Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Stray Dog ❯ A trap ( Chapter 10 )

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 for the continued support. Next chapter brings this thing to a close.

 

Chapter 10: A trap.

“Oh Holy Father,” Anderson began, closing his eyes and bowing his head. All around the table, the orphans clapped their little hands together in prayer, following his lead. There was some shuffling to his right and he waited patiently for two boys who were apparently too close to each other to resolve their elbow-space issue before continuing. “We thank ye for this food we are about tae receive, and pray tae ye so-“ his voice stopped abruptly with the loud BANG of a gun being fired.

Children screamed in terror as the priest fell backward, knocked back in his chair by the sheer force of the bullet that slammed, dead center, into his forehead. Eyes widened round the table as his blood spattered over the spread of food, and those gathered to eat it. For a moment, the world was suspended in time, every body in the room still with shock. Then Hell broke loose as nuns screamed and children cried and everyone scrambled to run from the laughing madman in the red coat, who held a still-smoking pistol in his outstretched hand.

It was chaos, and Alucard revelled in it.

 

*

Father Enrico Maxwell stood, half in, half out of the black towncar, staring apprehensively at the orphanage. He'd heard the shot, the screams, the laughter of that hell-sent monster, and knew the moment had arrived. That English sow had sent her attack dog into his territory, presumably to scent out the vampire pup and bring her back. Well good. His plan was working, and they would all pay, especially that fool Anderson. He'd rip out the paladin's heart, show him how stupid and wrong he was, and have him back in the palm of Judas' hand.

Suddenly, a small figure burst out the front door, running straight toward him. He noticed the panic on the boy's face, the wild, consuming fear in his eyes. “F…Father Maxwell! Quick, help! Father Anderson, he's…he's…” Tears were running freely down the child's face, and he tried to swipe them away with an arm encased in plaster.

“Come, quickly,” Enrico tugged the child to him, pulling him into the car. “We'll go to the police, you and I.”

“But, the others!” The boy hesitated, wide eyes staring back at the orphanage, where the screams still rang out. His whole body shook with fear and adrenaline. “We have to help the others!”

“We need the police!” Enrico insisted, reaching over to shut the door, trapping them both inside as the driver put his foot to the pedal. “They'll know what's best.”

*

The trouble with being shot in the head, Anderson thought, is that nobody expects you to get back up.

“What did you do to her, you Vatican dog?” Alucard demanded, dropping his arm down to his side. “Where is she?”

“What're ye talkin' about, damn fool?” Anderson growled out, wrenching himself up off the floor. He heard the startled sputtering of the nuns, the confused crying of the children, and purposefully blocked it out. There was no attention to be spared for anything else, so long as that spawn of Hell was in the room.

Anderson cracked his neck, stretching it from side to side, trying to shake off the effects of the bullet. He wiped the blood from his face with one sleeve. As he did so, he felt the familiar comfort of a bayonet materializing in his hand. At the sight of the blade, the whimpering of the children grew louder, and from the corners of his eyes he watched them shrink down and away from him. “Ahh, sisters,” he tried his best to sound like the gentle, loving man they knew, but the blood smeared across his face was hampering his efforts, “perhaps ye'd get the children out?” Anderson gestured toward the door, glaring pointedly at the vampire who stood before it.

“Of course, be my guest.” Alucard grinned, smoothly stepping aside and out of the doorway. No one moved. His grin widened, fangs glinting in the lamplight. “It looks like they want to stay for the show,” he laughed at Anderson's grim look.

“Ye'll leave them out o' this,” the priest growled, as he hurled himself toward the vampire, ready to fight. Screams broke out as Alucard shifted, disappeared, only to reappear on the other side of the room. Anderson whirled around snarling like an animal.

“Fair's fair, Judas Priest.” Alucard levelled his gun at one of the children, and time stopped as Alucard's voice turned cold. “You took my daughter. Shall I take one of your children in return?”

“Fer the last time, hellspawn, I dinna know what ye're talking about. I haven't seen yer wee Draculina in at least a week!”

“Is it because you killed her a week ago? She was supposed to be on her way back to London. Last I heard, she feared she'd made you very angry with her, then nothing.” Alucard pushed the gun against the boy's temple. The child whimpered, and Anderson felt his heart break for the boy.

“I told ye, ye rabid dog, I laid not a hand on her.” Anderson snapped, frustration and fear eating away his patience. “I left her, whole, mind ye, in an alley and haven't seen her since. Where she's gone is none tae do with me.”

“Yes, I think it is Father.” A trembling female voice said. All heads snapped toward Sister Mary Robert, who was crouched in the corner, doing her best to shield the children near her. “F…Father Maxwell, he…” she was shaking so badly that she had to take a moment to compose herself. Anderson bristled at the mention of the other priest, but kept quiet, waiting to hear what was to be said. “He was here that day Iain broke his arm, remember, and while you were at the hospital, he had a lot of questions. Asked a lot about you and…and a girl.”

“What did ye tell him?” Anderson roared, surprising even Alucard with his ferocity.

“I'm sorry,” the nun whimpered, “I didn't know. I thought she was a…a well, you know.” She flushed hotly at the implication. “I told him you went out nights to meet her and that once or twice I thought I heard a dreadful moaning coming from your room,” she sputtered at the sight of the priest's red face. “Father Maxwell, he made eyes at me and commented like you, of all people, were sinning with some p...prostitute! Said he'd deal with it, but it wasn't that…it wasn't that and we both knew it, I think, except I wasn't quite sure what it was…till now.”

