....", he chuckled. Then abruptly stopped. "....Are there...?"

"I'll see you on Sunday." the old man showed him out the damaged door.

Alexander stood outside the door gauging the reaction of the priest. The old man had neither confirmed nor denied the existence of such creatures. This concerned the rational man.

69696969696969696969696969

England: Hellsing Manor

Walter strode through the halls of Hellsing manor looking for the elderly butler.

Barely noticing that most of the other servant moved clear away from him as though he carried some communicable disease.

He stopped as his gaze fell upon a large painting hanging on the wall.

The scene depicted a battle of grand proportions. There were men dressed in armor, horses, swordsmen, archers. There was blood and gore and so much blood.....so much blood....Walter stared at the bloody image in a kind of trance-like state.

Walter was brought out of his trance by the sound of light footsteps. Though these would normally have gone unnoticed; He had always had a keen sense of hearing.

"Is that him?" questioned a ginger child hiding behind a nearby wall. "why is he just staring at that painting?"

"not so loud!." a second child shushed him. In a much quieter voice.

"...maybe all freaks do that." the ginger suggested.

"Do you think that...I heard that he was really old. Maybe he was there." the boy said to his companion emphasizing the words old and there.

"Nothing's that old."

Walter to turned to face them. Their hearts sped up with fear, pumping blood ever faster to the rest of the bodies. Walter was aware of this blood flow, but thought little of it. The look in their eyes told him enough.

"It's seen us. RUN!!"

Both boys ran left and out of sight.

Walter stood there, eyes half lidded.

'Great' he thought, 'now the kids know.' that pretty much shot down any possibility of him befriending them. Oh, well. He didn't need them anyhow. He told himself. He had been completely friendless when he had lived with the priest, had survived just fine.

Walter turned back briefly to the painting. He suddenly couldn't recall it ever being there, which was strange given his memory.

He continued on his way.

After much searching he found the old man in the servant's kitchen sorting letter.

"Ah Walter." he exclaimed. "I was wonder where you have been. I haven't seen you since yesterday."

Walter had been hiding himself from Arthur and the rest of the staff, especially Alucard, for the past couple of weeks. He might have avoided them even longer if not for expressed concern by Alfred the previous day.

"I've been around..."

Alfred said nothing hoping the boy boy would tell him, in his own time, what had been bothering him lately.

"Would you care to help me here."

Walter made no objections as he took a few letters and sorted them with Alfred's instructions.

Nearing the bottom of his pile he found a small envelope addressed to 'Hellsing'. All the bills have been addressed to Sir. Arthur Hellsing, but this one could have belonged to anyone with that surname living in the household. He could have even been intended for young Richard.

Not knowing where he was supposed to place it, he asked Alfred.

The old man smiled. "oh don't worry about that one. Just toss it in the garbage bin."

"But this is someone's mail..." The old butler could not really mean to discard someone's letter.

"it's fine Walter, no one here will miss it. It would be better if they stopped coming all together."

"letters like this come... a lot?"

"Oh yes. We've been getting letters like this for sometime. The first one came...1929 if memory serves me correct."

"1929...From who?" Walter asked.

"The person doesn't sign the bottom."

"you must have some idea who he is?"

"The letters are mailed from the towns in countries such as Austria, Switzerland, France...they are almost always from countries bordering Germany."

"A German? Why would some Kraut be sending letters here?" (3) Walter mused more so to himself. "what do they say. What's written inside."

"It doesn't matter, Walter. To open them in these dark days could be a crime in itself dear boy. Just throw it out. Neither Arthur nor anyone else here needs such trouble."

Walter didn't fully understand the complete ramifications of corresponding with a member of an enemy nation. Walter didn't know of Arthur's power within the round circle or how close he was to King George. He didn't know how letters coming from a German, even if it was an ordinary civilian, could be viewed as espionage. What he did know was that it would look very bad which would probably be destructive to the Hellsing Organization as a whole.

'Why would some Kraut be sending letters here?' he wonder again, this time in his own head. '1929...These letters have been coming since....before I was born....and someone's still sending them....Why?...why?'

Walter pretended to throw the letter out, but when the old butler wasn't looking, he quickly stuffed it into his pocket.

He wanted to know who would continue sending letters, even though no one had responded to any for many years. This letter, like the other was meant to be read. As a young boy, he was perhaps more foolish than he realized. He decided that he would read the mystery letter.

69696969696969696969696969

END of Ch 27

69696969696969696969696969

AN:

(1) – Translates "Hello. My name is Alan Napier. I'm a doctor and I can help. Assuming that ..... I'm not mad ... "

(2) - Koch - Heinrich Hermann Robert Koch was a German physician, who won the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for his tuberculosis findings in 1905. He developed the Koch postulates And is considered one of the founders of microbiology.

Planck - Max Planck was a German physicist. He is considered to be the founder of the quantum theory, and thus one of the most important physicists of the twentieth century. Planck was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1918.

Fahrenheit - Daniel Gabriel Fahrenheit was a German physicist and engineer who determined a temperature scale now named after him.

(3) – Kraut was an offensive term for Germans during this time period. It comes from the sauerkraut; a traditional food which many sailors ate to prevent scurvy.

69696969696969696969696969

Preview of the next chapter: The Black Widow from Pomerania

Oh how much she wanted a cigarette....just a puff....she would have given her first born son for one; that is if she hadn't killed the little guy. She smiled darkly. 'little fucker' she muttered as the evil smile grew.

69696969696969696969696969