Washington sat silent for a few moments, thinking over what the FBI Agent had said. Then she shook her head.
“I believe,” she said. “I know you’re right. But I don’t know if I want to spend the rest of my life pursuing a darkness that could turn and eat my soul. To become one of them. Aren’t you afraid of that, Jeffrey? That you could fall prey to that which you hunt. That you could end up becoming one of them.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” he said quietly. “But no, I can’t guarantee it. But someone has to do something about this terror. And except for the priest I don’t know any others out there searching and destroying. So that means I have to do what I can do, and not worry about the consequences.”
“I don’t know if I can’t worry about the consequences,” said Washington. “I believe in God. But I also believe in the Devil. And I don’t want to walk that close to the minions of the Devil, lest I become one.”
“Well,” said DeFalco, putting the night vision glasses to his eyes to see into the deepening night. “You don’t have to make up your mind right now. I’m thankful you’re with me right here, right now. And I will be very grateful for your aid in helping me to stop this one vampire.”
Washington nodded her head, then picked up her own night vision glasses and brought them to her eyes. She scanned the twilight, sweeping the glasses back and forth; searching for the slightest movement that might mean their target was about.
* * *
“I think you are crazy, Mr. Padillas,” said Monsignor John O’Connor, sitting on his bed and shaking his head. “You are trying to make a deal with the Devil. And you should know from the literature that no one makes a deal with the Devil and comes out ahead.”
“Monsignor,” said Padillas, standing in front of the priest and flashing a big smile. “I really don’t know what I have to lose. I’m dying. I think you’ve already guessed that much. And I have not lived a good and holy life. So I’m going to Hell. There’s no doubt in my mind. So do I want to go to Hell tomorrow, or a few months down the road at most? Or do I want to go to Hell much further down the road? Centuries? Thousands of years?”
“That is what Satan promises you,” said the priest. “But he is the Prince of Lies. Most who make the deal for eternal life find that they don’t get what they bargained for.”
“I’m willing to take that risk,” said Padillas, again smiling. “Even if it’s a crooked game, it’s the only game in town. So I’m eager to take my seat and ante up.”
“You could always repent, George Padillas,” said the priest, standing up from the bed and putting his hands on the shoulders of the man standing before him. “You could ask God for forgiveness, and live your remaining days for his glory. And then you could enter into the Kingdom of Heaven at the end of your days and live eternally in the presence of God.”
“Sorry Monsignor,” said Padillas, placing his hands on the hands of the priest and pulling them away from his shoulders. “I’m too old and far too set in my ways to make those kind of drastic changes. I think I’ll take the easier way out. And I want to be the ruler of my domain, not the servant of another.”
“I’ll pray for you, Mr. Padillas,” said O’Connor, his eyes full of sorrow. “I’ll pray that you have a change of heart. Or that God does for you what you can’t do for yourself.”
“You do that, Monsignor,” said Padillas, laughing at the priest. “You do whatever you think you need to do. And I’ll do what I think I need to do. Goodbye.”
Padillas walked from the room and Fred closed the door behind him, standing in front of the door with crossed arms. O’Connor looked closely at the man, then sat back on the bed.
“You just take it easy, Father,” said Fred, grinning at the priest. “It’ll soon be over, and you can go back to your life.”
He’s going to kill me, thought O’Connor. Fred is my executioner, once Padillas finishes with his task and no longer needs his resident vampire expert. He can’t afford to have me around, knowing what he’s become. And maybe coming after him.
“You OK, father?” asked Fred, looking down on the priest.
“You hazard much, my son,” said O’Connor, looking up at the big man. “You are following a path of evil that you do not even comprehend. It will lead you into a darkness from which there is no return.”
The man smiled back at him, his eyes laughing. O’Connor shuddered as he thought what a nest of vipers he had joined in his single-minded hunt for the vampire. Instead of getting him closer to ridding the world of a beast, he had actually gotten closer to loosing a greater monster on the world.
She, at least, only took her prey from among the evil of the Earth, he thought. He had never known her to kill someone who wasn’t deserving of it. Not that anyone was deserving of death, said the priest in him. But the human part of him knew that there were people in the world whose absence would be of benefit to mankind. And those were the people she had eliminated. And made sure that they didn’t rise again as a greater evil.
Did I misjudge you? Were you actually an Angel of the Lord in the guise of a demon? And did I use my knowledge to stop you from fulfilling your destiny. And give an evil man control of powers he did not need to control.
O’Connor looked again at the man who was keeping him in this room that was his prison. The man who would be his executioner. And the man who knew very little about Monsignor John O’Connor, and the things he had done in a younger life.
* * *
Lucinda could feel the presence of the night, the sun slipping below the horizon. She could feel the heightening of her senses, the greater strength that infused her muscles. But the strength was not as great as usual. Having not fed the night before, having not rested in her home soil, had weakened her even with the coming of night.
