The initial plan to go hunting was turned down. I stayed at home, going back to my bedroom to take off my weapons and coat. Hoping the water would wash away some of the dejection, I took a shower.
Unfortunately, it didn’t help. I didn’t feel any better afterwards. I put on my pajamas and sat down on my bed. Sighing, I fell onto the pillows. I stared at the ceiling, thinking about what the Father was doing at the moment. Since I had asked what we would do now, we haven’t had talked. In front of me, I still could see the grotesque council of monsters. I still could hear the vampire’s words, demanding for me. His cold voice just didn’t want to die away. The sight of his red eyes had burnt itself into my memory. I was sure I would never forget them.
Sighing, I rolled onto my side, closed my eyes and tried to think of something else. It worked in a way. I stopped thinking about the vampire’s red eyes and his voice. In return, I thought about the two weeks we had been given, which wasn’t very helpful to fall asleep, too. I tossed and turned. My head was about to explode from all the thinking. Only in the early morning hours I fell asleep from exhaustion.
When I woke up, I felt whacked. I would have stayed in bed, if it hadn’t been 1.45 p.m. But I couldn’t hide forever. So, I went to the bathroom, took a shower and got dressed. It was routine. So ordinary, so normal. As if nothing had ever happened.
Looking for something to eat, I went to the kitchen.
“Hello,” I said, when I entered, seeing the Father sitting at the table. In front of him was a plate with my beloved pancakes, syrup and a pot of coffee.
Father Michael looked up from the theological journal he was reading. “Hello,” he said, smiling for a split second. He looked tired.
“Are the pancakes for me?” I asked, pointing at the food.
“Thank you,” I said, crossing the room to sit down at the table. With knife and fork, I took one of the pancakes and put it onto my plate. I poured lots of syrup over it. It was a feast! At least for me. When I put back the bottle of syrup, I noticed the Father watching me. I smiled and began to eat.
“Are you not going to eat something?” I asked. I couldn’t see a second plate.
“I’m not hungry,” he replied. I took a bite from my favorite meal and looked at the Father, chewing. For a brief moment, it felt weird to be watched eating, especially when it was something as high-calorie as pancakes, while he only ate water and bread being a good-looker made only of muscles. Still, it didn’t spoil my appetite.
Silently, we sat there. The only thing that could be heard was my knife and fork, scraping over the plate. Father Michael still stared at me, but I decided to ignore him. When I ate the third pancakes, the theological journal rustled when it was shut. Chair legs scratched across the kitchen floor and Father Michael stood up. “I will go to my office now to work,” he told me.
Chewing, I looked up at him. He leaned down to me, kissed my forehead and left the room. I watched him go. His quietness worried me. Okay, I didn’t feel like telling jokes all the time, too, but does he want to be like that for the next two weeks?
“That’s not an option!” I said to myself, standing up and following him to his office.