The Penance: A Short Story

As I stepped out of the cold darkness and crossed the warm threshold of St. Cecilia’s Catholic Church, I was painfully aware of the fact that I did not belong there. Priests, Christians…humans. Not that I would burst into flames on contact or anything, but the old cathedral seemed too pristine for my kind.

Or maybe that was just me. Maybe I didn’t deserve to spend time among the beautiful and the saved.

Still, there I stood, with my invitation in hand.

I had actually been invited to a church, for once. To a wedding. Paulina’s wedding.

Granted, I was a bit taken back that Paulina wanted to marry a man especially after that night. I guess one frivolous yet totally hot kiss among friends did not necessarily a relationship make, though she did seem into it at the time.

I told myself, it was for the best. I had never seen a vampire/human relationship end well anyway.

So… there was that.

I did, however, admire the fact that Paulina knew how, and with whom, she wanted to spend the rest of her living years. A massive undertaking, in my opinion, especially for a human with such a finite amount of time.

The lobby of the grand church was splendidly ornate. Vaulted ceilings, rose-colored carpet, expensive antiques, gold-lined linens, and a fantastic, hand painted statue of the Virgin herself right in the middle. I couldn’t resist dragging my fingertips across her pale face lightly as I passed by. Exquisite. As I stared into the dark eyes of the statue; I couldn’t help but be a little jealous of the Virgin Mary. She’d been chosen. Deemed worthy. She was a woman of purity and goodness.

Secretly I hoped that Mary, wherever she was at that moment, would not disapprove of my presence.

Entering the sanctuary, with its massive marble columns and colorful, stained-glass windows took my breath away. Not at all like the simple country church I’d attended as a human child.

Human.

It had been a while but unfortunately I did remember.

Becoming a vampire was my reward for surviving my childhood. No more alcoholic father to slap me around or ignorant mother to stand by and make excuses for it. In fact, no one was slapping me around anymore. Thinking about my father stirred feelings that I did not want to feel so I turned my attention to the wedding decorations.

The sprays of pink, purple, and white roses were in full bloom. Perfect for the wedding. The sweet perfume wafted through the air bringing me back to why I had come.

I took a seat in the back pew away from the humans. Not because I didn’t trust myself but because my presence was often distracting to normal people. If and when they noticed, it would be hard for them not to gawk at the changes in my skin hue and body temperature. Humans sense the difference. Fortunately, they are usually unable to put a finger on it. It had always been, in my experience, that most human-beings did not believe in vampires.

Thank God.

No matter. Today was about Paulina…not me.

Sweet Paulina and her groom, the doctor. I glanced at the ivory-colored wedding invitation again. For whatever reason, I always forgot his name. The good doctor stood, back straight, next to his best man at the altar.

I watched him rock back and forth on his feet, hands fisted in front of him, waiting not so patiently. No extra sensory gifts necessary. The bride groom was anxious. Of course, I figured I would be too if I were about to marry Paulina. And everyone knows that the wedding night begins after the wedding. Another thought I needed to shake off immediately. I could not afford another reason to resent the man.

The classical music piped into the sanctuary soothed my weary soul while taking in the general splendor of things. Weddings were supposed to be the happiest of days in a person’s life. I found it humorous that I’d never really been to a wedding before but as I glanced around that was exactly what I saw. Happy faces.

When the pipe organ cued our attention, the congregation stood. So did I. Through the double doors the bridal party paraded in, led by the cutest little flower girl, no more than five or six years old. I watched the silky, white petals fall from her hands like snowflakes. I smiled at the flowy, lilac-colored dresses…pink lips, vulnerable, bare, exposed jugulars, dancing heartbeats. The bridal party looked delicious.

Stop, I told myself shaking the thoughts away. This was the wrong place to indulge in blood lust.

Paulina smiled at me as she glided in on her father’s arm. Despite the veil over her face, I thought I saw a hint of surprise on her pretty face. Or maybe it was relief. As if I didn’t have enough reason to feel awkward, I began a feeble attempt to analyze human feelings. A dangerous and frustrating exercise.

I hadn’t been human in decades and nor did I miss it. I did not miss the pain, the stress, the sickness.

What was it about Paulina that made me feel so…human? Everything about her made me feel weak. And, just as those pesky human feelings of inadequacy began to kick in…

Paulina drew me back to her. She was truly a vision in white. And the answer to any red-blooded man or woman’s fantasy. I couldn’t help but smile back.

Moments later, the wedding had begun.

All things considered; I was doing well as a normal wedding guest. I hadn’t set off any alarms. No one was curiously watching me. It had to be my lucky horseshoe charm necklace. Lucky, I had decided to wear it.

Being Baptist from birth, I did not know much about the Catholic faith, or all the physical components involved. Sit, kneel, stand. Repeat. There was also a lot of chanting that I did not understand either. But, to see Paulina happy was most important. I could never have accomplished it.

Unfortunately, for all of us, the joy was short-lived.

