Dracula Lives (21 page)

It quickly became apparent that her workstation was a virtual duplicate of Markov’s. Aside from providing Johnny the ability to remotely operate and monitor all of the castle’s systems 24/7, the duplication of Markov’s editing/special effects studio made perfect sense. There was no way he could do everything himself; in their many years together, he must have taught his daughter everything he knew. Aside from her countless duties as steward of such a large estate, just the ways in which she could assist him in his filmmaking were endless. Clear evidence of her involvement in that aspect of their lives sat near the large monitor of the editing console: exact copies of the gloves, goggles, and mouse Markov used to manipulate his digital creations.

Whatever he could do, she could do.

Just beyond the left end of the workstation was a door. Quinn had noticed a door in about that location in Markov’s laboratory/studio, which was the next space after Johnny’s. This must be the other side of the same door, put there for easy passage back and forth between the two adjoining rooms, facilitating communication when they were working on projects together.

He tried the door and wasn’t surprised to find it locked. To the left of the door, the panel was divided into sections for controlling the different automated components of the castle. A section labeled Kitchen included buttons for starting the coffee and pre-heating the oven.

The next section, Lighting, included buttons for Torches and Candles. He pushed the button for Candles, and a monitor showing his bedchamber blinked to life. A subset of buttons under the monitor controlled all the candles and torches in the castle. Although he’d seen real candles and torches at various locations, these had to be artificial, probably lit by gas.

Quinn shifted his attention to a section with a much more intriguing label: Robotics. Among the buttons in that section were ones labeled Robby, Kong, and Reaper.

Reaper
? Maybe he wasn’t imagining things when he thought the Reaper’s skull had been looking in the opposite direction.

His attention was drawn to two larger labels, the only two he’d been able to read on Markov’s panel: GARDEN and LAGOON. As on his, the labels were under two larger monitors positioned side by side, and both screens were dark.

Quinn pushed the on/off button for the LAGOON monitor. The screen remained dark. He followed its cord to make sure it was plugged in. It was.

Dismissing it as a technical glitch, he shifted his attention to the GARDEN monitor. He pushed its power button.

Nothing. It too was plugged in.

It seemed beyond coincidence that among Markov’s advanced technology these two monitors would be the only things to malfunction. Further evidence that the garden—and possibly the lagoon—must hold the darkest secrets of the castle. Secrets that apparently were being guarded very closely.

When Quinn had gone down that hidden staircase in his bedchamber, Johnny had intercepted him at gunpoint and warned him never to come down there. But that aborted encounter had left him with the nagging memory of a strange moaning and smell, coming from a chamber sealed off by a locked gate, over which was the inscription
Les Fleurs de Mal
.

The Flowers of Evil. Flowers grew in gardens. Was the GARDEN monitor blacked out to keep any prying eyes from discovering what horrors were being kept in that secret chamber?

He moved to the final section of the control panel: Security. The first labels that caught his eye were Front Door and Cameras. Under the label for the front door were buttons marked Open, Close, and Lock. That solved the mystery of how the door was able to open when no one was around.

Quinn pushed the button under the label for Cameras. Fifty thumbnail images came up on the large widescreen monitor, one for each camera, showing the area it covered. He found the one for his bedchamber and clicked on it. A full screen image of his bed came onto the screen.

Each camera’s movements could apparently be controlled by a single cluster of buttons beside the one he had pushed. They were labeled Tilt, Pan, Zoom, Dolly.

Dolly?
Markov couldn’t possibly have an apparatus for dolly shots on all these cameras. He must have them on some kind of extendable mounts that made simulated dollies possible. Quinn pulled up the monitor that showed the Grim Reaper standing in his corner. He pushed
Dolly
and got an error message: NOT AVAILABLE ON THIS CAMERA. There were two buttons for panning—one with an arrow pointing right, the other an arrow pointing left. He pushed the one pointing right.

