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 released, 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?