If Caitlin hadn’t found the journal, if she hadn’t met with Aiden, if Aiden hadn’t told her what he had, then maybe now she could be more easily convinced, could dismiss it all as Caleb had. But knowing this, there was no way she could let it go. A part of her wondered whether she should show her journal to Caleb, tell him about her meeting with Aiden—but she knew that would just further isolate him, just make him certain she was crazy. Whether he believed her or not didn’t matter to her anymore. She was strong enough to do this alone—and she would do whatever she had to to rescue her daughter.
A part of her was burning to call Aiden, to get him on the phone, to meet with him, to hear him out. Now she wanted to know more, to know everything and anything he could tell her. She desperately wanted his mentoring, his advice. And she desperately wanted to talk to someone who would make her feel that she wasn’t crazy.
But she thought again of his final words, that she must stop her daughter, and recalled his expression. She felt he was suggesting that she kill Scarlet, sacrifice her daughter for the greater good of humanity. And that was something that she could not—that she could never—entertain. She was afraid that if she called Aiden now, he would only suggest the same thing, and the thought of it made her so sick, she couldn’t bear to talk to him.
So instead, she put down her cell phone, and tried to think of another way. She felt a call to action, but the problem was, she didn’t know what. What could she possibly do? Bring her to more doctors? What would they say? Suggest Scarlet see a psychiatrist? Or would they send her to an adrenaline expert? A sleep expert?
Of course, all that was ridiculous. It would be useless. That was not what Scarlet needed. What she really needed, Caitlin knew, was an expert in the paranormal. Someone who knew what she was going through, someone who knew a way to heal her. To rid her of this. To make her go back to being a normal teenage girl.
But Caitlin didn’t know anyone like this. She had absolutely no idea where to turn.
She reached down and stroked Ruth’s head; Ruth closed her eyes appreciatively, and rested her chin on her lap. Caitlin looked around their beautiful dining room, and everything seemed so perfect, so normal. Nothing seemed out of place. The sun streamed in through the windows, and it was hard to believe that anything could be wrong in the world. For a moment, Caitlin desperately wanted to pretend that none of this ever happened.
She reached out and picked up the full glass of juice before her, her hand trembling. She took a deep breath, put it to her dry and cracked lips, and drank. It felt good. She realized it was almost lunchtime and this was the first food or drink she’d had all day. She put down the juice and reached over and sipped her coffee, now cold. But it still felt good, and she drank nearly the entire thing. She went to work on her cold eggs, and as she ate she slowly felt her energy return. Ruth whined, and Caitlin took one of her pieces of turkey bacon, leaned over, and fed it to her. She chewed it happily, the noise of the crunching bacon filling the air, making Caitlin smile.
For a moment, Caitlin wondered if maybe things could go back to normal. Maybe, if she did nothing, things might just settle down by themselves. Maybe, like Caleb said, she was just working herself up. And after all, what could she possibly do anyway? She took another deep breath, and started to wonder if maybe the best course of action was to do nothing and deal with things as they happened. Maybe if there was another incident, Caleb would believe her, and would help bring Scarlet to doctors or whoever else she needed. The thought filled her with a strange sense of relief.
Starting to feel better, Caitlin reached over and raised the local morning paper, folded crisply on the table. She leaned back in her chair and opened it, as she always did, and for just a brief second, she almost fell life returning to normal. She was starting to feel good for the first time that morning, when suddenly she read the headline on the front page.
Her stomach plummeted. She sat straight up, and all thoughts of normalcy fled from her mind.
LOCAL GIRL ATTACKED BY ANIMAL
Around midnight last night, a local girl, Tina Behler, 16, a junior at Rhinebeck High, was found unconscious by police on Main Street. She was reported to have been found in a fit of hysteria, wailing that an animal had attacked her. The police could find no visible signs of attack, but brought her to a local hospital for treatment.
Authorities are still puzzled as to whether it was an animal attack or not, and what sort of animal. Residents are urged to be cautious in exiting their homes at night, until authorities resolve this matter.
“We feel confident that if an animal attacked her, it was an isolated incident, and not one that could be of harm to other residents,” officer Hardy said. “There are no reports of any animals loose from local zoos, or of any local wildlife.”
Caitlin stood, palms sweating, as she read the rest of the article. Finally, she set the paper down, hands shaking worse than they had been before.
An animal attack. Late last night. Just three blocks from her house. At the same time that Scarlet had been out there, unaccounted for.
Could Scarlet have done this? Caitlin wondered.
Her heart was pounding in her throat. It was too much of a coincidence. She wanted to believe more than anything that Scarlet had nothing to do with it—but deep down, she felt she had. Scarlet had probably attacked someone. Turned someone. The officers probably hadn’t seen the small bite marks in the throat. Or maybe they were keeping it quiet. And this poor girl was probably going to change. Become like Scarlet. Attack more people. And spread this throughout the town. They would spread it throughout the county. Then the state. Then the country—and then the world.
Caitlin was wracked with guilt. Had she unwittingly allowed it all to happen?
