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sparkindarknessI took a brief break to rattle some more of the vampire info down, but I'm back. I'm amazed, this may be the longest continuous story arc I've ever done.
Style query. When Father Michaels prays, because he’s rather old school, he usually does so in Latin but I usually write it in English (I have enough headaches without having to battle foreign, alien and dead languages so I usually transcribe). I’m debating the decision though. “In nomini patris, filis et spiritus sanctus” sounds supremely classy in the way that only Latin can, but it’s also utter gibberish to most people and would also involve me battling with Catholic catechism whenever Father Michaels wants to pray for the sake of consistency - which is SO not on my list of fun activities.
Hmmm… choices, choices.
Father Michaels had managed a few hours sleep before being ready for Ian’s return, a bleary Lakshmi by his side. He was infinitely thankful that the first aid supplies he had set aside against the time weren’t needed, but he did insist that Ian go to see his nephew - his body was mottled with deep purple bruising. It looked like he’d been thrown repeatedly against a wall.
Ian was reluctant and in the end the old priest had to resort to slipping something into his drink to make him sleep. He called his nephew and had him come attend Ian at the church while the boy finally got some sleep. Perhaps he might finally be able to manage eight hours. Something they could all use.
The girl he had rescued was in shock, not severely though, according to the old priest’s nephew. Father Michaels offered a prayer of thanks for their safety and for the girl’s resilience, she had true strength within her. Maybe it would be enough for her to leave her ordeal without it casting its shadow over her soul. He looked sadly at Ian and Lakshmi; so few could suffer the touch of the monsters and not be darkened by it, changed by it, never again to live a gentle, happy life. The girl was sleeping now, even deeper than Ian’s drug induced rest. Sleep was probably the best cure for her, sleep and kind reassurance. And to find her sister. He prayed they would be able to.
“They’ll both be OK, but they’ll need some rest.” Matthew said, returning to his uncle. “Keep her warm and try not to leave her alone. I’ve left some sedatives for her in case she has trouble sleeping. Ian will heal, he usually does. He has one cracked rib, but I think it’s pretty minor and I’ve bound it up tight. I know it’s pointless, but try to keep him still for a while. I’ve left you some sedatives for him in case he has trouble sleeping…”
“Or if I have trouble getting him to sleep.” The priest added.
“As a doctor I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.” The young doctor grinned and packed up the rest of his things. “I’ve left you a few more medical supplies in the back… help keep you topped up.”
“Thank you. We greatly appreciate your help.”
“You only ever need to help, padre, you know that.” They shook hands and the doctor left.
Father Michaels stood in the doorway and watched his nephew drive off. Wearily, he returned to his duties for the day and left hi patients in the hands of Lakshmi with a stern instruction to come to him should either change. She sat with them and repaired Ian’s shirt while he tended his parishioners as best he could in these troubled times. He held ever example of hope and joy close to hi heart, every Christening, every wedding, the drug rehabilitation group who came to him for guidance, hope and help and every fervent, grateful prayer by people for whom life was going right. He held them as a bandage around his wounded soul and armour sound his tired heart - there was joy and hope out there. It was enough to allow him to uphold his other duties - the poor and dispossessed, the desperate and lonely and hopeless. The guilty, the lost and the tired. He gave them all what he could, praying and hoping that he could brighten their burden.
The light began to fade from the day as he returned to Lakshmi. The drug he had given Ian must have been powerful for he still lay deeply asleep. Or maybe he was just that tired. It would do the boy good to catch up on some badly needed sleep. Do them all good. The girl was awake, but she remained in bed, looking tired and ill. She talked with Lakshmi readily enough, though. She seemed to b healing, though lines of worry and grief creased her face, the loss of her sister and her brother had left their cruel mark on her.
She saw him enter. “Father… will they come back?”
Father Michaels laid a paternal hand on her shoulder. “No, my child. Not here. This is a holy place.”
She shuddered, the tension that tightened her shoulder relaxed a little. “What about Charlotte… is she here?”
He patted her shoulder and sighed sadly. “Not yet child. Not yet, but we will do all we can to rescue her as we have you.”
She nodded, he was surprised to see her relax. She looked at him with n almost childlike confidence - the innocent assumption that someone can make everything right, make all the bad things go away. It worried him, he wondered if her ordeal hadn’t harmed her deeper than he knew. Or maybe she was just naturally innocent. It was so very rare these nights, maybe he didn’t know innocence when he saw it any more. She settled back to return to sleep, taking the sedative the doctor had left her, guilelessly trusting them to keep her safe while she slept.
