He leaned back and closed his eyes, then whispered a prayer of his own for the old, cold man on the old, cold ground.
The next night found the two somber figures occupying a bench in front of the alabaster facade of the cathedral. The iron-crossed spires rose beyond the lights into the dark heavens, casting their psychological shadows over the tourists below. Both men were caught up in their own thoughts—thoughts revolving around the mysteries and the meanings that such buildings implied.
They had sat there for most of an hour, passing Isaac’s flask of brandy between them. Isaac hadn’t slept except for two fitful hours at midday. Julian could have made a similar claim. But there was no fatigue, only a keen awareness of the jostling life all around them. He had never noticed so many couples in the streets. The lovers were everywhere, sharing their secrets, creating their memories. How had he missed them for all these years?
He had truly forgotten that love existed. It had seemed so natural to believe that, when Lessa died, all the stubborn, struggling love in the world died with her. And in the half century since then, he had never cared to look closely enough to see that he might be wrong.
Julian was putting the finishing touches on the idea that he was about to share with Isaac. So much had been revealed to him in the past few months, even before Isaac had stumbled onto his existence. And last night had revealed the final sign-post on their secret, parallel paths. The problem for Julian, now, was finding the courage to follow through. There was a high price yet to be paid for what he could only hope was an opportunity for that elusive, eternal, love. He would need all of Isaac’s understanding.
But how was he supposed to manage that? Isaac had shown little inclination towards any kind of understanding, let alone vicarious forgiveness. He had heaped all the injustices that he had ever witnessed onto Julian’s shoulders, making the vampire the focus of all his bitterness. This fact gave Julian pause. How could he do what needed to be done without Isaac’s voluntary support? He sighed. He would simply have to forge ahead and hope for a breakthrough. He nudged the old survivor from his reverie and began.
“Isaac. There are some few things that we must discuss before this chapter in our lives can be closed. There are matters here that need your attention. Things that I cannot openly explain…things you must discover through your own reflections if they are to have the incredible impact on your life that they have had on mine.
“I want you to listen carefully with a wide-open heart. Two nights before our paths crossed in Atlanta, I had an experience that you should know about. It was here, in New Orleans. In fact, it happened inside that very cathedral you see before you.
“It was very late. Or perhaps it is more appropriate to say that it was very early. I had been walking all night in the rain, reveling in the storm that was scrubbing the city clean. In the distant sky I could discern the first purple hints of dawn. But I wasn’t ready to retire the night quite yet.
“The rain and the empty streets had combined to inspire a vitality in my blood, in my bones, that I hadn’t felt in years. The vibrancy of life was pulsing through me. I felt almost human again. I felt almost…holy.
“I left the Moonwalk along the river and, on a whim, I wandered here, and stood before that sacred shrine. I had not actually entered a church in several decades except out of curiosity. But that night I felt drawn to the place. Like a condemned heretic imploring some last-minute forgiveness, I entered the deserted sanctuary of St. Louis Cathedral.
“All along the rail before the altar, hundreds of burning candles were lined up like a brigade of hopeful soldiers. I lit one of my own and placed it among all the others. Then, with some stiffness from lack of habit, I got down on my knees and recalled my pleadings from that chapel in Dover. I had prayed for a miracle on that night three hundred years before. But not this time. I had learned, like all suffering humans, to lower my standards.
“This time, I prayed only for some sign…some small, token omen that I was not beyond the mercy I had tried to bestow upon my countless victims. I only wanted to know if I still somehow mattered to whatever God might be out there listening. I was quite wary of the hour. I would have to surrender to the morning soon. But I lingered there as long as I dared in my fervent longing.
“Then a sudden wind, the origins of which I could not guess, swept through the shadows and over the altar, extinguishing all the candles. But not as you would imagine, Isaac. They were not blown out all at once. They went out singly, one by one. Each in its turn, until only one candle remained. Mine. My candle, alone, continued to burn, seemingly brighter than it had before. The wind had departed.
“I stared at that candle in disbelief, unable to grasp its meaning. But slowly, like a curtain parting on some unscrupulous magician’s trick, a dread realization crept over me. My prayer had indeed been answered. God was, yet again…what was your word?… ‘mocking’ me. Yes. He was telling me in no uncertain terms, just as surely as if He had materialized there before me, that my flame would never be extinguished. My curse was infinite.
“I rose from my knees in outrage, cursing and vowing never to seek such solace again. I understood His workings now. I could finally see, with more clarity than ever, how He lashes us time and again with suffering, and how our prayers become less meaningful, our expectations for love and happiness wither in the dust of His indifference, until we are left with the most stunted hope…which he finally crushes. Showing us once and for all that He is God, and we are merely chattel.