The Reaper’s head swiveled to the right. Johnny must have panned it toward his door for some reason.
Or had she?
Since Markov’s instrument panel was a duplicate of this, that meant at any given moment either of them might be in control. Either way, it was disturbing to know that the Reaper was robotic. What else was it capable of?

He quickly scanned the other thumbnail images and saw that there were two for his guest quarters—one showing his bedchamber and the other showing the oriel. He pulled each one up and moved their cameras in all directions, looking for blind spots. There weren’t any.

Quinn stepped back to look at the control panel in its entirety, and realized that Markov had not exaggerated his genius for technology. The software program alone that he must have developed to control all this would put him in the genius category.

A small shelf extended out from the base of this section of the control panel. Resting upright in the center of it, as though to make sure it wouldn’t be overlooked, was a cell phone. Next to the phone was a large skeleton key—the master key for the entire castle.

As the person in charge of security, it was conceivable that Johnny would place two of the most important security-related items by the word Security to always know where she had put them—but it was a stretch. Had she left the phone and key laid out for him to find?

He picked up the phone, turned it on, and dialed his home number as a test. After the usual three rings he heard his answering machine message loud and clear.

He stuck the phone and key in his pocket. With a heightened sense of urgency, he went on with his exploration of Johnny’s apartment.

The overall décor was in keeping with the Gothic theme, but she had added many feminine touches to brighten the gloom.

Wall hangings depicted colorful birds in beautiful seasonal landscapes. Here and there were tastefully arranged bouquets of wildflowers in handcrafted vases. A living room, kitchenette, and modern bathroom made this a self-contained unit with everything Johnny needed to live independently. Apparently none of her quarters would appear in Markov’s movie. In most other areas of the castle, anything not in keeping with the Gothic set design was kept hidden. In here, concessions to modern living were plainly visible.

The rear third of the cavernous apartment was her bedroom. Angled into the corner was a king-sized canopy bed, impeccably made and set off by a stunning royal burgundy satin coverlet. Near the large fireplace to the side of the bed, she had set up a cozy seating area consisting of two high-backed chairs and a small desk. Atop the desk were a few books, some stationery and a quill pen. Recessed into the rear wall was a large wardrobe, the castle version of a closet. Its contents were nothing fancy: simple functional clothing for the various tasks she might need to perform, neatly grouped together and arranged by color. At the far end of the wardrobe, a separate section a few feet wide had been partitioned off. A simple folding door concealed what was inside. Quinn knew he needed to keep moving, but couldn’t resist seeing what was behind that door. He opened it and flinched in surprise at what hung there.

It was a stunning, floor-length white dress fit for a ball. Or a wedding. A royal burgundy sash circled the waist, and a matching velvet choker with a cameo brooch hung on a peg. At the bottom of the dress, a pair of embroidered and bejeweled slippers poked out.

Did she dress up in this outfit—Cinderella waiting for her Prince to save her?

A Prince that would never come.

Quinn closed the door with a gentle, regretful respect, as though closing the lid of a coffin and not wanting to disturb the final rest of what lay within. He turned away in disgust at a stolen life and moved to leave the room.

He stopped at a large screen television positioned at the foot of the bed. In the compartments built into its base were several state-of-the-art, audiovisual components for downloading movies and listening to them in surround sound. In this windowless room, the television was her window to the world, a world she had hardly experienced.

Quinn felt a dull ache settling in his chest, a mixture of sadness and anger at a life spent in this gilded prison, a life un-lived in Markov’s world of the un-dead. Feeling like a looter of treasures of the heart, Quinn turned to leave.

A soft grating noise stopped him. He snapped his head to find the source.

It was coming from the fireplace. As he stared into the dark shadow, a familiar figure emerged and began walking toward him.

Rather than approaching in her usual hunched subservient posture, Johnny walked toward Quinn as fully erect as her damaged leg would allow, carrying two large canvas bags. As she reached him, Quinn looked around her toward the fireplace. “Another secret passage?”