Lakshmi followed Father Michaels out. “Ian said that you couldn’t trust faith ton help you against the monsters. He said it didn’t work.”
The priest nodded. “And Ian is usually right. It is never a good idea to rely on faith alone, child. God helps those who help themselves.
“I’m sure that’s not in the gospels.” Lakshmi grinned.
“God has sent or allowed many trials in this world for reasons of his own. It is our task to set ourselves against them with our own god given strengths. When we pray, we pray for the strength to overcome, not to have the barriers removed. It is a poor parent who does not allow a child to be come too dependent, to take them for granted. Nor, I think, does God.”
“So this being holy ground isn’t going to help us?” Lakshmi looked nervously out of the darkened windows.
“It may. It has in the past. I have seen vampires incapable of entering a church, mosque or synagogue. I have also seen them casually stride across the threshold and tear the throat out of the priest who was trying to hold them at bay. Sadly, the latter seems to be more common.”
“So we’re not safe.”
“No. But I have faith and hope.”
“I’m sorry, Father, but faith and hope are not things I want to rely on in life or death situations.”
The priest sighed, sadly. “Nor I, but when life has become so desperate that life and death hang in the balance we usually find that we have little on our side but faith and hope.”
“Are things that bad?”
He smiled kindly at her, but offered her no false reassurance. “WE rest on hope that the vampires do not know where we are and we have faith that the holy ground will protect us if they find us. Without that, it is us two - an old man and an untrained hunter - against anything they send. Faith and hope are our sword and shield now child.”
She swallowed, but her face firmed grimly. He nodded, she would not falter. He went to his room to prepare for the night, he knew it would be a long, difficult one.
Hope failed a little over an hour past sunset. Lakshmi saw them first, four vampires stood just beyond the small green area that surrounded the church. The street was deserted, despite the hour. The people here might not know what a vampire was, but they recognised a predator and they were extremely sensitive to trouble.
Father Michaels came to stand next to the would-be hunter, the old man was wrapped in a thick long coat over his cassock against the chill. Lakshmi shivered, and it wasn’t just cold. He put one reassuring hand briefly on her shoulder, a measure of calm seemed to radiate from the strong old priest.
“Why have you come here?” Father Michaels asked, not a hint of fear in his voice.
“You’ve got something that’s ours, old man.” Lakshmi blinked, how could vampires sound so… human?
“We have nothing here that belongs to you. You are mistaken.”
“I don’t think so, old man. Let the others comb the city for the girl, I’m smart enough to put two and two together.” He sneered, more at the other three than at them.
“Regardless of what you have put together, my son, you are mistaken. This is a place of worship. There are no purloined goods or persons here.”
“Well then, you won’t object to us looking around…” he stepped forward, three quick steps before jerking back. “What the fuck?!”
“As I said, this is a place of worship. You are not welcome here.” Father Michaels’ old voice thundered through the new night.
“Place of worship? Then you better start praying because I’m gonna tear your fucking…”
Father Michaels smoothly drew his arm out from under his thick coat and heavy cassock and pointed the pump action shotgun in one smooth motion. “In the name of the father…” he fired, the shell hit the swearing monster in the face. The body fell to the floor, crumbling into dusty ash as it fell. Father Michaels jacked in a second shell. “in the name of the son,” the second shell took a shocked vampire in the chest, another pile of dusty ash sprinkled to the floor. He pumped the gun again, a third shell sliding into place “and the holy spirit.” One of the vampires had had sense enough to run rather than press at the wall of faith. The shot hit him in the back, his ashes scattering in the quiet breeze.
Father Michaels pumped the gun a fourth time and turned to the last vampire. It stepped back quickly, eyes flickering to the ash that dusted the night. “Oh my god…” his voice was high, panicked.
“Even the damned turn to prayer at the end.” Father Michaels raised the gun. “May He have mercy on your soul.” He fired; a fourth pile of ash tumbled to the floor.
Father Michaels lowered the gun and crossed himself. “Amen.” He went back into the church, an awed Lakshmi hurrying behind him.
“I didn’t think you could kill vampires with guns?” She gasped.
Father Michaels tossed a shell to her. She caught it clumsily and looked at it in the dim light of the church. There was a cross engraved into it and Latin script etched around it. She looked at the shotgun and saw another cross engraved there and more scripture.
“A holy shotgun?” She grinned.