I didn’t immediately sense them but in my defense, I was, like everyone else, distracted.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest announced. In mere seconds, those words were absorbed by a vacuum type of reality. All movement and sound slowed to a crawl. I watched the groom lift the thin netting from her face. He leaned toward her, lips puckered, and the wedding goers began to clap and cheer in a most dramatic fashion. Just as I began to put my hands together and join in merriment…

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Like popcorn in a microwave, the sharp sounds sent a shockwave echoing through the sanctuary. Not immediately recognizing the racket, but certainly the threat, I threw myself onto the carpeted floor in one quick movement. Keeping my head low, I noticed a thin layer of smoke began to rise and spread quickly. I slipped under the pew in front of me as two masked humans, dressed all in black, ascended the aisles, guns ablaze.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

It sounded like the 4th of July. In seconds, I was overtaken by the dingy, copper-smell of human blood and ear-piercing shrieks of terror. Two very specific triggers of mine. And, just like that, my switch flipped.

People were dying. I could feel it in my bones the same way a jungle cat senses a wounded gazelle. My instinct was to pounce and feed on whatever and whomever was weakest. I gulped the gathering saliva and tried my best not to inhale through my nose.

The last thing I would ever have expected at a wedding…was a massacre.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The shooting continued and more blood-curdling screams. From under the pew, I watched the feet of the frantic people running for their lives in every direction, falling on the floor, and ducking behind any solid object in sight.

It was mass chaos.

But my own self- preservation gave way when the gun shots stopped. Paulina’s high-pitched voice would have been inaudible to anyone else in the church. Easily drowned out by the moans of the wounded. Even through the ringing in my ears, I heard every word.

“Oh God,” she whaled, “What have you done?”

Her sobs were from deep within her gut. The cry of the broken. I could not see the scene but I felt the vibration of movement and the anger within the human shooters. It radiated from them.

I winced. Their darkness aggravated my senses like knuckles cracking.

By this time, I had managed to pull myself back up into the pew.

I watched as the two mad men, with their high-powered rifles in hand, stalked closer to the horrified bride. They mumbled something incoherent to one another and laughed about it. To me, they looked like crazed vultures feeding off of her fear and despair. Her lips trembled with each step they made. Her big, tear-stained, hazel eyes dipping up and down, trying to accept that her groom lay at her feet.

The humility of her humanness broke something inside of me. I felt a stray tear fall from my eye.

Paulina had sank to nothing more than a weak human female in a blood-spattered dress drowning in shock. Her mind would never be able to absorb what had befallen her perfect day.

The killers had every intention of finishing her off. I sensed, in that devastating moment, that Paulina would welcome the bullet. Picturing her dead body on the floor made me sick. I quickly transitioned my intuitiveness from Paulina to the shooter directly in front of her. With just a bit of focus and a sprinkle of luck, I was able to pick up on his thought processes.

Human drivel mostly. Some haughty, religious ideology had brought them to St. Cecilia’s. None of it meant anything to the wounded and dying. We were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

What a waste. What a truly heinous tragedy.

I also knew that a few of her wedding guests were still alive. I could hear muffled sobs, the low struggle of shallow breaths, and I saw the fingers on her husband’s right-hand twitch.

I wasn’t sure whether it was the cocky, gun-toting maniacs, their poisoned minds, Paulina’s hopelessly terrorized expression, or just the holy place in which I found myself that day…but something propelled me forward. I was not a certified doctor or surgeon, like her dying spouse, but I had the ability to save lives just like a doctor.

The immortal gift did not usually include heroism. But once I’d made the decision, it was as if I moved on rails. Instinctively, I knew what to do and how to do it effectively.

They never saw me coming. There was no way a human could. Like a thief in the night, I was upon them. I grabbed the first shooter and spun him with great force into his psychotic partner. Both men violently slapped together before hitting the crimson-stained floor. Once down, I snatched the rifles and sent them helicoptering across the sanctuary. Paulina’s gasp caught my attention, and I turned in time to see her wide eyed expression.

Now, she could clearly see the truth about me.

One of the masked murderers managed to get back to his feet but he wasn’t on them long. I grabbed the collar of his black jacket and flung him backward another ten yards. His head hit a side pew and cracked like a melon on a pavement. The carnage stimulated my fangs instinctively though I had already made my choice. I paused only to retract them.

The other man, dazed, reached for a handgun he had stowed on his hip. I stared down the barrel, and saw the bullet exit the snub-nose. I easily darted left, then right as bullets raced by just inches from my face. Five failed shots, and the man was left with nothing more than disbelief and fear. As he should.

I leapt onto him with such force that the floor splintered beneath me. The man’s body folded like a taco shell, his spine snapping like a twig.

But that wasn’t all…

I had taken human life many times before but never had I gotten real satisfaction from it. Sustenance, yes. The unexpected high was feeling that sense of pride surge through my body. A human emotion long forgotten. I had taken those two twisted monsters out of the world and made it a better place. A safer place.

As I continued toward my friend’s motionless husband, I saw her watching through a zombie-like haze completely decimated.

Without hesitation, I dropped, knees first, into the puddle of blood oozing from him. Using my fangs, I sliced open the palm of my hand where it met the wrist, and shoved the open wound into his mouth. I secretly hoped it wasn’t too late.

“Drink, my friend,” I whispered while leaning over him. “Drink and come back to her.”