Chapter Text
Jack should have changed his phone number.
He thought he had lost the phone somewhere in the long awful night before. He was less certain of that now.
Now it seemed as if someone had stolen it and whomever had stolen it was playing silly buggers.
There was a selfie he'd taken when he had first started chatting with Lucy. She had demanded it. It had been a prerequisite to her so much as agreeing to meet with him.
Ever.
He'd been desperate to meet this spectacular girl he had no shot with whatsoever.
It wasn't a dick pic.
She had asked for one but he could never have done it. He had settled for taking a shirtless photograph and then taking several others before deciding he looked like a plucked chicken in each of them. He selected one at random and sent it thinking that would be the end of it. He'd never hear from her again.
And then he'd heard from her again.
And now she was marrying a rich American that Jack couldn't stand and whomever had stolen his phone had just texted him the plucked chicken selfie he had sent a year ago.
There was a text bubble forming underneath the photograph.
“This was the right choice, Jackie. If you'd gone along with her original idea you would never have heard from her again. This photograph made her want to meet you..”
More dots and then;
“It makes me want to meet you.”
Jack frowned at his new phone. “Ew.”
He should block the number and call it good. He should definitely not engage.
He found himself typing into the bubble. He had no idea why.
“Who is this?”
His phone was probably lost. Lucy had most likely shared his pathetic selfie. This was probably Zev having a laugh.
A new bubble popped up.
“Who do you think this is?”
Jack wasn't even aware he had rolled his eyes. He typed back with the dexterity and fury of youth.
“It's obviously Zev having a laugh at my expense. And yes it was stupid of me to leave my phone unattended. You've been quite clear on that point. Now give the phone back to whomever you borrowed it from and talk to me like a person. With your own phone.”
The response was nearly instantaneous.
“This isn't Zev.”
Jack wanted to type back something smart and skeptical but he paused as the bubbles kept going on the other end.
Zev had never called him “Jackie.”
Zev never would.
If his phone had been stolen the thief would not have kept it. They would have sold it to somebody for quick cash and that would have been the end of it. They certainly wouldn't be texting him about it. And they wouldn't be tormenting him with sad selfies from a year ago.
He really wished that he’d changed the number when he'd picked up the new phone that morning. Unfortunately the hospital would have to be informed of the new number and the Harker institute and every single person he knew in the world. (Although that number amounted to depressingly few.)
Jack simply hadn't felt up to it.
He was beginning to regret that decision.
A lot.
Jack shifted uncomfortably on the Ikea couch, (which had never been comfortable in the first place) and frowned at the new device in his hand.
He was supposed to be taking a break from the textbooks. He was not supposed to be doing whatever this was but apparently he was too tired, too stupid and too heartbroken to do anything other than stare at the screen and wonder what the hell was going on.
The new bubble arrived.
“Is this talking like people? Perpetually typing at one another? Meeting only for sex, inebriation or raw fish?”
Jack squinted at the text.
He had spent an entire year ordering sushi on his phone whenever Lucy wanted it. There was an app for that. There was an app for everything.
He put the phone down onto his chest and rubbed at his face with his hand.
He hadn't eaten very much of that sushi himself. He was painfully thin and he knew it. Even his patients felt compelled to point it out to him.
Of course Lucy had chosen a wealthy American with a gym body and the brain of a squirrel. There was only so much mileage she was going to get out of a perpetually overdrawn junior doctor.
She'd been out of his league from the very beginning.
And who was this nutter texting him?
He sighed and lifted the phone again against his better judgment. He typed impatiently with his thumbs.
“Okay before I block this number, who is this really?”
Once again the reply was almost instantaneous.
Whoever it was, they had no problem with their manual dexterity.
“Someone stole your phone from the Harker institute. That person was me. I want you to know how much I've enjoyed it. It's been so much more than entertaining.
I feel as if I know you, Jackie. I feel as if I know you personally.”
Jack was tired and hungry and sad. He was feeling enough of all those things to make his brain rather sluggish.
None of his small circle of friends knew anything whatsoever about the Harker institute.
It took a few moments for that to sink in.
And then the rest of the message sank in.
“Oh shit,” Jack whispered.
He whispered as if the phone could hear him. He launched off of the couch and the phone bounced down onto the beige ikea rug.
Jack was on the other side of the flat and hyperventilating against the wallpaper with its geometric patterns from the previous tenant.
His mind was having a vigorous game of tug-of-war. Dracula had stolen his phone. Dracula the immortal vampire who was very real, whom the institute had set free, who was out there doing God knows what to God knows who had his phone. His old phone. His previous phone. With his entire life in it.
Like a diary but much much worse.
Dracula couldn't have his phone. Why would Dracula steal his phone?
How did one go about explaining that Dracula the vampire had stolen their phone? The whole thing was too ridiculous.
But yes Dracula had stolen Jack's phone. Dracula had stolen Jack's phone because that was in keeping with Jack's luck throughout the course of Jack's entire life.
Dracula had his phone and had apparently gone through his camera roll and his text messages and Christ knew what else.
He was frantically trying to remember every single embarrassing thing he had written, photographed or even thought about that could possibly be in the bowels of his old phone.
He could think of a great deal.
His messaging sessions with Lucy alone were absolutely excruciating. Not only were they emotionally ragged, but she had talked endlessly about pegging and plugs and various things she wanted to try with him. Things she wanted to do to him.
Things she had done to him.
He wondered for a brief moment, absurdly, if she was going to do those things with the idiot American instead.
Jack thought he might throw up.
He sincerely hoped he wouldn't since he was the one who would have to clean it.
Luckily there was nothing in his stomach to bring up.
Still.
“I feel as if I know you personally.”
That was good enough for at least a dry heave.
Did Dracula know how to search his browser history?
Jack groaned loudly.
The world was now a place where Jack had to worry about Dracula checking his browser history.
Jack was having serious doubts as to whether or not that was a world he particularly wanted to live in.
He turned his head towards the window in the kitchen.
The sun was going down.
His phone was on the floor. It was ringing. It was the default factory ringtone. He hadn't bothered to change it.
Jack stood absolutely still. He was alone in his little studio apartment frozen like a prey animal while a small electronic rectangle vibrated and emitted an insipid electric tone over and over again on his floor.
He couldn't bring himself to move until it had stopped.
He should call the institute. He should call Zoe. He should definitely call for help.
He was afraid to touch his own phone.
He was an idiot.
He ran into the bathroom, locked the door behind himself and splashed water on his face.
Because splashing water on one's face was the obvious solution when Dracula was laughing at the selection of butt plugs your ex-girlfriend had made you buy.
Or snickering at your perpetually overdrawn bank account.
Or reading your very last email to your mother.
Jack dried his face with the towel and kept it pressed against his skin.
Would Dracula be standing right behind him?
Was Dracula in his apartment right now?
Was he just outside waiting for Jack to come out in search of the last public phone in London?
Jack hated himself for trembling.
He was going to have to get a grip. He was going to have to pull himself together and then he was going to have to call Zoe.
Zoe Van Helsing was the only person in the entire world who might have the first idea what he should do.
He could see the footage in his head playing over and over again.
Dracula in his coffin under the water where he had lain for over a century.
Dracula's fangs tearing into Bloxham’s hand.
The blood.
Jack had to call Dr. Van Helsing.
And he had to do it quickly.
Before any of the ridiculous things he was imagining became true.