Imperfection

Through her mother’s garden she walked, the roses that the gardeners kept religiously pruned blooming in an insolent and wounding scarlet. Naked men and women cavorted through the beds, laughing and speaking in a language she couldn’t understand. The hum of the bees filled the air and she realised that they were singing a song she barely recognised, in Walter’s voice. She opened her eyes, fumbling instinctively for her glasses. He put them into her hand and she pushed them onto her nose, blinking in the dim light –are you thirsty, my lady? Hungry?-

-no-

He bowed politely and sat back down beside the fire. He resumed brushing one of the coats, combing the fur with his fingers until the dust came out and the matted clumps loosened and lay flat. The sound of his humming wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She looked around. In the air the sharp smell of urine, the three brothers, still in their bright heavy parkers and huddled in a corner. They no longer resembled bears so much as they did three frightened neon sheep. The hellhound sat in front of them, blinking its six eyes benignly. It flicked an ear in her direction –these three raped a girl- it said into her head –they lured her into their house and gave her alcohol until she vomited-

She closed her eyes –I don’t want to hear it-

-she was your age-

-I don’t want to hear it-

Silence. Walter finished with the coat and went to hang it on the hooks. He returned with the other and spread it out across his knees. The scarf across his face was gone and he wore a pair of glasses instead.

-is your eye better?-

-yes- he looked at her and smiled –I think you really should eat. Are you sure you’re not hungry?-

-I suppose -

He retuned with food and water and she took her spoon and swirled it into the bowl of thick venison stew. The smell was pleasant and woke her appetite and she ate it with far more enthusiasm than she thought she would. The hellhound abandoned its place in front of the brothers and padded, claws clicking, across the timber floor to the rug in front of the fire. It circled twice before dropping comfortably to the floor –I still think you should let me eat them-

-I’ll decide what you eat and don’t eat-

The hellhound flicked its ears disdainfully- indeed, Master-

She set the bowl aside and sighed as she sipped from her glass of water. At last she said –Servant, report-

The hellhound grinned–Master, I am delighted to tell you two things that will doubtless be of interest to you. One is that the government of this delightful little country has finally succeeded in squashing the rebel group that attempted to bury you in that avalanche, and that you may not fear murderers slipping through the forest in search of your corpse. Or Walter’s for that matter- the Hellsing family retainer smiled beatifically, as if to say that he personally had never feared anything in his entire life –the other is that the blizzard is going to end, very soon. The loyal members of the Hellsing Organisation have a helicopter prepped and sanding by. They have pinpointed the signal of Walter’s little homing device and will be here as soon as the snow clears enough for them to fly-

-and when will this be?-

-a matter of hours. Five at the absolute maximum, probably less-

It took her a while to realise that she was laughing.

The time passed surprisingly quickly. She was still ill and shaky enough to doze. When she wobbled through to the chemical toilet the brothers, huddled pathetically in their corner, stared at her with bloodshot eyes. As she walked past she heard one of them mutter -vrãjitoare- and she didn’t need her retainer or her vampire to know that the word must mean –witch- and she did nothing except shrug because when you got right down to it they were right. After that Walter sat her down in front of the fire where the bulk of the lounge sat between them and their prisoners and blocked prying eyes. She rested her head on her knees and sighed with pleasure as he finished combing out her matted hair. The hellhound crooned –pretty Master- she jerked as though she’d been bitten and Walter said nothing, just kept combing. He fashioned a serviceable French braid and tied it off with string, telling her to stay still while he went to get the medical kit. She heard a yelp and a thud as he kicked one of the brothers and she stared into the fire until her retinas burned.

-look at this- Walter unwrapped the bandages from her hand and showed her the edges of her wound, skin puckered in strange and swirling patterns –this is keloid. Keloid scaring. I’m sorry, but I think it’s going to spread- she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to know. After he finished she crawled back to her comfortable lounge and went to sleep.

The sound of the helicopter. She opened her eyes and sat up. The hellhound yawned and stretched, claws lengthening to become fingers and muzzle pushing back to become a face. Alucard climbed to his feet, and offered to help her climb to hers. She scowled at him and he shrugged, went to herd their unwilling hosts, pacing at their heels until they were forced through the door and outside. Walter was much more leisurely. He stood by while she pulled on her boots and helped her with her coat and mittens. He donned his own coat, and, taking her elbow in one hand and his valise in the other, guided her to the door. She hesitated at the threshold looking back once. Then she set her shoulders and walked up the ramp of compacted snow, into the blaze of lights and noise.

-Sir Integral!-

-Sir Integral!-

Without so much as an apology grinning soldiers grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up the rest of the way. She was surrounded by her men, jubilant at the return of their leader; never mind that at her tender age they saw her merely as a figurehead. They shouted greetings and slapped Walter on the back. Young Sergent Gareth even ventured to shake her hand, obviously surprised at his own daring. Commander Ferguson ripped off a perfect formal salute.

