The ache in his jaw is unbearable. His canines protrude, scraping the dead skin of his cracked lips. Attempting to swallow only irritates the dry lump in his throat. He can’t catch his breath despite his short, focused inhales. He needs to find shelter, quickly.
The desert sun is beginning to rise. The night’s frost is slowly melting. He can hear the shuffling of critters stirring, but nothing large enough for him to feed. Hunters ran him out of the last town before he could book a room for the night, much less find a suitable meal. He’s spent his entire waking hours losing the bullets on his tail. He doesn’t have much time before his lightheaded hunger grows ravenous.
Wisps of orange light lead him to the outskirts of a small town. It’s about another thirty miles for a place to rest, but he can’t risk getting caught again. The outskirts are decrepit and abandoned. A few shacks with their roofs caved in and a simple rundown church. He doesn’t sense anyone nearby except a few chickens snoring in a coop several yards away from the church. His stomach eats away at itself. The pain is getting worse; he’ll have to stop here.
Cautiously, he pulls the cloak to cover his face and opens the church doors. It’s quite small, just enough for a few rows of pews and a pulpit for the priest to give service. He walks down the aisle to place his traveling bags away from the two stained glass windows on either side of the building. It was dark now, but there was no telling how much light could seep in come noon. He’d have to keep himself covered in his cloak and sleep under a pew just in case.
When he glances up, Christ is nailed to His cross, looking down on him. The ache of his hunger is forgotten in favor of the pain in his chest.
Despite how long it’s been, the wound feels fresh. The papers’ printing about the anniversary only fueled the flames. Hunters are recognizing much sooner. Cities are panicking, and surveillance is at an all-time high. Families have been interviewed, recalling the lives of their loved ones so their memories wouldn’t be forgotten. All of those people he killed, the weight of his sins haunts him more than anyone would know. He shouldn’t be reading any of it; it only depresses him further, but he had to learn their stories. He must carry the responsibility and pain of those he hurt.
He’s never been the praying type, but he finds himself walking to the first pew. He kicks out the stand and kneels before Him. With his hands clasped, he bows his head and closes his eyes.
He doesn’t pray for forgiveness; he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Instead, he prays that those he hurt have found their way to Heaven. He prays for the safety of those loved ones left behind. Men, women, children, siblings, grandparents, everyone.
His mind begins to wander into unwelcome feelings. Shame and rage bubbled in his stomach. Self-loathing has become a familiar friend, leading to useless stunts like failing to rip out his teeth. He knows now the consequences of refusing to feed. As much as he never wanted this life, God chose it for him, and he must learn to accept it.
Yet the screaming and crying rings in his ears, night after night. The warm, sticky blood that coated his hands and mouth stuck under his skin. In his dreams, he’s desperately scrubbing and scratching the blood off, only for it to spread over his entire body. He wakes gasping, choking on tears before falling into fitful sleep once more.
He hates the creature he has become. If he had been strong enough to stop the man who bit him, they wouldn’t have had to die. More than anything, he wanted to be an honest man. No one had the right to choose who lived or died. Even if it was now for his survival. He sinned the moment he couldn’t satiate his first hunger, and he’d spend the rest of his life making up for it. He owed it to those people to survive. He won’t let their lives be in vain.
He’s broken out of his prayer by a creaking floorboard. Startled, he raises his head to meet the eyes of a young priest, standing at the pulpit. The priest gives him a knowing smile.
“Awful early to be repenting before the priest can even open the church doors now, ain’t it?”
A shiver runs down his spine. No one should have been able to make it past him. Even as the priest begins to walk towards him, he can’t hear any footsteps.
He fibbed with a sheepish smile.
“Gosh, I’m so sorry, Father! It’s been a long night of traveling and I needed some guidance from our Lord before heading into town.”
This is bad; he needs to leave now.
“I didn’t mean to startle ya. I appreciate a man who knows how important it is to build a connection with God. Morning prayer is the first step to a fulfilling life.”
The priest stops beside the pew he’s kneeling on. Any sudden movements would reveal him too soon. Hunger is still gnawing at his stomach. He needs to act quickly if he wants them both to make it out alive.
“Of course, Father. As much as I like to join you for service, I’m afraid I must get going now.”
He goes to stand up, but the priest is suddenly behind him, pushing his shoulders back down.
“No need to rush. You seem upset, a bit rattled even. It wouldn’t be right of me to let you go without lending you some comfort. You came to be forgiven, right? I can hear your confession now before ya leave. Shed your sins and leave a new man.”
He forces a laugh.
“Must we really do it here? Don’t we need a confessional booth?”
The priest chuckles darkly.
“It’s a bit too small to cram a booth in here. But if you really needed a push…”
A rush of air is all the warning he gets before a wooden stake is at his throat. The hood of his cloak is grasped tightly in the priest’s hand, keeping him in place.
“Alright now… what is it that you’d like to confess, Vampire?”
