Jonathan's first night in the asylum was more difficult than he had imagined, but he had found it a necessary measure to protect his wife. He was surprised at how cold he felt, but it all made sense. It had been so long since he had slept in an empty bed. Since Bistritz, he thought, and shivered.

At home, Mina received a telegram, which said the following:

"Jonathan with me at asylum. I fear for his sanity. Come quickly.

The following morning, Seward awoke to a telegram from Mina. "Her response is as quick as her wit," he said to himself, smiling as he remembered his brave and clever friend. It had been a long while since any of those present at the battle of Borgo Pass had seen the Harkers, who had shut themselves away from the world in an attempt to forget what had happened. Mina was strong and sharp as always, but Jonathan… Jonathan was different now. His heart and step were heavy. At twenty-five, his hair was beginning to grey.


That was the word. "Coming." She says what she must, and quickly, too, thought the doctor. He couldn't sleep, and so he pondered on the matter of Renfield. If the Good Lord had taken the poor soul into his arms, he wouldn't linger so long. He was a poor soul, and so he would be in Heaven. Without a doubt. But there was doubt! There were questions buzzing in Seward's skull! It was impossible, wasn't it? It was. There was no man on earth who occupied another man's body.

Possession was a false concept.

But was it? And Seward remembered Lucy, in her bright-eyed and lovely splendor, her spark of a smile, her golden hair. Everything about her sent one message: life. Vitality. The glowing radiance of all that was well and good. And he remembered how broken she had been, lying in that bed- her dignity taken from her, her rosy cheeks a lifeless grey. He remembered the way she looked in the graveyard-not her. A shell. The way she looked. Not she. It.

Yes. Possession was a likely theory; if Lucy's soul could be twisted and bent, so could Jonathan's.

In his cell, Jonathan watched the ceiling and thought of Mina, her dark curls, her sweet smile. For the first time, he regretted the actions taken to arrive to the present point in time. Here he was, now branded a lunatic, as the asylum was where the lunatics were. If he ever left, if it was ever safe to leave, he would be called "recovering" for the rest of his life. Recovering? From what? Wasn't he insane enough already? Did he need Renfield to help him along? Renfield! Only he knew for sure.

He had tried so hard to convince himself it wasn't so. But in the park, the moment he realized what was taking place inside of him, something snapped. He couldn't go on living with Mina while he knew. He couldn't sleep by her any longer. He was unclean.

At home, Mina woke from a slumber, the room cluttered with clothes, her suitcase by her side. The room was stifling hot. She rose, and after some hesitation, opened the window.