The Origin of Dracula (34 page)

The clicking of paws slapping down on stone steps filled the narrow passage. Drakho was steadily making his way up the tower. This was the final move in our chess game. If I couldn’t ignite the dynamite, the game would end. And Nate would die.

The clatter of paws intensified, growing louder and faster.

Was telling Drakho his name still an option? It wasn’t. That was the sobering truth. I didn’t know his real name—his true identity. Sure, I knew the origin of the Dracula legend. And sure, I knew that Drakho was an ancient and supernatural being. And I knew that he was the Nightman. He was the creature behind every scary story ever told and behind every dark tale ever written. He was the vampire, the werewolf, the witch, the shape shifter, the ghost, and the devil. He was the supernatural reality behind them all.

And I knew that every civilization in every age told stories about this creature, because every one of us needs to be reminded that he exists. That he preys on us when he chooses. And that there are ways to fight him.

Stories tell you all you need to know.

It was time to write my own story.

And as soon as this truth crystallized in my mind, the inside wall of the tower flickered and softened. The stone was melting away, morphing.

Then the clicking of the paws stopped for a beat—as if Drakho was suddenly aware that
I
was writing the story.

This is where the dynamite is
, I thought, and I reached toward the morphing wall. My hand moved through the stone—and the tower disappeared.

I was standing under the ridge, in front of the dynamite, which was embedded in the fissure—just as I’d left it.

The paws started up again, clattering against the stone steps—which also still existed—more furiously and aggressively.

I pulled the ring from the mechanical match, lighting the fuse. I now had sixty seconds to get away from the detonation. I raced along the underside of the ridge, hoping to write a triumphant end to my story. I cleared the ridge, sprinted through the woods, and dove behind the cluster of boulders just as—

A deafening
KABOOM
filled the pass.

The explosion roared through the air like a sudden crack of thunder. The violent clap reverberated between the peaks, rumbling up and down the hillside. Then, as the echoing began to subside, the night was filled with sharp cracking and popping sounds.

The ridge was fracturing.

I peered over the cluster of boulders, my ears still ringing from the explosion, and saw the ridge disintegrating. As I watched, the sturdy monolith turned into a torrent of crumbling rocks, cascading into the pass below. A cloud of dust and debris rose up into the night, painting the entire vista gray.

Had Drakho been trapped under the collapsing ridge? There was no way to know for sure.

After the last big chunk of rock had dropped into the pass, I scanned the hillside looking for the ancient and supernatural being who had become my nemesis. The pale moonlight wasn’t strong enough to cut through the cloud of dust, so my view was obscured. But my view
wasn’t
obscured by some strange vision—and that was a good sign.

I moved around the boulders and stared at the ashen night vista, almost daring Drakho to attack me if he was still alive.

After a few minutes, during which the dust cloud cleared enough for me to see more of the forest, I spotted Otranto.

She was above me, where the ridge had stood. She was looking down, and in the moonlight I saw that her eyes were green pools of sorrow—a sorrow I recognized. I’d seen it in my own eyes whenever I’d looked in a mirror after Lucy’s death. It was a sorrow reserved for grief.

Drakho was dead.

I took off, running toward the trail.

As I drove back to the suburbs, my heart was heavy. Heavy with grief. For Harry, for Lee, and always for Lucy. But this wasn’t the grief of overwhelming hopelessness—the grief I’d carried since Lucy’s death. This was the grief of acceptance. A grief that lived in my heart—but didn’t take over. There was room for Nate and for whatever else came my way. I’d had to be driven out of my cave to understand this, to feel this. And I’d had to be forced to see that novel therapy was the way out of that cave.

It had saved Nate, and it had saved me.

But there was no way of getting around the tragedy of
how
everything had played out. There was no sugarcoating the randomness of it. That a lone camping trip I’d taken as a child—a trip I could just as easily not have taken—had hung over my life for decades, and had then pounced. A random game of hide-and-seek. A game that had taken Lucy from me and left a sadness in my heart that would stay forever.