The vampire raises his head to meet the priest’s eyes. A cold glare has replaced the fake pleasantries. The painful reminder of what he is and the hatred from a loving child of God stings more than ever. He keeps his mouth shut.
“I assume you’re here to feed on another town, then? What is it now, the fifth anniversary? You must be feeling pretty antsy after so long, but your reign of terror ends here.”
Before the stake can pierce his heart, the vampire slips out of his cloak and into the aisle.
“I’m sorry, Father, but I really must go.”
The priest whirled around to face him and lunged. He’s much too weak to flee fast enough, just barely dodging the stake as they both hit the ground. The priest goes on the offensive, avoiding the vampire’s mouth while the vampire attempts to find an opening to run. The speed and strength to even keep up with attacking a weakened vampire make it clear what he’s fighting against.
“If it’s the bounty you want, hunter, I’ll pay you double. Please, I have to leave now,” he cried out.
The priest lets out a startled laugh.
“I’m sorry to say, I haven’t been a hunter in a long time. I don’t need your money. I have people I need to protect.”
“Please, I’m begging you, if you want to keep them safe you have to let me go!”
The ache in his jaw is all he can feel. The adrenaline pumping through the priest’s blood is calling to him. Despite the priest’s determination to kill him, he can smell the terror. The priest is just another human trying to survive, willing to die trying to protect those he loves. The priest knows he’s no match for him. It’d be so easy to flip their positions and feed, but he can’t, he won’t do it. Perhaps this is his fate. Maybe the only way to repent for his sins is to die by the hands of God’s child.
As they continue to struggle, the first rays of the morning sun shine through the windows. The vampire takes in a breath, gagging on the stench of illness and decay several yards away. A rooster begins to crow loudly. A desperate idea forms.
The vampire gathers the last of his strength to overpower the priest, tossing him a few feet away. The priest groans in pain. The vampire quickly ties the priest’s hands with his cloak and holds a hand to the man’s throat. He can feel the priest’s pulse against his palm, but ignores the temptation.
“Those chickens, how many are sick?”
The priest just scowls at him.
“You can’t eat any diseased hens or their eggs, just tell me how many are sick. I’ll take them and leave town. Please, we don’t have any more time. I need blood now. If I don’t feed soon, everyone you love will die. Please, Father, I’m begging you.”
As much as it pains him, he squeezes the priest’s neck harder. It’s a last-ditch effort to get through to him how dangerous the circumstances are. How quickly the vampire can kill him right here and now if he doesn’t agree.
The priest slumps in defeat, but his resolve doesn’t break.
“Let’s go.”
The vampire takes his hand off the priest’s neck. He doesn’t have time to blink before the priest’s hands are untied and the cloak is over his head. The priest wraps an arm around his neck and presses the stake into his back.
“Walk out the door.”
They awkwardly shuffle outside and several yards to an outdoor chicken coop outside a shabby house. The priest uses one hand to open the door. The chickens cluck excitedly and begin filing out of the coop.
“The only sick hen is the one in the back. Grab it.”
The vampire takes the hen into his arms. It doesn’t even fight back. The poor thing is so tired, she likely will die this afternoon. He holds her close to his chest.
The priest walks them out of the coop and away from the house. They’re on the side of the church, facing the desert and blocking the house from view. He guesses the priest’s family must live there. He’ll do his best to avoid it when finding somewhere else to hide. The priest finally loosens the headlock, but presses the stake harder into his back.
“Leave now. If you ever come back into this town again, I’ll kill you.”
The vampire turns in the priest’s hold.
“You’re a good man, Father. I’m grateful for your kindness. You’ll never see me again.”
The vampire slips away into the desert. The priest watches him go until he’s a speck on the horizon.
The priest’s heart thuds in his chest and ears. The moment the vampire vanishes, he runs.
The priest rushes back to the shabby house. He locks the doors and windows. The caretakers panic when he warns them about the vampire in the church. He forces the orphanage into a lockdown. Guarding the perimeter as the children play inside all day, blissfully unaware of the danger lurking. He circles the area over and over again with no signs of the vampire returning.
It was idiotic how close he let that creature get to the children. If he knew about the chickens, he had to have known they were just a few feet away.
But he couldn’t let the vampire kill him. There’d be no one else to protect everyone; he had to make that deal, consequences be damned. Nevermind the depressed and defeated look in the vampire’s eyes. The desperation and fear the creature had of his own damn self, ignoring his own obvious hunger to bargain for one sick chicken rather than feed from the dozen people.
It was stupid to feel anything for something that wasn’t even human. Yet the way the vampire silently cried as he prayed said otherwise.
The priest doesn’t get any sleep that night, silently waiting downstairs, regretting ever letting the vampire leave alive.
At dawn, the priest hears shuffling at the front door. Cautiously, he opens it. No one is there, but he can feel someone watching him. He glances down to find a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread.
He looks around to find that lingering presence, finding nothing. Deep in the shadows, the vampire watches as the priest searches for him. As the rooster crows and dawn rises, the vampire slips away.
