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Jonathan has done this before.
Climbed out this window, along the sheer wall, over the shockingly deep precipice below.
He’s done this before.
Somehow, that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
But he’s desperate. The Count is gone, and, horrible as he was, he at least seemed to want Jonathan alive for the time being. The castle’s current occupants have absolutely no such compunctions.
If Jonathan doesn’t get out of here, and soon, he’s going to be eaten.
A strange thought, that. Jonathan can’t spare much energy for it, though, because the thought itself provokes thought-destroying terror.
He finishes writing down his goodbyes and tucks the notebook into his pocket. If he falls, he knows that more than likely his body will never be found, but in case it is, hopefully someone will read his record of events and be kind enough to track down Mina and pass the information on to her. He doesn’t want to leave her wondering what happened to him her whole life. (Not that knowing what actually happened would be much better, but he suspects Mina would prefer to have an answer, at least.)
Besides, if he lives, he’ll need it to tell the story properly. Already he can feel his recollections growing hazy, probably from the sheer shock and horror of his situation. He can’t rely on his memory when he gets back to England. He’ll have to lean on the record he made of events when they were fresh.
Hopefully I believe myself.
You’re stalling. Go.
Jonathan mentally debates for a moment over his boots. Last time he took them off to climb, but this time he’ll be traveling some ways after, and shoes would be useful.
In the end, he takes them off—they’ll be no good to him if he falls because he couldn’t feel what he was doing—but threads the laces through his belt and ties them so they hang from his hip. There’s still a risk they’ll unbalance him, but hopefully if that happens he can untie them one-handed, and if it doesn’t, he’ll have shoes when he reaches solid ground.
Jonathan takes a deep breath, utters a quick prayer, and climbs out the window.
As before, he looks down once, so a sudden sight of the drop doesn’t cause him to lose his grip.
His stomach clenches, and he feels his heart race.
Then, he looks back at the wall.
You can do this. You must.
Jonathan takes another long, slow breath and begins to climb.
…
Jonathan has been climbing for what feels like an eternity when he realizes he meant to go back to Dracula’s room and get some gold in case he needs it.
Oh well. Too late now.
He doesn’t know how close he is to the top of the wall. He’s found looking up is almost as distressing as looking down, how far he has to go, and that vast blue emptiness. It feels almost like he could fall in either direction.
But he knows he’s high enough that going back would be a stupid risk.
He feels around for another handhold.
For a moment, his heart races. He can’t find one.
There. It’s farther to the side than he’d like, but it’s there.
As Jonathan shifts his weight, something slams into his leg.
He gasps, grip loosening.
For a moment, Jonathan feels himself tilt backward.
His grip tightens on instinct—
—he shifts forward wildly—
—wobbling, tilting—
Jonathan feels his pulse in his abdomen, hears it in his ears, as he finds his balance again.
He stays there, trying to breathe.
I just almost died.
Why— what— the boots. Oh.
They need to go. That’s obvious now.
Question is whether he can untie them without falling, or whether it’s safer just to chance the rest of the climb with them.
Jonathan really, really doesn’t want to take his hand off the wall.
When I get home, I’m going to tell Mina about this. If I do this, she’ll think I was brave.
Slowly, Jonathan removes his left hand from the wall.
He picks at the knot holding his boots in place until it comes undone—
—and quickly regrets it.
A long silence, some bumps and rustles as the boots finally encounter the treeline—
—then nothing.
Jonathan wishes dropping the boots hadn’t made the gravity of the situation so much more... oh dear.
Jonathan actually manages a smile. When I tell Mina about this, I’ll have to remember that. She’ll be scared at this point. Maybe that’ll break up the tension a bit, make her laugh.
The gravity of the situation. The gravity of the situation. I have to remember that.
And I have to get home...
One step at a time.
Jonathan resumes climbing.
The gravity of the situation.
...
The rest of the climb passes largely without incident.
Jonathan makes his way over the roof, down the other side, and into the courtyard.
Now for the other tricky part.
Jonathan knows he can’t get to the train station he arrived by in one day.
And he absolutely must arrive before dark. Otherwise, if the castle’s inhabitants don’t decide to hunt him down, the wolves will.
Only one thing for it, then.
Maybe if he starts down the road in the other direction, he’ll find a train sooner.
Or maybe he’ll get lost and die a horrible death. But that’s going to happen for certain if he tries going back the way he came, or if he does nothing.
Jonathan finds the path, orients himself, and starts to run.
...
Jonathan is exhausted.
He’s been running since mid-morning, climbing since much earlier than that. His legs and sides are cramping badly, and he has a massive headache that seems to get worse every time his feet hit the ground.
He’s read enough adventure books to know what’s happening.
He hasn’t had any water since last night. And he’s been exerting himself all day, in summer—the day has gone from pleasant in the morning to uncomfortably warm as the sun continues its progression across the sky.
