The Vampire Evolution Trilogy (Book 1): Death of an Immortal:

by Duncan McGeary

  “There’s blankets and pillows in the wardrobe there,” Father Harry said. “Make yourselves at home.”

  After a lingering glance at Terrill, he left the room.

  The alcohol and the long walk sent Grime and Perry instantly to sleep, still in their clothes. Grime was on his back with his mouth wide open, snoring with ladylike little snorts; Perry was curled up to half his size. But Terrill was wide-awake. The pain was one thing, but the awareness that he was in a church was what really scared him.

  It should have been impossible. He should have been burned into a crisp by now. He opened his shirt and stared down at the crucifix, touching it. It didn’t send a shock through his fingers this time. It was almost cool to the touch.

  Terrill put on his shoes and coat, then went to the doorway and looked down the hall. It was quiet. He consulted his internal clock, but it was fuzzy, for some reason. It was about halfway between midnight and dawn, as best he could make out.

  He started to make his way to the door, but upon crossing the threshold of the kitchen, he saw that the meat had been left out. That isn’t safe for the humans, he thought. He entered the kitchen.

  Maybe he’d fooled himself into thinking he was just going to cover the raw meat, but it was in his mouth before he knew it. He started gorging on it.

  It tasted wrong. Actually, it had no taste at all––it was like sawdust. Terrill kept eating it because he knew he needed to heal, but with every mouthful, the background pain increased and the crucifix seemed to sink deeper into his chest.

  He gave up, breathing hard, closing his eyes. What am I doing? What is happening to me?

  “What are you doing?” he heard someone ask, as if echoing his thoughts. Father Harry was standing there in a bathrobe; perhaps he’d gotten out of bed after remembering that he hadn’t put the meat away.

  “I… I need it.” Terrill stammered.

  “You should have said something!” Father Harry exclaimed. “I’ve got some already-made sandwiches in the fridge.”

  “No… I need raw meat.”

  “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but raw meat isn’t good for you.”

  “I’m vampire,” Terrill blurted out. “Unholy.” He was stunned by his own words, but they had come out before he could stop them.

  The priest was unfazed. “Look, son,” he said gently. “I know you may think you’re a bad person, but I’m sure that’s not true. Why don’t you sit down and let me get you that sandwich?”

  Terrill plopped down into the chair the priest directed him to as if the strength had gone out of his legs.

  “You don’t understand…” he started to say.

  “Listen,” Father Harry interrupted. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, only what you do from this moment on. Do you repent your sins?”

  “You don’t know how much,” Terrill breathed.

  “God will forgive you if you give yourself to Him.”

  “It isn’t that simple.”

  “It really is that simple. Christ died for your sins.”

  “But what if…” Terrill tried to think of how to express it. He was still amazed the words “I’m vampire” had come out of his mouth. The consecrated ground must have weakened him, and the cross on his chest had prepared the way. “What if the crimes are so evil, and so many, that they can’t be forgiven?”

  “Is one sin too many? Two? A hundred?” the priest asked rhetorically. “It is not the number of crimes you have committed. One unrepented sin weighs more than one hundred repented sins. But you must truly repent.”

  Terrill knew there was no way to explain it. There could be no forgiveness for his actions, no matter how he wished they had never happened.

  “God will forgive you,” Father Harry said, making the sign of the cross. Then he became brisk and businesslike. “However, I’m afraid the rules of this shelter will not. I caught you stealing food. You’ll have to leave––first thing in the morning.” Terrill must have looked stricken, because he quickly added; “You can come back in a few weeks if you promise never to do it again.”

  Terrill shut his mouth. He’d been about to confess to a few centuries of crimes: murders, slaughters, and massacres. Ridiculous. The priest wouldn’t have believed him: but even if he had, by some miracle, he would have found it hard to come up with enough Hail Marys to absolve Terrill of his sins.

  “I’m leaving right now,” Terrill said, getting up with a new resolve. The pain was endurable again, but morning was fast approaching. The last thing he wanted was to get caught between sunlight and a church.

  He hadn’t gotten more than a few feet before he heard voices coming down the hallway.

  “Where you going?” Perry asked. He and Grime were standing in the kitchen doorway.

  “I’m sorry, Perry, Grime. I have to go. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Perry said. When Terrill started to object, he held up his hand. “Look. I have a place nearby––my sister’s house. She lets me stay in the basement when I need to. I don’t like infringing on her, but… well… this is a special circumstance. Come on, pal. Let me help you.”

  Terrill tried to think what to do. He was putting all these people in danger. They didn’t know what he was. But it was so close to morning that there was a chance he wouldn’t find any other shelter in time.

  “OK,” he said reluctantly.

  Grime started to follow them, but Perry shook his head. “Sorry, Grime. You’d stink up the place. My sister keeps a very clean house.”

  Grime muttered something, then stuck out his hand, as if realizing he might never see Terrill again. Terrill shook the hand, which was black with dirt. He realized that he didn’t mind. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Remember what I said, Christian,” Father Harry said from the door of the church. “God will forgive you anything.”

  Chapter 35

  As Richard Carlan drove toward the St. Francis homeless shelter, he had a sudden idea.

