Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Stray Dog ❯ Stalker ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: Hellsing and all of its characters belong to Kouta Hirano, not to me. I am not making any money off of this piece of fanfiction.

 

Author's notes: Thanks so much for the kind reviews on chapter 1; hope you guys continue to enjoy this!

 

 

Chapter 2: Stalker

 

“Amen.” Alexander murmured, crossing himself after a solemn prayer. His victims may have been the Devil's own servants, but as a priest, he felt it was his duty to pray for the souls he dispatched, so that the damned might see their sins and be cleansed by the holy light of Himself.

 

He bent to pick up one of his blades, no sense leaving it, when his ears pricked up at a noise, the faintest little feminine sigh. With a practiced air of nonchalance, he went about his business, emerald eyes casting about in hopes of catching a glimpse of his unknown companion.

 

Someone was watching him, had been watching him for the past several nights, he knew. He had first noticed the presence a little over a week past, while disposing of a pack of ghouls. A shadow had fallen and remained on him, lingering for the entire battle, creeping along after him, trailing for the entire night. Whoever, or whatever it was, was so careful, so subtle that he could easily have missed it, had he not mistakenly caught the first clue, and kept a watchful eye out for more. In fact, several times he had lost the presence, only to catch it again through careful observance.

 

*

 

Seras pulled open the flap of her bag, digging in for one of the spare blood-bags she carried with her. She bit into it, trying not to make too much noise with the crinkling plastic packet, and gave a small sigh as the rich liquid hit her tongue. Delicious.

 

*

 

So ye're a lass, are ye, night stalker? Alexander wondered to himself, hearing the soft exhale of breath. He pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose with one finger, as he stared into the darkness. Well tha' certainly makes this all interesting.

 

Who could she possibly be, this stalker of his? Had Iscariot sent someone to spy on him? Or maybe someone to kill him? As far as he knew, they had no one capable of handling him, but then again, it had turned out that he truly knew little of the mysterious Section XIII. Some female demon, perhaps, scouting out the competition? Someone related to the freak incidents? The possibilities were so many, and yet he could not conclusively strike any from his list.

 

Some sort of bloodthirsty admirer then? It would not be the first time a woman had lain indecent eyes on him. He chuckled at the idea and straightened up to his full height, making quite an impressive figure in the dark.

 

Up above, Seras heard the low laugh and turned her attention back to the rampaging priest. Was he on the move again?

 

“I dinna know who ye are, lass,” he called out into the darkness, a hint of mockery in his voice, “and I hate tae disappoint a lady. Yer attentions are most flattering,” at this, he chuckled, “but ye see, miss, I am a priest.”

 

High in her perch, the little vampire froze, not daring to move until she heard his footsteps fading away, desperately hoping they wouldn't come toward her. “Oh bloody hell.”

 

 

***

 

Anderson trudged wearily into the dark orphanage, skilfully sidestepping the various objects he knew were in his path. Small table beside the door; better not hit it, there was a lamp on top. He bypassed the standing coat rack; it was for visitors. Stairs to the right, doorway to the left, concerned nun dead ahead.

 

What?

 

“S…Sister, what are ye doing up so late?” He asked, mentally preparing himself to hear the very same question right back. She stared at him a moment, shrewd eyes taking in his scraggly appearance - stubbly chin, torn coat, splotched with mud and dirt - and wisely ignored it.

 

“I caught Isabelle wandering around again,” she said, turning away toward the kitchen. Anderson followed her, waiting with concern as she bustled about with a kettle. “Not but a half hour ago, I heard the front door slam and went to check what was going on. By the time I got there, the girl was halfway down the street, still in her night dress and slippers.” The kettle whistled, and she took the moment to collect her thoughts before continuing. “It was…” she set a steaming cup of tea before the dishevelled priest, “strange.” He sat up a little straighter, eyes narrowing as he strained to hear her next words. “I called and called, and she kept walking. I ran out to her, grabbed her little shoulders, but it was like…like she was looking right through me.” She took a sip, sighing as the searing liquid trickled down her throat. “I didn't know what to do, so I gave her a shake, and she snapped right out of it. Didn't know what was going on, poor thing.” Her eyes met his, and her hands clenched around her cup, knuckles white. “I'm worried.”

 

“Aye, it's probably no more than sleepwalkin'.” He replied lightly, after a tense moment. “She's a troubled wee lass. This sort o' thing happens. We'll have tae keep an eye on her.” He took a sip of his own tea, hoping to disguise the worry he knew must've shown on his face.

 

“Oh…yes, of course Father.” She smiled weakly, and he returned with a pitiful grin of his own. She didn't believe his lie, and he knew it. But she put on that brave face of hers, the one he could always count on her to wear, and he was grateful for it.

 

 

***

 

Seras shrieked as a blade flew past her head, striking the wall behind her with a dull “thwack.” She turned to see it, still wobbling with the force of its impact, embedded two inches into the concrete.

