Gray Dawn

John opened his eyes. A predawn gray filtered in from the small window set high up the wall over his bed.

With a sudden jolt, he remembered the night visitor, or at least he thought he did. It had been a dark form against the blackness of the room. No words, no sound—just a presence. And then the sudden cold grip on his neck, the choking that must have caused him to black out.

Had it been real? Or just a reaction to the stress and fatigue of the hostage situation? Perhaps the heaviness of the dust, mildew, and musty bedding had made it hard for him to breathe.

He sat on the edge of the bed trying to recall exactly what had happened. He felt a slight tenderness on his neck. That wasn’t his imagination or the result of stress. And it wasn’t the remnants of a nightmare still hanging on.

He had no idea who or what had come to stand beside his bed last night. And if he was choked, why hadn’t they finished the job? Why just enough to have him black out? Or had the intruder thought he was dead? That was a frightening thought. The last thing John remembered before losing consciousness was a strange alien squeaking sound coming from his throat as the pressure of the grip intensified, closing off his windpipe and carotids. And in what seemed almost the next moment, he was awake, staring at the pale glow of the approaching dawn. The night had ended. At this point, if not for the tenderness that encircled his neck, he could not be sure anything had happened at all.

___

A guard accompanied John to the small dining chamber just off the castle’s kitchen. Archbishop Roberti and Father Burns were already seated at the table, eating what looked like stale biscuits stacked on a plate. A pitcher of water sat in the middle of the table.

“John,” Roberti said, looking up. He slumped in his chair, a woolen blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Luigi,” John said. “Michael. Were you both able to sleep?”

“Are you kidding?” Roberti said. “I could not sleep for the sound of my teeth chattering. We might as well be sleeping outside in the snow. It would be only slightly colder.”

“I slept fine, Eminence,” Father Burns said. “Had to get up and stoke the fire a few times.”

John lifted a biscuit from the plate and examined it before returning it to the pile. “Hockey pucks.” He poured himself some water, and sipped. In a whisper, he said, “Did either of you hear or see anything unusual last night?”

Roberti glanced up. “Like what?”

“I’m not sure,” John said. “But I think someone may have come in my room sometime after midnight.”

John didn’t want to say that someone choked him and maybe left him for dead. There was no sense in adding more tension to the situation. He was alive. So he chose to leave it alone.

Father Burns said, “You mean one of the guards or General Borodin?”

John shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“This is Dracula’s castle,” Roberti said with a huff. “Check your neck for bite marks.”

John humored Roberti and ran his fingers up and down the sides of his neck. He hadn’t looked in a mirror to see if he was bruised. As a matter of fact, it occurred to John that there were no mirrors in his room. How fitting for the legend of Dracula. “No bite—”

As his hand took a final pass over his neck, he suddenly paused, then spread his palm across the hollow of his throat. That’s when he made the discovery.