She could hear the voice of her hated target in the hallway, and the answering voices of his henchmen. She could smell his blood, even over the scent of life that was already in the room with her. She bared her fangs as saliva dripped down her chin. She flexed her muscles, her instincts telling her that she needed to break her restraints and go on the attack, to grab and kill her prey. But her muscles were not up to the task, and the tight bonds held her motionless on the table.
The door swung open and there in the doorway stood the prey. Lucinda felt a wave of nausea sweep through her as the hunger took charge and fought through the weakness. Her strength increased and she pulled again at the restraints. But the strength was still not great enough and the restraints seemed to laugh at her effort. She sank back to the table as her strength left her again. The hunger fought against the weakness, but it was an unequal battle. The hunger won in her mind, driving all other thoughts before it. But the weakness won in her body, and she couldn’t get at the food that she desired more than life.
And then the prey walked over to her, looking down on her with a smile on his face. She could feel a little bit of fear on him, could smell it in the sheen of sweat that reflected the light from his face. But there was something else. A smell of adrenaline excitement that was stronger than the fear. And deeper, deeper. The smell of corruption, within the guts of the man. He’s already dying, she thought. And the fear he feels is not of me, but of death in general.
“How are you doing tonight, my dear?” said Padillas, his voice slightly weak. The adrenaline in the man’s sweat showed that he was probably weaker than his voice showed, and was running on the strength of excitement. “I hope you have enjoyed the accommodations.”
“I have been in much more hospitable places,” she said in a soft voice. She strained again at the restraints, trying to get at the man.
“No need for that,” said Padillas, smiling again. “Oh. I have not been a very good host have I? I haven’t offered you refreshments.”
“The only refreshment I want would come from your ripped out throat,” she hissed, pulling again at the restraints. He was the reason she existed. To end his existence. But he had her in his power.
“Get it over with,” she whispered. “I know that’s what you want. Why else would you have brought the priest here.”
“You have one more task to perform,” he said, moving closer to her as he pulled the collar away from his neck.
Lucinda could smell the blood pulsing beneath the skin, hear the pumping of his heart as it drove the fluid through his body. The neck came closer, as the man offered himself to her.
This can’t be happening, thought Lucinda, her lips curling back from her sharp teeth. Why would he let me take his blood?
She felt his flesh under her lips as she tasted his skin. The hunger was overpowering. She could barely think of anything else but the food that was before her. But there was enough of the rational left in her to balk at the man’s willingly giving himself to her.
He wants this, she thought, as her tongue licked over the flesh. He’s dying, and there is no way to save his life. So he wants me to turn him. To make him undead, so that he can live forever. But he doesn’t know that he will be my minion, does he?
“Come on, bitch,” said Padillas, pushing his neck down onto her mouth. “What the hell are you waiting for?”
He means to have me destroyed, she thought. Then he will be a free agent. And a greater evil than he is alive. No. I can’t allow this to happen.
But the hunger was too great. Her throat felt dry, her stomach nauseated, her muscles weak. She knew what could cure all of these symptoms, and it was before her. Her lips curled back again and she thrust her teeth into the neck of the man.
Padillas tried to pull away as the teeth pierced his flesh, his instincts trying to prevent that which he wanted. Then he relaxed, showing Lucinda the willpower of the man. The discipline to get what he wanted, no matter the cost.
She sucked away at the blood that welled up at the wound, her hunger taking control of her. She could feel the tension in the muscles of his neck, knowing the pain that the man was feeling at the beginning of the feeding. Then the muscles relaxed as the victim’s pleasure took over his body. She could feel her own pleasure rise as the blood flooded into her mouth and down her throat. The orgasmic pleasure of feeling the life of another flowing into her and strengthening her.
She lost herself in the feeding, feeling the strength filling her muscles. The feeling of filling up, as blood cycled through her stomach and the life force took away the nausea of the hunger. Within minutes she could feel the last flickering of the man’s life. His heart was barely beating, and she was sucking hard on the neck, trying to tease the last of the blood from his body.
Wait, she thought, pulling the remaining blood from the body of George Padillas. I’m doing what he wants. I have to stop this, before he becomes one like me. But she couldn’t stop. Her soul demanded the life, to make her whole again. To heal her. In the frantic hunger, the hunger that had come over her after not being able to feed the night before, there was no way she could force herself to not take the last of the blood of the man. She could feel the heart stop beating. She could feel the lifeless state of the body, empty of the soul that living humans carried within them.
And she could feel something else. The seed that her feeding had planted within him. The seed that would grow in three days to an evil demon soul that would animate the dead body.
No, she screamed in her mind as she bit hard into the neck, ripping and tearing, trying to decapitate the man with her teeth. If she could separate the head from the body the seed would be destroyed and George Padillas would go on a one way trip to the grave.
“Is she supposed to be doing that?” said Jake.
“She’s trying to destroy him,” said Manny.
Strong hands grasped the shoulders of Padillas and pulled him away. Lucinda dug in with her teeth, trying to hold the man to her. But the flesh was too tender and she felt it ripping free under her teeth. Then the body of Padillas was pulled away from her, and she turned her head to see Manny and Jake dragging the body away.