His mouth is painfully dry, his saliva thick and difficult to swallow.
God, he wants some water.
He thinks a few times about stopping to ask one of the locals he sees beside the path—the ones who’ve been giving him odd looks since he got to an inhabited area.
But, even on the off-chance he could get his message across and they would comply with his request, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get to the station before dark as is.
He can’t afford to stop for anything.
...
Sunset.
Jonathan sees lights up ahead. He’s near a town. But he has a few miles yet to go.
And he’s so tired.
“I don’t wanna,” he mumbles aloud. “I’m tired. Wanna sleep.”
“I’m sorry, love, not yet,” says a very familiar voice.
Jonathan looks up, astonished.
Mina is there in front of him.
“Can’ I jus’ climb a tree or somethin’?” asks Jonathan. “Wait till mornin’?”
“Maybe wolves can’t climb trees,” says Mina, “but I’m fairly certain devils can.” She smiles at him. “Just a little farther, darling.”
Jonathan shudders, the motion painful on his worn-out muscles, and slowly nods.
But, having stopped running, he finds the idea of starting again a Herculean task.
And Mina is moving away, although she’s facing him, how is she doing that...
It doesn’t matter. Jonathan forces his exhausted body to keep moving, to keep up.
By the time she fades away, and he dimly realizes she was never there (which should probably concern him more than it does, but he doesn’t have the energy to care at the moment if he’s hallucinating), he’s built up enough momentum to keep going.
...
Jonathan’s almost arrived—just another mile or two—when he hears it.
It’s almost fully dark now. And through the darkness echoes a faint, low laugh.
No, no, God, not when I’m so close...
He tries to pinpoint the sound, but it seems to come from everywhere, and he spins wildly, looking for the source but seeing nothing.
Lights sparkle up ahead.
I just have to get there.
Any thoughts about why, or what he’ll do when he does, have been replaced by a simple, driving need to get to those lights.
They have something to do with Mina, he thinks. Maybe that’s why? Maybe she’s there?
More laughter, overlapping with a long, high wolf howl.
Jonathan thought he was too exhausted to run anymore. But he’s running now, as fast as his worn-out legs will carry him.
He looks again and again over his shoulder, always seeing nothing—
Was that a flicker of red eyes?
Jonathan lets out a choked sob that turns into more, sobbing and gasping for air as he runs toward the lights.
There are no tears on his face.
...
There’s a train station in the town.
Trains. Trains are good. Why are trains good?
They can take him away from here.
He needs to get away, to escape this sheer, overwhelming panic...
Jonathan bursts into the train station.
Water, he needs water, he needs to get on a train going as far away from here as he can get, needs to go home...
Someone’s talking to him, talking in a low voice, in some language he doesn’t understand.
Water...
Jonathan must have made himself understood somehow, because soon someone is pressing a small metal cup into his hand.
He takes a sip, then quickly gulps the rest down. He feels a little sick, but swallows hard, he can’t be sick here, he’s not safe...
He looks around wildly. The station is mostly empty. He’s sitting on a bench, with a man in a uniform sitting beside him.
What if he’s working with them?
Jonathan jumps off the bench, arms extended, staring at the man in the uniform.
The man stands slowly, holding out his arms in a soothing gesture, talking quietly. Jonathan doesn’t understand any of the words, but the tone is clear.
The man gestures at Jonathan to stay where he is, then leaves.
Jonathan almost runs, but isn’t sure where he’d run to. The lights are here. The trains are here.
Footsteps.
Jonathan turns to face the sound. It’s the man coming back. He has a piece of paper in his hand.
“Buda-pesth,” the man says slowly.
Jonathan nods. He understands that, at least.
Buda-pesth is far. Should be far enough.
It isn’t home, but he can get there once he’s away from here.
The man leads Jonathan to a train sitting with its doors open on a nearby track, and Jonathan gets on.
Soon, he’s asleep.
...
He’s afraid. For a long time.
Nightmares. Waking moments are sparse and confused.
He wakes to sunlight.
Someone is sitting by the bed. A nun, from her clothing.
“Where am I?” Jonathan asks, struggling to make his voice work.
“You’re at the Hospital of Saint Joseph and Saint Mary, in Buda-Pesth. You’ve been here almost six weeks with brain-fever. Mina isn’t here, but once you’re feeling up to dictating a letter I can write to her, if you like. And my name is Sister Agatha.”
Jonathan blinks. “How many times have we had this conversation?”
Sister Agatha smiles. “This is the fourth.”
“And... do you know what caused the brain-fever?”
Sister Agatha’s countenance grows grim. “We don’t, but suspect it was the result of some terrible shock. It’s important that you don’t try to remember. That could cause a relapse of your illness.”
Jonathan frowns, but nods. “All right.”
And he doesn't.