“I said it was unwise to rely on faith alone. This is true. But faith can make a firm foundation on which to build many things and hope can lead you to try and succeed in what others call impossible.”
Style query. When Father Michaels prays, because he’s rather old school, he usually does so in Latin but I usually write it in English (I have enough headaches without having to battle foreign, alien and dead languages so I usually transcribe). I’m debating the decision though. “In nomini patris, filis et spiritus sanctus” sounds supremely classy in the way that only Latin can, but it’s also utter gibberish to most people and would also involve me battling with Catholic catechism whenever Father Michaels wants to pray for the sake of consistency - which is SO not on my list of fun activities.
Hmmm… choices, choices.
Father Michaels had managed a few hours sleep before being ready for Ian’s return, a bleary Lakshmi by his side. He was infinitely thankful that the first aid supplies he had set aside against the time weren’t needed, but he did insist that Ian go to see his nephew - his body was mottled with deep purple bruising. It looked like he’d been thrown repeatedly against a wall.
Ian was reluctant and in the end the old priest had to resort to slipping something into his drink to make him sleep. He called his nephew and had him come attend Ian at the church while the boy finally got some sleep. Perhaps he might finally be able to manage eight hours. Something they could all use.
The girl he had rescued was in shock, not severely though, according to the old priest’s nephew. Father Michaels offered a prayer of thanks for their safety and for the girl’s resilience, she had true strength within her. Maybe it would be enough for her to leave her ordeal without it casting its shadow over her soul. He looked sadly at Ian and Lakshmi; so few could suffer the touch of the monsters and not be darkened by it, changed by it, never again to live a gentle, happy life. The girl was sleeping now, even deeper than Ian’s drug induced rest. Sleep was probably the best cure for her, sleep and kind reassurance. And to find her sister. He prayed they would be able to.
“They’ll both be OK, but they’ll need some rest.” Matthew said, returning to his uncle. “Keep her warm and try not to leave her alone. I’ve left some sedatives for her in case she has trouble sleeping. Ian will heal, he usually does. He has one cracked rib, but I think it’s pretty minor and I’ve bound it up tight. I know it’s pointless, but try to keep him still for a while. I’ve left you some sedatives for him in case he has trouble sleeping…”
“Or if I have trouble getting him to sleep.” The priest added.
“As a doctor I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.” The young doctor grinned and packed up the rest of his things. “I’ve left you a few more medical supplies in the back… help keep you topped up.”
“Thank you. We greatly appreciate your help.”
“You only ever need to help, padre, you know that.” They shook hands and the doctor left.
Father Michaels stood in the doorway and watched his nephew drive off. Wearily, he returned to his duties for the day and left hi patients in the hands of Lakshmi with a stern instruction to come to him should either change. She sat with them and repaired Ian’s shirt while he tended his parishioners as best he could in these troubled times. He held ever example of hope and joy close to hi heart, every Christening, every wedding, the drug rehabilitation group who came to him for guidance, hope and help and every fervent, grateful prayer by people for whom life was going right. He held them as a bandage around his wounded soul and armour sound his tired heart - there was joy and hope out there. It was enough to allow him to uphold his other duties - the poor and dispossessed, the desperate and lonely and hopeless. The guilty, the lost and the tired. He gave them all what he could, praying and hoping that he could brighten their burden.
The light began to fade from the day as he returned to Lakshmi. The drug he had given Ian must have been powerful for he still lay deeply asleep. Or maybe he was just that tired. It would do the boy good to catch up on some badly needed sleep. Do them all good. The girl was awake, but she remained in bed, looking tired and ill. She talked with Lakshmi readily enough, though. She seemed to b healing, though lines of worry and grief creased her face, the loss of her sister and her brother had left their cruel mark on her.
She saw him enter. “Father… will they come back?”
Father Michaels laid a paternal hand on her shoulder. “No, my child. Not here. This is a holy place.”
She shuddered, the tension that tightened her shoulder relaxed a little. “What about Charlotte… is she here?”
He patted her shoulder and sighed sadly. “Not yet child. Not yet, but we will do all we can to rescue her as we have you.”
She nodded, he was surprised to see her relax. She looked at him with n almost childlike confidence - the innocent assumption that someone can make everything right, make all the bad things go away. It worried him, he wondered if her ordeal hadn’t harmed her deeper than he knew. Or maybe she was just naturally innocent. It was so very rare these nights, maybe he didn’t know innocence when he saw it any more. She settled back to return to sleep, taking the sedative the doctor had left her, guilelessly trusting them to keep her safe while she slept.