  He turned on Franklin Avenue and drove through downtown to the west side, pulling up in front of the Hardaway residence. They were still up, though it was nearly midnight.

  He knocked on the door. There was that frightened pause on the other side of the door that every homeowner would take when there was a loud knock so late in the evening. Carlan sensed that he was being examined through the spyhole. Then the door was flung open in welcome and Howard Hardaway was beckoning him in.

  “Everything all right, officer?” Howard asked.

  “Call me Richard, for goodness’ sake.” He was annoyed that they still seemed to believe he was a virtual stranger. Not for long, if he had anything to do with it. “I just wanted to tell you, I’m on my way to arrest your daughter’s killer. I know this is unorthodox, but I wondered if Sylvie would like to be there when it happens.”

  He craned his neck to look into the living room and saw her huddled under a blanket, watching The Colbert Report and ignoring him.

  Mrs. Hardaway went over to her and said something over the din of the TV. Sylvie cast off her blanket and swung her feet around to the floor heavily. She got up and walked toward him as if she didn’t care about anything or anyone.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said. “Because I want to ask him why.”

  She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, looking almost dumpy. But there was no disguising the lithe shape of her body, the sharp contours of her face. Even rumpled, with no makeup, she was more beautiful than most women at their most put-together. Carlan waited for her as she threw on a shapeless parka.

  For a moment Carlan thought she was going to get in the backseat, but then she seemed to realize how silly that would look––or how guilty the neighbors might think it looked––and she sat in the passenger seat instead. She had yet to really look at him. She didn’t say anything as they drove onto the Galveston Bridge over the Deschutes River and through downtown, which was still bustling even this late at night.

  “I’ve r
eally worked hard to catch him, you know.” It sounded peevish, even to him. “I mean, he would’ve gotten away…”

  Sylvie didn’t say anything.

  “It’s possible the murderer is already dead,” Carlan said, curious what her reaction would be. “We’re getting some conflicting reports.”

  She certainly didn’t seem as happy as she should be to hear this news. In fact, she barely reacted. Personally, he hoped this Terrill fellow, or Evers, or whatever his name was, was still alive so he could march him through the squad room in triumph. In your face, Detective Brosterhouse!

  “If he killed my sister,” Sylvie said, finally, “and I’m not sure I believe that, he was simply the instrument. You were the cause. If you hadn’t scared her away to Portland, she never would have been in danger in the first place.”

  “I didn’t force her to leave,” he said. Why did this girl hate him? He’d never done anything to her. In fact, he’d been nothing but friendly. She’d just have to come around. He’d just have to figure out a way to make her go on that first date or two. Then she’d see what a great guy he was.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to be friendly, you know,” he said. “I could really help you out. You don’t have Jamie’s money coming in anymore, and your parents can barely support themselves. I happen to know they got a notice of foreclosure last month. You’ll be working two jobs in fast-food joints if you don’t watch out.”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Look, I’ve been on your side all along. You know, Jamie made a big mistake over there in Portland. I just found it. Turns out she made a porn video. I’m going to try to keep it out of the trial.”

  Sylvie turned and looked at him for the first time. The hate in her eyes was dismaying. “Jamie found out before she left,” she said. “She told me about it. You made that video and you put it online.”

  He didn’t say anything. It had probably been a mistake to bring the whole thing up. Nobody could prove it was him that was with her, but it was pretty hard to deny that it was Jamie being screwed on-screen.

  “Well, it’s Jamie’s reputation that will suffer,” he said stubbornly. “If you’d just be nice to me, go on a date or something, then I could keep the video out of the evidence, out of the trial.”

  “And if I don’t?’

  He shrugged.

  “You’re the real killer,” she said, and there was anger in her voice. “Go ahead. Post the video. I don’t care. Mom and Dad need to wake up to what happened to their daughter. They need to wake up to why it happened, and I’ll make sure they know that you made that video, that the flabby man who was having such a hard time keeping a hard-on was you. Go ahead, Richard. Jamie’s dead––you can’t hurt her anymore.”

  “Yeah, but I can hurt you.” He reached over and grabbed her arm and squeezed. She gritted her teeth but didn’t cry out, unlike Jamie, who almost always became very accommodating when he disciplined her. He let go of her with a snort of disgust. “Quit being such a bitch.”

  “Bastard,” she groaned.

  Just like that, he was falling out of love with her. He still desired her, but not for a lifetime. He’d screw her and leave her. After that, he didn’t care what she thought or what she did. He just had to find the right leverage to get her in bed. But no more romancing…

  “I’m a cop, for God’s sake,” he snarled. “You’re a low-life high school dropout. You should be looking to your future.”

  She didn’t say anything for a while, simply stared out the window. He could see tears glittering in her eyes. “What if I ask for a restraining order?” she said, finally. “How will that look for your career? To have two women from the same family swearing you’re dangerous?”

  Carlan hadn’t thought of that. He wanted to grab her again, just to wake her up. But no, she’d only be stoic, which would be irritating. But he knew one thing: he wouldn’t––couldn’t––allow her to file a restraining order. She needed to know that.

  “I’ll kill you first,” he said.