 

“Why, that bloody arsehole! That could have been my head!” She leapt quickly out of the way as another came streaming through the shadows. He had been playing this game of his ever since she had inadvertently given herself away, using spare seconds in battle to send a few bayonets, and an occasional barrage of bible pages, her way. Or at least what he guessed was her way. Once or twice he had been wrong, and with dire consequences for the neighbourhood strays.

 

Another bayonet came whizzing out of the darkness, slicing through her left thigh in a splatter of blood. She scrambled, limping, toward the edge of the roof and tumbled down an access ladder, all the while gritting her teeth against the pain. How she wished to rip out her pistol and bury a few bullets in the bastard! But she dared not, for the gun was Hellsing issue, complete with blessed silver bullets. No need to give away any more clues as to her identity. She had already dug herself quite a deep hole, just by letting him know she was there in the first place.

 

“Damn you, Integra.” She muttered to herself, trying to avoid a puddle of sludge while slipping around a corner. If it weren't for Hellsing's dire need of skilled personnel, she would have packed up and left a long time ago! “Make sure he's stable,” she mocked, in her best Integra impression, which really wasn't very good at all. “Feh! How stable can he be, throwing bloody knives at someone he doesn't even know?”

 

But the fact remained that the Hellsing Organization was on the verge of collapse, and the Mad Paladin could be the key to survival; one less super soldier for Iscariot, one more for Hellsing. So she remained in Rome, nightly tracking the beast, dodging his attacks in a wild attempt to keep herself intact.

 

Seras paused her mad dash, hearing the sounds of battle behind her. “So you've gone back to your first victim then?” She took the moment to inspect the damage; a few scrapes, a couple of bruises, and one giant hole in her thigh, which was very slowly knitting itself back together. Holy silver dampened her body's healing mechanisms, and precious blood was oozing down her leg, black in the dim light of the streetlamps.

 

Go back and keep watch, or run while she still could? She'd personally had enough of Anderson for one night, for a lifetime even, and in her weakened state, he'd surely tear her to pieces if he decided to take serious shot at her. There were her orders to contend with though. A trained police officer and a soldier of Hellsing, she found it difficult to pass them off so easily.

 

Confident that she was out of harm's way, for the moment at least, Seras groped in her bag for a spare pack of blood. Damn, all gone. She grit her teeth, wondering how long it would take her leg to close up, at least to stop bleeding, when she heard Anderson's voice, loud in the distance. An all too familiar spiel that she'd heard before. “Well, can't be helped, I suppose!” she chirped to herself, comically. “Can't stick around in this condition, with no spare blood to be found! Sir Integra would never approve!” And with that, she left Anderson to his own devices for the night.

 

***

 

Anderson stood amidst the bloody corpses of his demonic victims, panting heavily. He'd landed a good hit on his shadow. He hadn't seen it, but he knew because he'd heard her squeak, just before the scent of old blood assailed his delicate senses.

 

Old blood. There was only one creature who bled blood that was not fresh. Vampire. They drank to fill their veins with the lifeblood of others, since their own dead bodies could not longer produce it. He'd killed enough of the foul beasts to know the scent anywhere.

 

But the questions of why still remained. With what purpose was she conducting her moonlight vigil? Revenge, perhaps? He'd killed many, maybe he'd killed one of hers, and she was here to punish him for it. Know thine enemy.

 

Of course, that line of thought bred more questions. Always questions, never answers! Why had she not attacked yet? Why had she not jumped in to help her fellows as he slaughtered them? Perhaps there was some sort of vampire gang war going on. He had heard of such things before. Maybe she was waiting until he killed all her enemies, to make her move. Perhaps…

 

Being cut off from the resources of the Vatican's intelligence sure was a bitch.

 

***

 

“Enrique, our forces are suffering without Paladin Anderson. We lost three men last night, with six others wounded, to a job that would have taken him five minutes to complete.”

 

“I read the report, Renaldo.” He did not turn to look at the other man, focused as he was on the world outside his office window. “I am well aware of our recent losses…may their souls rest in peace.” He added, as an afterthought.

 

“But I don't understand how you could allow this to happen in the first place! How could you let them dismiss him?”

 

“Oh relax, won't you?” Enrique sighed in disgust. “You heard the council, someone had to take the fall and it had to be Anderson. Besides, it's only temporary. Once those idiots realize the precarious position they've put themselves in, they'll be begging him to come back.” He smiled, reaching a hand out to pat the other priest on the head. “And when that happens, when they say `Oh, Father Maxwell, please bring back Father Anderson' I'll say `Oh, I don't know. I think I'll need more power and a bigger budget to do that.'” He smiled, wickedly, flipping his long ponytail over his shoulder. “So you see, it will all work out just fine.”

 

Father Renaldo sighed and shook his head as Enrique turned to his window again, effectively ending their conversation. He had a bad feeling about this plan.