Lakshmi followed Father Michaels out. “Ian said that you couldn’t trust faith ton help you against the monsters. He said it didn’t work.”
The priest nodded. “And Ian is usually right. It is never a good idea to rely on faith alone, child. God helps those who help themselves.
“I’m sure that’s not in the gospels.” Lakshmi grinned.
“God has sent or allowed many trials in this world for reasons of his own. It is our task to set ourselves against them with our own god given strengths. When we pray, we pray for the strength to overcome, not to have the barriers removed. It is a poor parent who does not allow a child to be come too dependent, to take them for granted. Nor, I think, does God.”
“So this being holy ground isn’t going to help us?” Lakshmi looked nervously out of the darkened windows.
“It may. It has in the past. I have seen vampires incapable of entering a church, mosque or synagogue. I have also seen them casually stride across the threshold and tear the throat out of the priest who was trying to hold them at bay. Sadly, the latter seems to be more common.”
“So we’re not safe.”
“No. But I have faith and hope.”
“I’m sorry, Father, but faith and hope are not things I want to rely on in life or death situations.”
The priest sighed, sadly. “Nor I, but when life has become so desperate that life and death hang in the balance we usually find that we have little on our side but faith and hope.”
“Are things that bad?”
He smiled kindly at her, but offered her no false reassurance. “WE rest on hope that the vampires do not know where we are and we have faith that the holy ground will protect us if they find us. Without that, it is us two - an old man and an untrained hunter - against anything they send. Faith and hope are our sword and shield now child.”
She swallowed, but her face firmed grimly. He nodded, she would not falter. He went to his room to prepare for the night, he knew it would be a long, difficult one.
Hope failed a little over an hour past sunset. Lakshmi saw them first, four vampires stood just beyond the small green area that surrounded the church. The street was deserted, despite the hour. The people here might not know what a vampire was, but they recognised a predator and they were extremely sensitive to trouble.
Father Michaels came to stand next to the would-be hunter, the old man was wrapped in a thick long coat over his cassock against the chill. Lakshmi shivered, and it wasn’t just cold. He put one reassuring hand briefly on her shoulder, a measure of calm seemed to radiate from the strong old priest.
“Why have you come here?” Father Michaels asked, not a hint of fear in his voice.
“You’ve got something that’s ours, old man.” Lakshmi blinked, how could vampires sound so… human?
“We have nothing here that belongs to you. You are mistaken.”
“I don’t think so, old man. Let the others comb the city for the girl, I’m smart enough to put two and two together.” He sneered, more at the other three than at them.
“Regardless of what you have put together, my son, you are mistaken. This is a place of worship. There are no purloined goods or persons here.”
“Well then, you won’t object to us looking around…” he stepped forward, three quick steps before jerking back. “What the fuck?!”
“As I said, this is a place of worship. You are not welcome here.” Father Michaels’ old voice thundered through the new night.
“Place of worship? Then you better start praying because I’m gonna tear your fucking…”
Father Michaels smoothly drew his arm out from under his thick coat and heavy cassock and pointed the pump action shotgun in one smooth motion. “In the name of the father…” he fired, the shell hit the swearing monster in the face. The body fell to the floor, crumbling into dusty ash as it fell. Father Michaels jacked in a second shell. “in the name of the son,” the second shell took a shocked vampire in the chest, another pile of dusty ash sprinkled to the floor. He pumped the gun again, a third shell sliding into place “and the holy spirit.” One of the vampires had had sense enough to run rather than press at the wall of faith. The shot hit him in the back, his ashes scattering in the quiet breeze.
Father Michaels pumped the gun a fourth time and turned to the last vampire. It stepped back quickly, eyes flickering to the ash that dusted the night. “Oh my god…” his voice was high, panicked.
“Even the damned turn to prayer at the end.” Father Michaels raised the gun. “May He have mercy on your soul.” He fired; a fourth pile of ash tumbled to the floor.
Father Michaels lowered the gun and crossed himself. “Amen.” He went back into the church, an awed Lakshmi hurrying behind him.
“I didn’t think you could kill vampires with guns?” She gasped.
Father Michaels tossed a shell to her. She caught it clumsily and looked at it in the dim light of the church. There was a cross engraved into it and Latin script etched around it. She looked at the shotgun and saw another cross engraved there and more scripture.
“A holy shotgun?” She grinned.
“I said it was unwise to rely on faith alone. This is true. But faith can make a firm foundation on which to build many things and hope can lead you to try and succeed in what others call impossible.”