Without even stopping to think, she picked up her cell phone, took officer Hardy’s card from the night before, and dialed him. He had said to call him anytime. This was her chance to take him up on it.
“Officer Hardy?” Caitlin asked.
“Yes?”
“This is Caitlin Paine. Scarlet’s mother?”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Paine, how are you? I’m glad to hear that Scarlet turned up okay. She is okay, isn’t she?” he added, suddenly wary.
Caitlin paused, wondering how to respond.
“Yes, the doctors say she is healthy and normal, and she’s back in school.”
“Well that’s good news. I can use good news right now. Last night was a crazy night. You saw the papers, I take it?”
“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I’m so concerned for that poor girl. I’m wondering if you could tell me more. What happened?”
He paused.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked warily. “Do you think Scarlet is somehow connected to this event?”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” Caitlin said quickly, trying to cover her tracks. “I just…well, I knew the girl,” she said, lying. “She was a family friend. And I guess I’m just wondering if she’s OK. And of course, wondering what attacked her—and if it’s safe to go outside.”
“Well, I’m really not at liberty to discuss all the details,” he said. He paused, though, and then lowered his voice, “but if you can keep it just between us, I’ll tell you, there is no animal. Nothing to worry about.”
Caitlin paused, surprised.
“What do you mean?”
He paused, then finally continued.
“She was hysterical. Screaming her head off—and screaming the craziest things. But the doctors gave her a full workup, and she was fine. No signs of any animal attack whatsoever. Not even a scratch. In fact, just between us, this morning they transferred her to a psych ward. She was really out-of-control. That’s where she is now. No visitors anyway, so you couldn’t see her even if you wanted to. Kids these days. It’s really sad. I’ll bet it was a bad drug trip.” Caitlin’s heart pounded at the thought of this poor girl, locked away.
“How long will she be there?” she asked. She was secretly wondering when she might be r
eleased, and if she was turned, when she might inflict damage on others.
“I have no idea,” he said. “Things like this don’t happen around here. Like I said, a crazy night.
Must have been a full moon. I’m sorry Ms. Paine, have another call coming in. Is there anything else?”
“No, thanks very much.”
The phone went dead.
Caitlin’s hands were trembling as she hung up the phone. It had confirmed her worst fears. A girl, attacked, late at night, just a few blocks away, where her daughter was.
She ran across the room, grabbing her journal, turning back its pages once again. She had to remind herself that this was all real, that she wasn’t losing her mind. She read from it again:
And then everything happened. So fast. My body. Turning. Changing. I still don’t know what happened, or who I’ve become. But I know I’m not the same person anymore.
I remember that fateful night when it all began. Carnegie Hall. My date with Jonah. And then…intermission.
My….feeding? Killing someone? I still can’t remember. I only know what they told me. I know that I did something that night, but it’s all a blur. Whatever I did, it still sits like a pit in my stomach. I’d never want to harm anyone.
The next day, I felt the change in myself. I was definitely becoming stronger, faster, more sensitive to light. I smelled things, too. Animals were acting strangely around me, and I felt myself acting strangely around them.
This was her own handwriting. There was no doubt. This was real. She had to believe that it was all real. That her daughter was like her. A vampire.
Caitlin couldn’t just sit there. She had to do something. The inaction was driving her crazy, and she felt herself bouncing off the walls. She racked her brain, desperately trying to think of what to do, who to talk to next.
And then, suddenly, as she saw the cross mounted on the wall above the table, it hit her: a priest.
If anyone was qualified to know anything about the paranormal, about vampires, about the spiritual forces of good and evil, it would be a priest. The local priest, Father McMullen, was a good, kind man. She didn’t know him that well, but she knew enough to know he was accepting. He was the perfect person to talk to; he could not only give her comfort, but also give her guidance, tell her if she was crazy, and if not, tell her what to do. After all, the church still had an exorcism ritual, didn’t they? Maybe they had a ritual for vampires? Or at least, maybe they knew of one?
Without wasting another second she crossed the room, grabbed her coat and keys and hurried through the house, taking the steps three at a time as she ran outside.
*
Caitlin walked down the bluestone walkway, crossing a huge expanse of lawn to the gothic church. Built two centuries ago, its steeple rising a hundred feet, the church towered over everything in this small town. Its exterior was ornate, gargoyles protruding from every side, elaborate stonework framing a grand, arched door; it looked like it belonged in a capital city of Europe, in another era. It was one of Caitlin’s favorite things about this town—and she especially loved that she lived just a few blocks away.
Oddly, she hardly ever came here—only a handful of times since she had lived here—yet she still felt comforted by its presence as she walked past it every day, and by the sound of its bells. She would often open her bedroom window at night, and fall asleep to the sound of its chimes, which rang out to the abridged tunes of various classical composers.
She also really liked the priest. She had only met him a handful of times over the years, but each time had left a great impression. He was young, in his 40s, tall and slim, with a kind, compassionate face and longish, sandy brown hair, freckles on his cheeks matching the color of his hair. He was soft-spoken, quick to smile, and self-effacing. He always shook everybody’s hands with two of his, clasping their hands warmly, embracing them in his own. The few times she had sought him out, like when she was upset she was unable to have a second child, he had always managed to make her feel better. Caitlin felt that she could tell him anything.
