RESURRECTED (13 page)

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 her 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.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come here more often,” she said. “I live practically down the block. I hope you’re not offended.”

He smiled.

“I’m happy that you’re here now. The present is all we have, isn’t it? All of our mistakes, all of our regrets—all that we’ve done in the past—it’s nothing compared to the power of the present.

Thank you for coming now.”

He stepped to the side and opened the door for her. They continued down a stone corridor, leading towards the rear courtyard.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good with confession,” Caitlin said. “I don’t even know what it is, really. I don’t think I’ve ever done it—or at least properly. I’m not really sure what to say—”

“Don’t worry about any of that,” he said reassuringly. “Just speak from your heart. Tell me whatever you want to tell me.”

They walked out into a small courtyard in the back of the church. It was beautiful, quaint, filled with blooming fall flowers of every variety and a small pumpkin patch, and framed by large, reassuring, ancient trees, their leaves a medley of color, many of which were sprinkled in the garden.

They followed a narrow, stone pathway and made their way to a bench beneath a tree.

They sat side by side and Caitlin leaned back, feeling at ease for the first time in days. A cool October breeze caressed her, taking off the heat of the sun. All around her, birds were chirping.

They sat there in silence for what felt like forever. Not once did the Father intrude on her thoughts. Clearly, this was a patient man, well-trained in the art of listening.

Caitlin didn’t quite know how to begin.

“My daughter, Scarlet, is sick,” she finally said.

He turned to her, looking back with caring eyes.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Yesterday—” she began, then stopped.
My God, was it only yesterday?
she thought. It felt like years had passed. “Yesterday…she came home sick from school. Then…she ran out of the house. She was missing, until today. We found her in the morning, and took her to the hospital. She was fine.

The doctors say she’s fine. But I don’t feel that she’s fine.”

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked again.

Caitlin sighed, trying to figure how to phrase it. She wanted to stop beating around the bush.

“Father, do you believe in the paranormal?” she asked.

He turned and really looked at her for the first time, and she could see his green eyes widen in surprise. He looked away.

“If by that you mean, do I believe there are spiritual and unexplained forces beyond the physical realm? Yes, I do. I do not believe that we live in just a physical realm. There are clearly things in God’s universe that are meant to be unexplained. Things which we were never meant to understand.”

“But do you believe in the…supernatural?” Caitlin asked. “I mean—for example—the Catholic Church—it believes in spirits, right? Demons? Possession? Exorcism? I mean—you have exorcism rituals, don’t you?”

He shifted in his seat and rubbed his palms on his knees, and she could sense he was uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

“Officially, yes. There is a ritual in the Catholic Church for exorcism. Have I ever seen it in practice? No. Have I ever practiced it myself? No. It is a very rare thing. As much as it may have been dramatized in the movies,” he said with a smile, “it is something you really never hear about.” He paused. “Why do you ask?”

Caitlin collected her thoughts. She wanted to say the right thing, and didn’t want to seem crazy.

“I guess what I’m asking you is…do
you
believe in it? Do you believe that such a thing can exist?”

He blinked, and she could see him thinking. He was silent for a long time.

Finally, he took a deep breath.

“Yes. Personally, I do. Over my years, I have certainly encountered things which I could not explain. What I like to think of as intense, spiritual moments. Moments where people’s spirits defied their bodies, and vice versa. There is a spiritual realm. And yes, of course, where there is light, there is darkness—and there can be a dark side to the spiritual realm, as well. In my view, though, light is stronger than darkness—and all darkness can be conquered by the light.” He paused, looking at her.

“Why do you ask? Are you concerned for your daughter? Has something happened to her?” Caitlin decided she had to tell him. She had no choice, and she felt she could trust him.

“I don’t believe that my daughter is possessed, no,” she said. “I know this whole conversation must sound crazy, forgive me—”

He held up a palm.

“Please. I don’t judge. You would not believe the things I see and hear. Nothing surprises me, and I’m open to anything.”

Caitlin sighed, feeling better.

“I don’t believe that Scarlet is possessed, no. But I do think she is suffering from something that is not…physical, for lack of a better word. You see, father,” she said, and dropped her voice, “I believe that my daughter is becoming a vampire.”

He stared back at her, his eyes opening twice as wide. He looked startled. But, to Caitlin’s relief, she didn’t sense he was dismissing her.

He sat there for several moments, as he looked out at the garden in amazed silence.

“I’m not crazy, father. I’m a scholar. I have a beautiful, loving family. I’ve been a member of this community for years. I…I…”

Caitlin suddenly lowered her head into her hands and started to cry, realizing how crazy she sounded.

To her surprise, she felt a reassuring hand on her back.

“There is no need to explain, or apologize. I don’t judge you.” She looked up at him, through teary eyes.

“But do you believe me? Do you believe it’s possible? That vampires can exist?” He sighed and looked away.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “There is a long and complex history between the paranormal and the Catholic Church. Over the centuries, some factions have discounted it as absurd; others have acknowledged it. The official position now is somewhere in between. Exorcism is safer ground. But when you deal with other…forms of the supernatural…it is a very fine line.”