“That bastard…” Anderson muttered. “Son of a bitch, this is some kind o' trap.”

“Kindly explain.” Alucard said, his gun still firmly against young flesh. Anderson glared at his most hated rival, then rolled his eyes skyward, as though praying for some kind of miracle.

“Section Thirteen wanted me back.” Anderson said, “An' I told them nae. Maxwell didna like that much, and I have a feeling that he's got some revenge plot cooking here.”

“And why would they need Seras for this?”

“Because I --” Anderson stopped short, clamped his mouth shut, whirled away and stalked out the door without another word. What the hell had he been about to say? That he'd almost had sex with her? That he was half mad with lust over a vampire? “Are ye coming, Devil spawn?” He called over his shoulder, “I do believe I ken where they've gone.”

*

“Father Maxwell, where are we?” Iain asked, nervously, as he was led into the dark building. There was a funny smell about the place, like a hospital. “This isn't the police station.” He clutched his broken arm to his chest and looked around, trying to make out the strange shapes in the shadows.

“No, my boy, this isn't the police station.” The almost giddy note in the man's voice made Iain's skin crawl. “The police can't help all your little friends at the orphanage, not against that kind of monster. They can't help you either,” Maxwell smiled down at the child, a mixture of pity and glee in his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was very soft. “No, my son, the police can't help you. Nothing on earth will be able to help you now.” Then a door opened and Iain was shoved into a blindingly bright room.

*

Alucard decided not to ask why the priest was so intent on getting Seras back. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, really, and he was enjoying this new twist to the game. So he followed the agitated regenerator up the path toward an old, abandoned-looking warehouse. And he kept his guard up, ready to blow a hole in this new adversary-turned-comrade at a moment's notice.

“Vatican research center and torture chamber,” Anderson muttered, as they got close. “They've got her here, fer sure. Probably in the UV chamber.” He felt queasy at the thought of the little draculina, trapped in that hell. Artificial sunlight, available twenty-four hours a day, caged in by bars of holy silver, just over an arm's length away from the nearest observer.

*

Iain stood, his back plastered against the bars of the cage, staring with wide eyes at the huddled figure in the corner. She stared back at him, eyes wild and red beneath the messy fringe of blonde bangs. Slowly, she unfolded her limbs and stood, still staring at him. She swayed, reached out and grabbed the bars with one hand. Iain heard the sizzle, smelled the stench of burning flesh, but the woman didn't even flinch. He heard her draw breath, flinched as she cocked her head. He stepped back, hitting the bars as she stepped forward, and knowing there would be no escape.

She was next to him even before he saw her move, crouched down so her face was level with his, hands clutching the bars on either side of his head. He inhaled sharply, in surprise, and tried not to gag on the smell of burnt flesh. He dared not move. Slowly, she pulled one hand away from the bars, stared at her red, blistered skin, as though waiting for something to happen. She narrowed her eyes and he could see the muscles in her jaw tighten as she clenched her teeth. He dared to take his eyes off her face for the three seconds or so it took him to see that nothing was happening on her palm.

Slowly, the woman straightened, pulled her other hand off the bar it clutched, barely even wincing as her skin cracked and peeled off, stuck to the metal. She placed both of her hands squarely on his shoulders and led him away, toward the center of the cage. She circled around behind him, pulling him back against her body with surprising strength. One arm snaked like a steel band around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides, while the other pushed his head ever so gently sideways. He tried, vainly, to struggle out of her grip, but she just held on tighter, breasts squashed against his shoulder blades as she lowered her head. Desperate tears slipped down his cheeks when he felt the first puff of her breath against his neck.

*

Anderson turned away and crossed himself, not wanting to look at the mess Alucard had created. Ordinarily he wouldn't care, but these were Vatican men, God's men; men who served the Lord as he did. Something inside him shrank away at the thought of their mangled corpses littering the hallway. Yet, it was not strong enough to prevent their deaths. He'd kill the Pope himself, if it meant getting Seras away from whatever torture they were inflicting upon her. He didn't stop to wonder why he cared so much; just kept on going, deeper and deeper into the research facility, killing everyone he came across, saying a prayer with each thrust of his blade. Those that died by his hand would at least die a fair death. That was all that he could give them.

The No-life King, of course, had no such qualms, and he tore his prey apart with reckless abandon. The glee on the vampire's face bothered even Anderson, as he thought about just who and what he was so desperate to save. Seras, he vowed, would never become like the monster that had sired her. He would see to it, even if it killed him. Even if it killed her.

*

Enrico watched the video surveillance monitors with something approaching fear. He felt excited but at the same time sick to his stomach. He hadn't quite counted on them to be working together with such ease. He'd expected them to split up; divide and conquer, maybe get a few blows in on each other in the process. Apparently, the big Scot wasn't as brainless as he appeared. No matter, Enrico thought as he forced down his rising panic. The priest would come to his senses soon… as soon as he found that vampire bitch and the surprise waiting in her cage. Yes, that dumb highland bastard would see the error of his ways. He'd fall on his knees, blaming himself and begging to be taken back into Section Thirteen. And then, Enrico would smile his gentlest smile, and order Anderson to kill her. That would be his price. Anderson would comply and again become the docile, obedient killing machine he'd once been.

He spared a quick glance at the monitor in the UV chamber. There they were; Anderson's bitch and her little snack, a tangle of limbs in the middle of the cage. Her head was bent low over his neck, her arms clamped tight to keep him in place. The fear in the boy's eyes was palpable. Good. Enrico only hoped she wouldn't drain the little whelp dry before Anderson got there; he wanted the priest to catch her in the act.