Manny stopped for a moment and threw Padillas’ body over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Jake looked at Lucinda for a moment, then moved toward her, bringing his right fist up into the air. He swung a haymaker at her head, landing a hard fist on her temple.
Lucinda shrugged off the punch like that of a child, baring her teeth in an evil smile. She tensed her muscles, muscles no longer weak but again filled with the strength of ten women her size. She flexed and pulled and felt one of the restraints begin to part. She pulled harder as Jake backed away from her, the smell of fear rising off of him. She jerked and the weakened restraint parted with a snap. She jerked again, feeling the remaining restraints dig into her flesh. But her flesh was stronger than the nylon of the restraints, and another parted with a loud crack. With a final jerk she snapped the last restraint around her arms, then reach to the straps over her chest. Her clawed hands dug under a strap and pulled it away, then another, until her upper body was free and she could work on her legs.
As Lucinda pulled the last restraint away from her she looked up in time to see Jake pulling the door closed. It slammed with a loud thud as the vampire jumped from the table. She could feel the holy wrongness of the room beating down on her, but with her strength she pushed against it, almost making it to the door. But she was still a creature of the night, and could not long fight against the repulsive power of the holy symbols.
Lucinda fell away from the door and crawled along the floor until she was again sitting near the table. There was no way she could get near enough to the walls or ceiling to get through them. And in the morning they come back and destroy me, she thought. Which gave her nine hours to get out of the room, though for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how she was going to make that happen.
Chapter 10
“In heaven’s name, what is going on out there?”
“Take is easy Father,” said Fred, getting up from his chair and moving in front of the door.
O’Connor heard shouting in the hall, even through the thick walls of the room and the almost soundproof door. He thought that was Manny’s voice yelling at another man, then the slamming of a door vibrated through the walls. Then more loud voices in the hall. The priest tried to move toward the door, but Fred held his big hands out in front of him and fended O’Connor off, placing his hands on the man’s chest. O’Connor reached up with one hand and tried to pull a hand away. Fred pushed, hard, and O’Connor fell backwards, stumbling until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He tumbled backwards, landing on his back on the mattress.
“Don’t do it, father,” said the man as O’Connor came off of the bed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Bullshit,” mumbled the priest, balling up his fists. “You’re going to kill me when that son-of-a-bitch gives the order.”
“True,” said the big man, reaching a hand into his pocket and pulling out the garrote, grasping one of the wooden handles in each hand as he stretched the guitar string between them. “I guess it’s time then, since from the sound of it the boss has done what he wanted to do.”
The big man walked lightly on his feet as he moved toward the priest. O’Connor backed away, his eyes darting this way and that, looking for a way out of the room. Fred smiled the grin of a shark, his eyes gleaming in the light.
He’s a true psychopath, thought the priest, his mind going back to his studies in psychology. He will enjoy killing me. I wonder how many others he has enjoyed killing.
Fred raised the garrote up in front of his face, making sure that his victim saw the method of his execution, trying to make sure that man was terrified with the coming death. He frowned a moment as the priest looked steadily back into his eyes.
Time to use some other of my studies, thought O’Connor. He swung a right fist toward the other man’s head, waited until Fred reacted, then ducked his left shoulder and sent a hard left cross into the man’s right ribs. Fred grunted, then grunted again as the priest sent another pair of left crosses into the ribs. As the man dropped his arm to cover up his side O’Connor
sent a right cross to the side of the head, then a left uppercut under the jaw.
Fred’s head jerked back under the blow. He growled as he bit his tongue, then swung a heavy right hand at the head of his tormentor. O’Connor caught the blow on his raised forearm, deflecting it over his head, then swung a right into the man’s stomach, following it with a trio of left, right, left into the hard stomach. O’Connor knew however hard the stomach a man could not take a hard punch unless he had been trained to take one, and Fred had been the beater for too long. The air woofed out of the man as the punches landed.
This is taking too long, thought O’Connor. The man was hurt, but he wasn’t going down fast enough. And the priest was sure that the someone would eventually hear the noise and come into the room. He couldn’t afford to have two or more men to fight against. Already the strain was telling on his older body. Not like the younger days, he thought, ducking under another haymaker. He would have taken a mug like this apart when he had fought professionally. Even though he hadn’t been the best, only up to breaking into the top ten, a man like Fred had little skill as a real fighter.
O’Connor made another feint, right hand to the ribs that was blocked. But the second punch of the planned combination landed, into the Adam’s Apple, hard through the cartilage of the throat. Fred’s eyes went wide as he tried to pull air through his crushed windpipe. O’Connor threw a right to the man’s temple, then a left knife hand to the side of the neck.
Fred tried to stay on his feet, tried to call out, tried to pull in some life giving air. He failed at all three, as O’Connor sent a flurry of fists into the man’s head and body. Fred dropped to one knee, one hand on his leg while the other held his throat. O’Connor sent a right into the man’s head, followed by another, then a third. Fred went limp, falling to the floor, gasping as he hit, then going unconscious.
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