The large oak door creaked as she opened it, and her eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight of the day to the dim interior. As she stepped in, she realized the church was completely empty—of course, it would be, at lunchtime on a weekday—and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She felt as if she were walking into someone’s home unannounced, as if the door were only unlocked by accident.
It was a grand interior, the arched ceilings rising a hundred feet, filled with stained-glass and with endless wooden pews, all empty. The floors were comprised of large slabs of dark stone, well-worn, with a wide aisle which led to an elaborate altar, backed by stained-glass windows.
“Hello?” Caitlin called out tentatively, her voice echoing.
She waited. There was no response.
“Father McMullen?” she called out, louder.
Her voice echoed back to her, with no response.
Slowly, her eyes began to adjust to the dim interior. A passing cloud lifted, revealing the sun, which flooded the stained glass in different colors. The muted light was peaceful in here: it felt timeless, like a sanctuary. As if all her troubles were left behind those doors.
Caitlin wondered if she should leave. But it was hard to walk away. A part of her felt comforted being here; for some reason, she felt some sort of connection to being in a church, even though she wasn’t particularly religious. She couldn’t understand it. She could count on her fingers the number of times she had been in one. Yet every time she entered one, she felt some sort of mysterious connection to her past. She thought of her vampire journal. Were those real memories?
She found herself walking slowly down the aisle, her footsteps echoing, gravitating towards the altar. At the end was an enormous cross, covered in gold foil, and as she walked closer, she was suddenly struck with memories, flashbacks. She saw herself walking down an aisle, in a grand church, Caleb by her side. She saw herself in one church after the next, each more and more elaborate, in England, Scotland, Italy, France. She saw herself in the Notre Dame in Paris. In the Duomo in Florence. In Westminster Abbey. In each, Caleb was by her side. She suddenly saw her and Caleb’s wedding. She saw them standing before a castle, in Scotland, hundreds of people in attendance, walking down an aisle covered in rose petals. She saw a sky lit up by the most beautiful sunset she had ever seen. It was magical.
She opened her eyes and wondered if that had all been a fantasy? She stood before the altar, staring at the shining, gold cross, and tried to focus. She felt connected to this cross. To Jesus. She couldn’t understand why. The thought of Jesus being her father in heaven was reassuring to her somehow. Was that because she had never known her father in real life?
She forced herself to focus on Scarlet. She felt waves of desperation overcome her, and found herself clasping her hands in prayer. She was desperate for help, and she silently prayed for a miracle.
She felt weak. She went to the pews and sat a few rows from the front. As she did, she looked up and noticed an open Bible. It was a thick book, and the header read: The New Testament, The Book of Luke. She scanned the pages, looking for a sign, wondering if her prayer had been answered. She read:
“I grant you power and authority over every demon, power and authority over every disease.” Her heart raced. Was it a message?
She propped her elbows on the bench before her, rested her face in her hands, and silently prayed. She prayed for help for Scarlet. For herself. For her family. She had never felt so alone, so desperate. She was soon crying. She felt like a broken woman. All the tension, all the stress of the last few days—her almost losing Scarlet, her fighting with Caleb, her meeting with Aiden—all came pouring out. Her cries filled the air.
“My child,” came a soft voice.
Caitlin turned and saw Father McMullen, approaching her from the far side of the room. He crossed the cavernous room, his footsteps echoing, and Caitlin stood, embarrassed. She smoothed her skirt, and wiped the tears from h
er cheeks.
“I’m sorry father, I didn’t mean to barge in like this,” she said, her voice shaking. “I realize you’re probably not open now—”
He raised a palm to stop her, as he broke into a soft, warm smile.
“We are always open,” he said. “It’s Caitlin, isn’t it? Caitlin Paine?” She nodded back, impressed he remembered.
“I never forget a face,” he said. “I am more than happy to see you here. I am sorry I was not here to greet you personally. You caught me on my lunch break,” he added with a smile.
Caitlin smiled, reassured at his presence. He held out his palm, and she shook his hand. She felt warmth and reassurance as he clasped her hand in both of his and smiled warmly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping away her tears.
He shook his head. “There is nothing to be sorry for. Our Lord in heaven appreciates heartfelt prayer.”
Caitlin sensed that she had come to the right place, that he was exactly the one she should talk to. She sighed, feeling some tension leaving her body.
“Would you like to talk?” he asked softly, after a few moments of silence.
“Yes, I would,” she replied.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said, and turned and led her across the room. “It’s a bit impersonal in here. Have you seen our new courtyard? It’s a gorgeous day, and everything is in bloom, and with the leaves falling, it’s a medley of color. I think you’ll find it heartwarming.”
“I’d like to see that,” she said, as they continued across the huge room.
He didn’t say anymore, didn’t press her with questions, and she sensed he was waiting for her to open up. She appreciated, more than he would ever know, his giving her time and space to collect herself. Clearly, this was a man who didn’t pry.