  “And find a patsy to blame?” Sylvie said, turning toward him in triumph. “You killed her, didn’t you? Not Mr. Terrill.”

  “Is that the name he gave you? For an innocent man, he sure goes by a lot of names. How did that insurance settlement go?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I knew it! The check bounced, didn’t it? No, Sylvie. He did it, all right. I have no earthly idea why he’s here, but he killed Jamie. Maybe he wants to kill you too.”

  “He cared for her,” she said, but she sounded defeated. “I could tell. And he really wanted to help me. Somehow you’ve twisted all the evidence, haven’t you?”

  “Like you said, Sylvie,” Carlan said with satisfaction. “You can ask him yourself, just as soon as I put handcuffs on him and read him his rights.”

  He pulled into the alley behind the church.

  Chapter 36

  Sunrise was only a couple of hours away, and Carlan expected to have to bang on the door of the shelter to wake up the priest. But Father Harry was dumping some trash in the cans in the alley as they drove up.

  The priest turned and waited expectantly.

  Carlan knew Father Harry didn’t like him. Once, as he was dropping Jamie off for volunteer work, he’d made the mistake of saying out loud what he really thought: that trying to help these bums was a stupid waste of time. Since then, the holier-than-thou bastard had all but ignored him.

  Carlan rolled down the window but didn’t get out. He was having momentary doubts. Perhaps he should call for backup. Patterson was the lead in this case, after all. He didn’t want any questions later. But then the image returned of him leading the culprit through the squad room to the cheers of his fellow police officers.

  “What can I do for you, officer?” the priest asked.

  Carlan opened the door and got out of the cruiser. He adjusted his gun belt, trying to think how best to approach the priest. Father Harry was protective of his vagrants.

  “We’re looking for someone,” he said. “A murder suspect.”

  Father Harry didn’t look as surprised as he should have been. “You’d better come inside,” he said.

  Sylvie got out of the car and stood about as far from Carlan as she could and still stay within the confines of the alley. The priest smiled at her sadly, and as she started to walk inside, he touched her arm. She flinched, and he retracted his hand as quickly as if had been burned. “You OK?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry about Jamie. She didn’t deserve that. She was a good woman.”

  “You know she was a prostitute, right?” Carlan said, watching this exchange.

  “She was a good woman,” the priest repeated, glaring at him.

  They passed the big room, which served as both the sleeping quarters and the dining room for the homeless, depending on the time of day. Carlan stood in the doorway, but all he could see were shrouded shapes on cots.

  Father Harry kept going, turning into the kitchen. There was a smaller table for smaller meals in the corner.

  There was a filthy man sitting at the table who looked up when they walked in the room. He was eating a bowl of Top Ramen. Carlan immediately remembered Mark, the guy at the encampment, mentioning how dirty one of the expelled bums was. Grime, he’d called him.

  “You Grime?” he asked.

  The man muttered something, then bent down to slurp up some more noodles.

  Carlan shuddered as the man’s smell assaulted him.

  Sylvie sat at the table opposite the Stinker, and they exchanged a look. No doubt they were sharing some miserable commiserating message, Carlan thought. He was so sick of these dirty, pathetic, depressing people!

  Carlan and Father Harry sat in the other two chairs.

  “I’m looking for a bum called Perry, and unless I’m mistaken, Grime here. They were accompanying a third man, a new guy in town, called Evers or Terrill, or who knows what. A tall, slender man, is the way he’s described.” Carlan pulled out the
police sketch and handed it to the priest, who barely glanced at it before handing it back. Carlan dropped the picture on the table in front of Grime, who ignored it.

  “Is he dead?” Carlan asked bluntly, hoping for a reaction. Grime barely budged, but the priest was obviously surprised.

  “So he’s not dead,” Carlan said, snagging the picture and proffering it to priest again. “Take a look, Father Harry. This man is a killer. He shouldn’t be on the streets. You need to tell me where he is.”

  “Is this true?” the priest asked Sylvie. “Is this the man who killed Jamie?”

  “He’s been accused,” she said. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Father Harry was obviously troubled and struggling with whether to answer. Finally, he said, “Look around you, Officer Carlan. What do you see?”

  I see a kitchen with a stinking bum, Carlan thought. I see a beautiful but pathetic girl. I see a priest who has wasted his life trying to help those who can’t be helped, who most often don’t want to be helped.

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “See what’s on the far wall there?” the priest said. “It’s a crucifix, signifying the sacrifice that our Savior made for all of us––even the less fortunate, the downtrodden. It is not up to me to punish, or to give up for punishment, those who have asked for forgiveness.”

  “Did he confess?” Carlan demanded.

  “Not exactly,” the priest said reluctantly.

  “He’s a murderer, Father Harry. You really shouldn’t be protecting him.”

  But it was obvious the priest wasn’t going to give him up.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Carlan said, getting up. “I’m here, and I’m going to find him.” Before the priest could get in his way, he was out of the kitchen and heading for the main room. He switched on the lights and shouted, “Everybody up! Out of bed! Line up against that wall!”

  There were at least twenty homeless people there, about three-quarters of them men. There was a crude barricade in one corner where the women were sleeping. He ignored them.