“It was everything you and I have discussed these past several days. It is the common plight of the suffering mortal who has lost much, and then lost even more in the pursuit of some sacred solace that doesn’t come. Only the willfully-blind can claim some impossible, convenient ‘faith’ when it has never been tested. But to have faith after all has been consumed in the earthly fires, when every hope, every dream, has been crushed by the jackboots and the jailer…THIS is the faith forged like steel. This faith in love, alone, has meaning. And I have come to believe that it is the only faith that can persevere…that has the potential to break through from the blind-following of some religious faith to a direct and transformative experience of that love you and I call ‘Divine.’
“But on that night I wanted to somehow get back at this loveless entity. I stood there in the near darkness, considering. And just as suddenly as my anger had consumed me, it was reversed.”
He paused and looked squarely into Isaac’s eyes.
“A single raindrop, from the storm that was just beginning to subside, somehow found a breach in that vaulted ceiling. It fell with perfect precision directly onto my candle. And my light…went…out.
“I was temporarily stunned. Then a joy, unlike any I have known since my days with Clara, began to fill my soul with a light of its own. I was not an abomination, after all. I was important…at least, important enough to not have been ignored in my request for a sign. There was still hope.
“I staggered out into the rain and I began to laugh. I didn’t even hurry back to my home, although the sun was only minutes from its arrival and its warmth was already spreading through my body like a painful cancer.
“In my home, I waited. Since that morning, I have maintained a new kind of faith that— somehow—my reality was about to change. Yes, I have killed since then. But when you entered the picture, with your ‘coincidental’ discoveries and your familiar story of love and loss, I knew that the matter was at hand. I still don’t fully grasp the details of the outcome, but I am certain of its prompt arrival.
“Isaac, we are both living, historical testimonies that there is barely enough love to balance man’s hatred. Our credibility in this matter is beyond question. But I have come to believe that we have been blessed, yes…blessed…by our suffering, because it has been the burden of love that we have carried, and have never dropped. This means something. It may, in fact, mean everything. The time for redemption i
s very near.”
With those words, the vampire rose and stared down at the still-seated Isaac. The old man stared back without fear, knowing that the moment had arrived, but incredulous at what he heard next.
“You are free to return to your home. My power over you will diminish in time, and you will be able to say and do what you choose. It will not matter to me, for I will have gone from this place. And your recent history, if you were to share it, would only harm yourself.
“We shall not meet again. But I wish for you the peace, and the reunion with your wife, that you have prayed for. I have come to respect you, Isaac. And I can very much sympathize. But you must lose your anger, forever. Your dream cannot possibly be realized so long as you carry that poison inside you. That dream is closer than you know.”
“I want you to have something,” he said as he reached into his shirt and drew out the amber orb, and the ashes of Joan of Arc. “Give this a special place in your home, as I have in mine. She’s a saint now, and she belongs to all of us. I place her remains in your good, kind hands.”
Isaac was speechless.
“Arrangements have been made for your return to Boston tomorrow. But for now you will return to your room and sleep well. Goodbye, Isaac. May you be blessed.” Julian turned and walked quickly into the throng of tourists, who drew behind him like a curtain…not giving Isaac an opportunity to speak, to say goodbye…to say…
Chapter Seventeen
Isaac Bloom sat in the comfortable wingback chair he had treated himself for his scholarly pursuits, in the days before he even imagined vampires. Four months had passed since Julian had walked away into the flowing-river-darkness of the New Orleans night. It was winter in Boston. And Isaac was officially retired.
The Bhagavad Gita lay atop a stack of books at his feet that included the love poems of Neruda, as well as a collection of Lessa’s poetry and lullabies he had self-published for his own enjoyment. The title read, simply, Nocturnes.
Isaac’s reading list had become predominately spiritual in nature. He was no more certain of his beliefs than he had ever been, but he was enthusiastically open to all of it. Asking genuine questions was a novelty he could get accustomed to. He was becoming a seeker.
But he was currently preoccupied with other thoughts…thoughts that were less than meditative. Evan Connor was due to arrive at any moment. And Isaac intended to speak to him of the bizarre events that he had recently been a part of.
The old priest’s temperament had worsened in the months since he had confessed his waning faith to Isaac. He had been granted his request for retirement and replaced quickly, too quickly for Evan’s taste, by a young, dynamic character not unlike the Evan Connor of 1945. Since then, he had faded into a self-imposed exile from most of his friends and followers.
It was risky to subject his unstable friend to stories of murder and ancient histories. But Isaac was prepared to gamble that the shock might help suspend Evan’s spiritual tailspin. There was also the fact that Isaac needed the comforting words of the priest more than ever before.
As Julian had promised, the vampire’s hold on him had vanished. At least, the compelling need to obey and protect him had vanished. But it had been replaced by the persistent feeling that there was yet some unfinished business between the two of them. There was something out there that Julian had wanted Isaac to understand. It was something that had come from Isaac, and which had altered the vampire’s perception of eternity and eternal love. He had said that it was something Isaac must discover through his own reflections. Isaac had spent four months doing little else, with nothing to show for it but a growing anxiety that he was missing the point.