Still, there was comfort in accepting the randomness. The randomness that was
life
.

I arrived in Arlington a couple of hours before dawn, too early to head to Jenna’s to see Nate. So I pulled into the parking structure at the Ballston Common Mall, parked my car, reclined my seat, and fell sleep almost instantly.

The light of dawn that crept into the structure didn’t wake me. And the beehive of activity that overtook the mall—the human swarm that Drakho had feared would take over his homeland—didn’t descend until ten o’clock on Sundays. So I finally opened my eyes a little after nine, awakened by the arrival of the mall’s employees.

I drove over to Jenna’s.

She was making breakfast for Nate, and as soon as she let me into the townhouse, Nate raced up to me and hugged me. I held him tightly, and when he was ready to move on, I didn’t let go. I kept him wrapped in my embrace. Then, against my will, tears welled up in my eyes.

I tried to turn away from Jenna, but she saw the tears and looked me over carefully. I hadn’t thought about my appearance until right then—unshaven, unkempt, and disheveled. Hopefully—even though she’d seen me almost break down when she’d brought up Lucy on Friday—she knew me well enough to dismiss the thought that I’d gone off on an alcoholic or drug-fueled binge in an attempt to bury my sorrow.

I let go of Nate before the tears fell from my eyes.

“Dad—did you pick up the birthday cake?” he said, eager for the day to get started.

“Ah—no, not yet.” I wiped my eyes.

“Can I come with you to pick it up?”

“… Let’s see how the day goes first.”

“Okay, but I can go, right?”

Before I handed out another vague answer, Jenna interrupted in an attempt to help me out. “Go on back into the kitchen and finish your breakfast, sweetheart, and then we’ll figure out what’s next.”

Nate glanced at her, then back at me, looking for guidance.

“I’ll be right there, honey,” I said. “Let me talk to Jenna for a minute.”

“Okay.” Nate raced back into the kitchen.

Jenna stared at me, and neither of us said a word for what seemed like an eternity. She had a soft expression on her face, curiosity mixed with compassion.
If you want to talk, I can listen
, she was saying.
But if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay, too
. This was the empathy that made her a great nurse.

I felt warmth in my eyes. It was the tears returning, and I fought them back.

“There isn’t going to be a birthday party,” I said.

“What?”

“My house is gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“There was a fire. It… it destroyed everything.”

Her brow furrowed as if she was having a hard time registering what I’d just said, and then her eyes widened. “Oh my God, John—what happened?”

“I don’t know. But the entire place went up in flames.”

She instinctually hugged me. “I’m so sorry.”

I accepted her hug, but I didn’t hold on long for fear of giving in to the urge to tell her everything. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell Nate,” I said. “I should probably just stick to telling him the party’s not going to happen. That’s enough bad news for one day.”

“It’s all he’s been talking about,” she said. “He’s going to be crushed.”

She and I stared at each other, and again I had the urge to tell her everything. But I knew that I’d never be able to tell her any of it, much less all of it. Not her, not anyone else. That’s the way this worked. Even if Jenna listened, and I was sure she’d be a sympathetic listener, she wouldn’t believe it. No one would. They’d think my grief had gotten the best of me.

I had written my own story, but there was no one to whom I could tell it. At least, that’s what I was thinking then. I hadn’t yet understood how my story fit in with the other stories.

“Let’s have the party here,” Jenna said. She was focused on solutions.

“You’re kidding.”

“Why not? Just tell everyone to come here instead of your place.”

“I canceled it already.”

“So? Call everyone. Tell them it’s back on, but it’s here. I’m sure a good number of them can still make it.”

That sent a wave of joy through me. It felt as warm as the tears had felt, but without the sting.

Jenna and I joined Nate in the kitchen, and I told him we’d pick up the cake together after he finished breakfast. He was excited and started talking about the magician. Remembering that I’d canceled him, I excused myself and called him. He was still available and gladly agreed to come.

After breakfast, while Nate got dressed, I called the parents of the kids who’d been invited to the party and told them it was back on, then gave them Jenna’s address. Everyone said they could make it.