“My direct access to the Garden below. I keep a close eye on it.” She set the bags down. “We need to talk.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

They moved the two high-backed chairs around and sat facing one another. She began with uncharacteristic directness.

“I have been wanting to speak with you alone since you got here, but the opportunity never presented itself. I was hoping you’d pick up on my veiled invitation to come in here.”

“Can Markov see us in here?”

“No. If there is anything sacred in this unholy place, it’s our agreement never to violate the privacy of each other’s apartment. This is the one place where the all-seeing eye of
Milord
is blind.”

“Then we may speak freely.”

“Yes.”

Quinn took a few seconds to decide where to begin. “Markov has been telling me the story of your lives, which included showing me his film.
The Blood of Dracula
.”

“I know. I was watching from the projection booth. It was the first time I had ever seen it.”

“That must have been painful.”

“Very. But it was exactly what I needed to compel me do whatever must be done to end this obscene travesty of life. This shameful denial of my very own soul so I could be his … Renfield, his Igor—whatever embarrassing horror movie cliché I have let myself become.”

As uncomfortable as it was to watch her lifetime of anguish spilling out, Quinn was glad to see that she was finally casting off the yoke of Markov’s oppression. “You are his—George Tilton’s—daughter. He told me the whole story. About you and your brother Max, the accident that maimed your leg, what happened to your mother, his re-marriage to Lady Elinore.”

“Has he told you of his belief in destiny?”

“At great length.”

“He and I disagree on a great many things, but his belief in destiny is one I happen to share. I believe you have been sent to us for a reason, though not the same reason he believes—as someone to help him with the climax of his accursed film.”
Accursed.
That word again. “I believe you are a lifeline we have been thrown. The voice of sanity from the real world. Our last chance before we sink to the bottom of the abyss.”

“I’m not a savior, Johnny. Far from it. I came here to escape my own abyss. I’ve been looking forward to losing myself in a weekend that lovers of Universal horror can only fantasize about: the chance to hear the stories of someone who worked on one of the all-time classics. But it has taken a drastic turn. Now that we’re speaking honestly, let me give you my impressions of your very bizarre lives.”

Johnny nodded, never taking her eyes from his.

“Until now the dialogue from both of you has sounded like lines from movies. Which is not surprising, since for fifty years, neither of you has had much practice in conversing with real live human beings. It’s like you’re both playing parts in an old black-and-white haunted castle movie, where you think you have to keep the audience—me—in suspense until the final twist is revealed. Don’t get me wrong. I love haunted castle movies—where the threats are make-believe. But you and your father have both been telling me that some of the threats in here might be real.”

“Has he explained to you about how some of his creations seem to be developing lives of their own?”

“Yes. But both of you have also said there’s madness here. His arguments are very persuasive, but they could also be the ravings of a madman. I’m not sure what is fact and what is fiction.”

“I wish it were only fiction,” Johnny said. “But there are evils in this castle that must be stopped.”

“Listen. I work with law enforcement on some of the sickest murder cases. The atrocities I’ve seen have made me vow never to turn a blind eye to evil. So if there is genuine evil here, I’ll do what I can to stop it. But I didn’t come here for some madman to make me part of his snuff film. If it comes down to kill or be killed, I’ll do whatever it takes to survive.”

“Perfectly understandable,” she said.

He tried to read the face of someone who had been scarred not only physically, but deep down in her soul—by her father. Quinn saw defiance rising up from pride too long swallowed. “Can I trust you, Johnny? Are you on my side now?”

She answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

He wanted to believe her, but couldn’t help wondering if a lifetime of brainwashing could be undone so quickly—if at all. For now he had no choice but to take her at her word.

“Then let’s dispense with all the play-acting and bring me up to speed on what’s really going on here. It’s bad enough that your father keeps talking of monsters—real and virtual—stalking the castle, but much worse is him saying the Universal monsters have gotten inside him, that his blood is mixed with Vlad the Impaler’s, that it makes him feed on humans in the woods.”