-glad to have you back with us, marm. What should we do with the prisoners?-

Youngest, Middle, Eldest. Proud hunters. The three bears. They knelt in a row with their hands behind their heads. Youngest and Middle kept their eyes on the ground. Eldest alone defiant, staring at her with naked hatred even as he cried and clear mucus dripped from his nose. It was obvious that they knew they were about to die. The soldiers were suddenly silent, immaterial, ghosts. She drifted through the ranks. She whispered, knowing that the humans would not hear her above the sound of the helicopter –Alucard?-

-yes, Master?-

-what you told me. Was it the truth?-

-yes, Master-

-I will not have you lying to me, Servant-

-I did not lie. I told the truth. The guilt is there, writhing inside his skull like a worm- he rapped the top of Youngest’s head with his knuckles.

-and the others?-

-Master?-

-do they feel guilty?-

He looked at her. He seemed almost sad –Master, they do not-

-why not?-

-I don’t know. I really don’t-

She shut her eyes. The lids stung and she wiped them angrily with the back of her mitten –who was she? Who was the girl?-

-she was their cousin-

-and she trusted them-

-yes-

She shuddered. She clenched her fist, concentrating hard on the sharp thread of pain that ran up her arm. She said –deal with them- and she turned her back. She walked to the massive troop helicopter, surrounded by the members of the Hellsing Organisation. Walter jumped into the helicopter first and helped her up. As soon as she was in her seat by the window Ferguson gave the word and the soldiers crowded in beside her. Directly in front of her was Gareth. The commander himself sat beside her. She fumbled with the headphones and spoke without realising –are all men- and stopped, blushing furiously as Gareth and Ferguson, the only ones who had their headphones plugged in, stared at her.

-you were saying, Sir Integral?-

-never mind-

The scream of the blades grew louder, and she did not look out, did not look out into the dark and the snow, did not look out to see Alucard watching her go.

The trip to the landing pad was surprisingly quick. The ministers and ambassadors had the wits to spare her platitudes and excuses, to merely shake her hand and escort her to the waiting cars. Walter managed to get himself placed in a different car to hers. She was quite sick of the sight of him and she was certain that the feeling was mutual. Instead Ferguson and Gareth sat across from her and watched her as she watched the landscape roll by, eager for the sight of something not restricted by walls. She found herself daydreaming of wolves and, for some strange reason, wolf cubs with coats of pale cream and iron grey. Ferguson waited politely, and then, when he realised that she wasn’t going to talk, cleared his throat gently.

-Sir Integra, may I ask, what happened while you were in that house?-

She said nothing and fixed her eyes firmly on the forest rushing past her window. After a while she spoke. She said – are all men…are all men- she stammered to a stop, embarrassed and ashamed. Gareth, confronted with the sight of his idol bungee jumping off her pedestal, gaped stupidly and tried to melt through the seat. Peter Ferguson reached forward and gently touched her knee.

-not at all. By far and away the vast majority of men and women in this world are decent human beings. It’s just that the ones that aren’t can make a dreadful mess - he hesitated –and if you’ll forgive me, the ones that surround you aren’t the best of examples. Walter Dornez is not- he sniffed disdainfully – a solider-

She felt a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth, and it pulled until it became a big smile, then a grin. She broke out into hysterical giggles and tears streamed down her face. Ferguson wordlessly offered her handkerchief and she took it gratefully.

At the hotel they escorted her to her room. A doctor was waiting for her there, along with some basic luggage and a big vase of cut flowers. He inspected and cleaned her wound and after that she had the exquisite pleasure of throwing him out on his backside. She went and undressed and sat in the shower for a full hour, watching her skin turn bright pink and rubbing lotions and creams into her hair. She masturbated, resolutely thinking of magazine pictures and not real human beings. She ordered fresh fruit and salads and chocolate pudding and while she waited for it all to arrive, she took the big vase of cut flowers into the bathroom and tore the blossoms to pieces, one by one, and flushed the shredded petals down the loo. She ate herself silly. She bundled herself up in soft, comfortable clothing and sat outside on the freezing balcony, just for the hell of it. When her feet got cold she went to bed and left the lights blazing, just because she could.

In the middle of the night she leapt up and ran into the bathroom to vomit convulsively. She went back to bed only to be wakened a few hours later by astonishingly painful menstrual cramps. She attended to herself as best she could, swallowing the painkillers that the doctor had left for her hand, and while she waited for the pills to kick in she hobbled to the balcony, opening the glass doors and shivering in the freezing cold.

Next to no moon, and since the hotel was in the middle of the countryside, no electric lights, either. On the balcony railing was a gift for her: a snowball, perfectly spherical and just the right size and weight for her hand. She picked it up, turning it over, feeling her fingers begin to go numb. She considered it. Then she wound up and threw it, hard as she could, into the darkness.

There was the sound of a muffled thump and a playful yelp. The sound of a hound barking in cheerful invitation to play. Unwillingly, despite the pain from her gut, she smiled.