It was astonishing enough that he had been allowed to walk away. It was more troubling than soothing that the two of them had shared so many common experiences of tragedy and sorrow. But that was where the link needed to be examined. And Isaac had pored over his still-acute memories of those nights with Julian with a detective’s inquisition. He was close, and the niggle-naggle realization of that was enough to drive him to hysterics. The knock came at the front door and Isaac rose to answer it.
“Come in, Evan. It’s so good to see you, old friend.”
The weathered padre entered the room looking considerably older than he had just four weeks earlier. The grey hollows beneath his eyes were basins of surrender. He slumped heavily onto the low divan and asked Isaac for a brandy.
Isaac fetched a tumbler and sat down across from him.
“How are you, Evan?”
“Alright, Isaac. You sounded more eager than usual to see me, so I hurried over as fast as these spindly legs would propel me. But I hope this doesn’t concern matters of faith. I have retired from the shepherding of souls.”
His voice was laced with a weary sarcasm. Isaac was stunned. This had progressed far beyond mere self-pity and doubt. It was bordering upon a total departure from all that Evan Connor had once held dear.
“I don’t have much time to socialize, either, I’m afraid. I am in the middle of an epic project that is consuming my time in research. Something the old dinosaurs of the Church will find quite upsetting. I am shooting several holes in the good name of St. Augustine. Once a heretic, always a heretic, if you ask me. Man is simply incapable of changing his nature…”
Isaac was perturbed and cut him off abruptly.
“Evan, I asked you to come by tonight because I have something rather amazing to share with you. I need all your attention and open-mindedness…” He could hear the echo of Julian’s words imploring him for the same.
He looked into Isaac’s vacant eyes and wondered if he would have either. The wind had been building for several hours. Isaac walked to the fireplace to adjust the flue against the downdraft. He placed another log on the fire and returned to his chair. He was aware that the lighting was poor and that the firelight was adding a certain drama to the room.
“A moment ago you said that man is incapable of changing his nature. I am no longer so certain of that fact.”
He looked again into his friend’s eyes, then turned his gaze to the sighing logs and continued.
“During my last assignment for the magazine, I met an incredible man who has spent several decades trying to change his nature. He has, at least in part, been successful.
“I became involved in something that I have never told you about. As I sit here now, I find it too strange, myself, and I can only imagine how you will react. But I have to tell you, Evan. And I am going to need your help in sifting through the details to find its meaning.”
He began to pace around the room. The moment had come to divulge the past month’s secrets to his lifelong friend, and he was finding it more difficult than he had imagined. To make matters worse, Evan was taking him about as seriously as a parking ticket. He was stubbornly refusing to even allow Isaac the courtesy of a forum. There was nothing to be done except forge straight ahead, to meet Evan’s stubborn inattention with a stubbornness of his own. Even would see the magnitude before much longer.
“Quite by accident…or maybe it wasn’t an accident at all…I discovered…a series of murders, a recurring pattern that had been in place over the last half decade, and longer. Someone was preying on the homeless.”
He paused and looked carefully for an expression of alarm on the face of the priest. But there was still only that vague comprehension. Evan hadn’t yet made the emotional connection that Isaac was counting on. He continued.
“The fact of the serial murders was unsettling enough, and made no sense in itself. I mean, who would want to murder homeless people…for what reason? But all the other circumstances also seemed too bizarre to be true. I pursued the case myself so that I could verify what I suspected before turning it all over to the police.
“But the more I became involved, the more impossible it became to disengage myself. And the whole thing took on a stranger, darker tone than I cou
ld believe. So much so that I began to doubt my own sanity. It was during my investigations that I met the man responsible for the killings of all those pitiful people. After spending a week with him in New Orleans, I knew that I would never be able to go to the police with my information.”
It was obvious now that Evan was not going to become invested in the matter. He had made up his mind before he had even arrived that, whatever he was being summoned to, he was finished with intimate involvement in other people’s problems. Even Isaac’s. But he surprised Isaac with the extent of his apathy.
“This sounds too much like confession to me, Isaac. Wouldn’t you like me to call that new kid who has taken my place? Perhaps he can lend a more sympathetic ear…”
“Damn it, Evan! Just hear me out, please. I don’t know what all this arrogant indifference is with you lately, but I hardly recognize the man I have known for these past five decades. I have a genuine need to make you understand this matter, because I believe that by discussing it I might be able to grasp its true significance. It may seem odd to you, but through it all I have felt a certain purpose.”
Now he hesitated again, acutely aware of the absurdity of what he was about to relate. He could hardly believe it himself. And he had lived through it. The situation was taking on the air of impossibility. But, amazingly, Evan was pushing ahead with his own point. He had obviously gone deaf in the past ten minutes.
“Did you know, Isaac, that St Augustine was a devoted practitioner of the occult sciences? And that he was quite proficient in astrology, before he gave up paganism?”
Evan continued with his original line of thought as though nothing out of the ordinary was about to happen…as though a ticking time bomb was not poised above his unsuspecting world.
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