In his dreams Renfield glimpsed freedom. In the embrace of Morpheus, he could escape his cell and the maddening and almost unbearable pulse of his heartbeat. When awake, Renfield could feel with great intensity the throbbing of his own blood coursing through his body. It was not a pleasant sensation but was a constant reminder that he must always be on his guard, for he sensed that someone watched and evaluated him from afar.

As slumber took him, Renfield found that he could walk through the bars of the cell which trapped his corporeal body. He could move freely and travel wherever he wished. He left the rusted iron gates of the Asylum, his feet treading across the grass towards the nearby ruins of Carfax. Its desecrated chapel contained echoes of the ruinous powers that had sent Holy men mad. It was no coincidence that centuries later a bedlam would be erected nearby.

Renfield’s feet trod the once familiar cobblestone streets of London, he observed the places which he used to visit. The Windham, a social club where he occasionally met Peter Hawkins, the senior partner in the law firm he used to represent. As he continued to travel, he the felt the ambiance of the shopping districts and his old, beloved haunts of the East End.

Tonight, in this particular dream Renfield finds himself going much further than before. His astral body passes the main throughfares of London and his spectral feet climb a steep hill. He feels no exertion as he reaches its crest, merely a curious sensation that he must enter the home which lay at the top of the incline.

The building was stately and beside the archway of the main entrance; Renfield could make out the name of the occupant. It was embossed on a well-kept bronze colored plaque. Westenra. It was not a name with which he was familiar with but the irresistible pull towards the door was there all the same. His dreaming form slipped through the wooden frame and he glided up a series of stairs and along a narrow corridor. Soon he found himself staring at a door adorned with an intricate floral pattern.

As he contemplated moving through it to observe the occupant inside, he felt his stomach lurch. Something was terribly wrong here; a deep dread encompassed him as he was pulled through the door and into the room.

Flashes of lightning illuminated the darkness of the room. A storm had begun outside. The bay window beside the bed was open and the heavy curtains billowed with each eerie moan of the wind.

Kneeling on the bed was a young woman. Her back was turned towards Renfield and as the lightning increased in its frequency, he could make out long, golden hair which rested over her sheer nightdress. At any other time Renfield may have found himself aroused by such a sight. Any notion of erotic delight deadened as he saw the woman’s companion.

A tall, pale and regal figure stood in front of the young girl. He looked directly at Renfield; his mid length silver hair flowed over a black cape. If Renfield had not seen the white, claw like hands clamped around the girl’s shoulders and head, he would have said that this grotesque man’s body was all but shadow.

The man - or creature who masqueraded as a man - threw his head back with delight. Renfield was certain that this monster’s mouth was red and dripping with blood.

Renfield could not move. Desperately he willed himself either backward or forward to escape the sight in the room. He flung his hands over his eyes and wished himself sightless in order to be blind to this horrific vista.

A deep throaty voice, rich with an Eastern European accent, spoke to him, a command issued in the darkness.

“Do you see the power, Renfield?”

The voice was familiar, it pricked through the madman’s thoughts and memories. He recalled a stay in a gloomy, dank, and dangerous castle. A man who drank the blood of children and tore them limb from limb, laughing at the cries of despairing parents beating at the walls below. Glimpses of beautiful women who tempted and teased him with the promise of sexual abandon if he joined them.

A flash of lightning fell from the sky and illuminated the horrific face of the woman. The creature by her side had turned her head so that Renfield could see her expression. It was like that of an angel who had been twisted by some dark power. Her golden hair had fallen across her eyes, her face was covered in sweat and stained with blood. From her open mouth protruded sharp white teeth and her skin was the color of ivory. All of this paled in comparison to the woman’s eyes. Within them glinted an impossible hunger.

The voice spoke again.

“See how she hungers? She hungers for the power and the blood. She hungers for life eternal as you have done, Renfield.”

Finally, suppressed memories returned to Renfield. A revelation of moments past when he had been sent to this creature’s home, witnessed rites of black magic, and had taken part in unspeakable rituals dedicated to dark gods. He had worshipped naked at the feet of this monster, pledging allegiance to Dracula and forsaking his own race.

“Master…?” Renfield whispered.

Dracula smiled with his gore laden mouth. The dark red pits of his eyes gleamed and he nodded.

“It is good that you remember, Renfield. Let the dreamer wake! Soon I shall have need of you, you must invite me into the madhouse in which you reside. There are many such as you which I shall need in the coming days. Minds riddled with darkness and obsessive thoughts. Minds which can serve my will.”

As the commanding figure uttered this, he viciously snapped the young girl’s head toward him once more. Dracula gazed deeply into her eyes. As darkness again crept into the room, a loud rumble of thunder clapped, indicating that the eye of the storm was above them. Renfield heard his master address the girl.

“Lucy, that is enough for now. Before you can have everlasting life, there is something you must do. You are a piece in my battle with an old rival. He has tracked me through the years and confounded my plans. He believes that he can save you, but through you I shall show him who is the stronger. Together we shall finally break that old fool Van Helsing and that Shepherd God he worships. Sleep well my dear, for this is the last night that the darkness shall bring fear to your dreams. After to-night, the darkness shall only bring you passion.”

At this, Renfield found himself lying on the floor of his cell, he had foamed at the mouth and bitten his tongue in his sleep. The iron, salty taste of his blood found its way down to his throat. The familiar taste woke another forgotten revelation. Renfield sat up and began to plan, he had much work to do and many lives to feed. He decided to begin with the smallest - flies - and then feed spiders with the flies and then spiders to birds. Eventually he would have amassed enough life in a larger animal to be able to consume it and gain all the lives that it had consumed.

After all.

It was the blood which was the lifegiving essence.

The blood was the life.