Lost Without You

~41~

Where shall I start? I mused. How can I tell him...

"Come on, Samara. This book made me rich and famous, what is it you don't like about it?" Stoker insisted, looking at me curiously while I hesitated.

"You made my husband look like a monster in the eyes of entire generations of the whole world." I started with the most obvious, and the most unfair fact, finally, observing his pale face. His skin seemed to glow in the moon-lit room.

"Is that it? Because I can tell you that he doesn't mind. I asked him, of course... And should you ever persuade him to move over here, I'm ready to share a part of what that story earned me with you two."

"That is not the point, I don't care about your money. Just... Forget about it." I sighed, annoyed by his lack of understanding. He will never see this from your point of view. My subconscious whispered.

"Fine, as you like. But this is not all, is it?" He asked when the silence of the night, only interrupted by the muffled, distant buzz of the fridge reaching us from the kitchen, stretched between us.

I shook my head no. Taking a deep breath I blurted out, before I could change my mind, "I didn't like the way you described Mina and Jonathan's relationship. She did everything for him, they were so devoted to each other but there was no passion between them. Also, you got them all mixed up. Your Count Dracula is more of a Greek god, than a vampire. Honestly, I have never met one of your kin who could change form to get to his women. Thank goodness you let your count shapeshift into a wolf, a bat and a fog, rather than a golden rain, an ant, or a swan... And you even killed Quincey Morris, he was the best!"

There. I said it all, as he wanted.

Stoker laughed, surprising me. I didn't know what reaction to expect from him but I did not think he would laugh.

"I agree with you!" He said, trying to compose himself. "Quincey was a good character, he had a lot of potential, what with his previous experience with vampires. But, for my readers more than a century ago, he was far too modern. See, one of the three of Lucy's suitors had to die, and my audience back then would never forgive me if I killed the good doctor, or the perfectly Victorian Arthur, lord Godalming."

I pulled my legs up, settling more comfortably on the sofa, and reached for the blanket that was folded behind his back. It was going to be a long and interesting conversation.

Stoker stood up and walked across the room, towards the glass door overlooking the sea. He watched the restless waters glittering in the moonlight for a few moments silently, then turned back to me, his face hidden in shadows now, perfectly invisible.

"My vampires were well researched, Samara. When I was a child, I was ill for years and spent a lot of time in bed. My father knew how much I loved reading about vampires-- I was fascinated by them. He humoured me, buying or borrowing all the books about the blood-sucking beasts he could find," he said.

I nodded, remembering that I had read about his strange childhood disease. According to numerous websites, no one ever found out what it had been, and he simply grew out of it.

"I even persuaded myself at some point that I had been bitten by a vampire and was changing..." Stoker laughed, then came to sit down next to me, his face coming back to light. "Anyway, once I met your vampires, I realised that they were anything but those creatures whom I had read about in my books. But, instead of trying to struggle against the popular beliefs, I simply went with them, when I decided to write Dracula. I wrote what people wanted to read. The folk tales and legends were, and still are, rooted so deeply in people's minds that no one would believe me, and read my book, if I tried to tell them the truth."