Then I told Nate the party would be at Jenna’s place because we’d had a gas leak. I wasn’t ready to tell him he’d lost his home. At first, he wasn’t okay with the sudden change of venue, but within two hours, he was so swept up in the whirlwind of preparation—from gathering the party supplies to getting the townhouse decorated—that he was more than on board. In fact, he was excited that Jenna was going to be part of the fun.

The party was a success. Full of laughter, games, and oohing and aahing over the magic show. Nate had a blast. But the best part came after all the kids had gone home and Jenna and I had finished cleaning up.

I walked into Nate’s room and found him lying on the floor, exhausted. He was using the little energy he had left to examine one of his birthday presents: a three-dimensional maze game called the Perplexus. “The most challenging game on Earth,” it had said on the box, and I couldn’t help but think of Drakho.

I sat down on the floor next to Nate, ready to tell him he’d be spending the night at Jenna’s again. She’d offered to let us both stay until I found another place. My insurance company had arranged for a hotel until we found temporary housing, but I thought it’d be better for Nate to spend a few more nights at Jenna’s before that transition. Plus, I still hadn’t told him what had happened to our house.

“That was a great party, Dad.” Nate’s eyes were focused on the Perplexus.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“I’m glad we had the party over here.”

“Me too.”

“Mom would’ve liked it.”

“She sure would’ve.”

Nate took his eyes off the Perplexus and looked at me. “Things are getting better,” he said. His eyes shone with truth.

I was taken aback by his raw honesty. And I almost hid my reaction—but then I stopped myself and opened up instead. “They are. And they have been. And I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.” I kissed him on the forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.” He handed me the Perplexus. “You try it.”

I tried it, and he gave me some pointers. We handed it back and forth until he was so exhausted, he actually volunteered to go to bed. I followed suit and slept on Jenna’s couch that night. My sleep was deep and overwhelming, like I’d been knocked out. No tossing, no turning, no dreams—but no fears, either.

The next morning, I drove Nate to school, then headed to work. On the way, I began to wonder if I’d really made it out of the woods. But soon enough, the normalcy of the drive to the Cherrydale Public Library convinced me that I had. I’d played Drakho’s game and had saved Nate’s life. Sunday had come and gone, and my son was still alive.

It wasn’t until I was in the library that this sense of normalcy took a hit. When I passed the display on Virginia history and saw the empty space where
The Forest
had once been, uneasiness crept over me. That small void—where the book should have been—was a reminder that the other world was right here, waiting to reveal itself.

The next day, I brought the copy of
The Forest
back and surreptitiously placed it back in its spot. But there were still some loose ends.

The local media had reported Lee’s death, and both the local and national media had run stories on the explosion deep in the Shenandoah Valley, where a mutilated body had been found. But so far no report had connected Harry and Lee, though undoubtedly the police had already identified them as uncle and nephew. I had no idea what theory the police would come up with to tie the murders together, but one thing was certain: it wouldn’t involve Drakho. He was the stuff of fiction.

The loose end I was most worried about was the generator. It tied me to Harry’s death. I had rented it and never returned it. I’d been smart enough to pay in cash and use a fake name for the rental, but there was still a chance the police could trace it back to me. Maybe the surveillance cameras at Home Depot had taped the transaction or caught a glimpse of my car. Maybe the cashier or the clerk who’d shown me how to work the generator remembered me well enough to give the police a good description.

The rest of that first week back, I pored over news items related to Lee’s and Harry’s deaths, trying to determine what the police knew. And in case an officer showed up on my doorstep asking about the generator, I tried to work out a decent explanation for how it had ended up in the Shenandoah Valley at the scene of a crime.

I settled on a relatively simple explanation: I’d rented it for Nate’s birthday party and it’d been stolen. Of course, this explanation still had a hole in it. Why did I need the generator for the party? I was leaning toward saying I’d rented it to go along with one of those bouncers. Of course, there was no record that I’d rented a bouncer, and why would I rent a bouncer without an operator who’d bring his or her own generator?