After the Fall: A Vampire Chronicle (Book One) (3 page)

Chapter Two

It took Caroline only a few seconds once she awoke to realize that she was not alone in her room. It took her a little longer to realize that she was not in her room, but in a hospital. With that realization came all the memories of the night before, rushing back over her like a flood. Without looking to see who her visitor was, she sat up in bed, closed her eyes in a futile attempt to keep the bloody images at bay, and vomited into the garbage pail that suddenly appeared before her.

              “Lucky for the two of us that you turned an unhealthy shade of green just then,” her visitor said, and though she kept her eyes closed, she could hear a tiny smile in his voice, which was deep and gravelly and accented – Spanish or Italian, maybe. Her eyes remained shut until she felt a cool, wet cloth being pressed to her forehead. It was a welcome relief, and she opened her eyes to finally see who it was who had been so kind.

             
“Ah, so you are awake. I was beginning to think you were still asleep. Feeling better?”

             
The man fit his voice. He was old, perhaps in his sixties, with a snow white beard and head of hair, but he wasn’t frail; he was tall and a bit stocky, and an image of Sean Connery came to Caroline’s mind. She had absolutely no clue who he was. The man was looking at her inquisitively, and she realized he had asked her a question.

             
“Yes, thank you,” she muttered.

             
“Good.”

             
“This may be a stupid question, but do I know you? Are you the police?” Strangers had never made her nervous before, but all that had changed when she encountered those pale freaks in her apartment.

             
The man’s face suddenly became grave, and his brow furrowed, as if concentrating on something intensely.

             
“No, Miss Gallagher, as answer to both your questions. I am not the police and you do not know me, but I thought that, perhaps, I could be of some service to you.”

             
Caroline was puzzled at first by the man’s response, but as he put down the fedora he held in his hand onto his chair, and took off his overcoat and placed it on top, she realized he was dressed completely in black, and recognized the white Roman collar at his throat.

             
“Oh,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say. He was a priest – this was part of what he did for a living, seeing to those who had lost loved ones. At least he wasn’t there to kill her. At least she hoped so.

              “My name is Father Lorenzo Catalano, and I am visiting New York from the Vatican. I heard of the horrible thing that had happened to you and your family and I wished to come here to express my sympathy to you for your loss, and to offer a prayer and blessing of protection for you and your family.”

             
“Thank you, Father,” she responded automatically, more out of politeness than gratitude. A prayer and a blessing. Those would be welcome in the stands at her college graduation. She hoped they remembered to bring a camera. Not that she would be going to college now. She couldn’t afford it. Her family was gone. She was on her own.

             
“I know that right now it will not seem like much, but…”

             
Caroline didn’t respond. There was nothing to say, and besides that, she thought she might vomit again if she tried to speak.

             
The old priest looked as if he was going to speak again, but he was cut off by the door of the room opening, and a nurse walking in.

             
“Father, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. Visiting hours are over and Miss Gallagher needs her rest.”

             
“Certainly,” the priest complied, though Caroline was close enough that she could see the reluctance and hesitation in the old man’s eyes. Still, he walked over to his chair and picked up his coat and hat, tossing the coat over his arm, before turning back to her.

             
“If, at any time, you feel the need to come talk to someone, anyone, about anything, Miss Gallagher, please look me up at Saint Joseph’s Church in Greenwich Village. One should not be alone in times such as these.”

             
I’m alone because of times such as these
, Caroline wanted to say, but instead, she only nodded in return, and with that, the priest turned and left. The nurse took her blood pressure and temperature, and told her the doctor would be in in the morning to write her a prescription for a sedative and ready her discharge papers. She handed Caroline a glass of water and two pills, which she took gladly, as the memory of the night before was quickly washing over her again. But before she could relive the horror of that night in full, she thankfully drifted off into the darkness.

Chapter Three

The chapel was dark, save for a single burning candle by the altar, which is where Father Lorenzo Catalano found him, praying. Lorenzo sat down in a pew towards the back to wait for the young man to finish; he did not have to wait long, for the man felt his presence, and ending his prayer, came to his feet and joined Lorenzo in the back.

             
“Where have you been?” the young man asked him in a somewhat accusatory tone. Lorenzo smiled to himself. He always thought of Christian Dreiden as a “young man”, though he was already 23 years old. Still, Christian was less than half Lorenzo’s age, and he had been much younger when Lorenzo had first taken him under his wing.

             
“I was at New York Presbyterian,” Lorenzo said, and Christian frowned, his brow creased with worry.

             
“You’re not sick, are you?” Christian asked, and Lorenzo tried to keep from smiling at Christian’s concern. For such a tough, isolated, violent individual, Christian managed to have a very large and caring heart.

             
“No, I’m not sick. I was not there for me. You know about last night’s attack.”

             
Christian’s frown was Lorenzo’s answer.

             
“Yes. Four more dead. Four people I was not able to save,” Christian answered bitterly.

             
“You cannot blame yourself for every life a vampire takes, Christian. You must look at the good that comes from it, however little and slim that good may be - it brings us one step closer to finding the Master Vampire and his lair, and think of how many lives you will save once the Master Vampire is killed.”

             
“
If
the Master Vampire is killed,” Christian added. “I have never faced a Master Vampire before. There are no guarantees I will succeed.”

             
“No, not with that attitude. Come, you are not usually so hard on yourself.”

             
“Did you know that two of the dead were children? Two little girls.” Christian tried to hide it, but Lorenzo heard the catch in his voice and knew that had he less self-control, he might be crying.

             
“Caring and compassion are both a gift and a curse, are they not, my son? But come, do you not wonder still why I was at the hospital?”

             
Christian furrowed his brow in puzzlement.

             
“The bodies…”

             
“…have already been brought to the morgue and are being prepared for their funeral service at this very moment.”

             
“Then what, Father?”

             
“There is a survivor.”

             
Christian’s eyes went wide, and he sucked in his breath, and it was a time before he let it out again, slowly. Lorenzo watched the shock roll over him and settle in.

             
“A survivor,” the young man mulled. “There are never survivors.”

             
“See, my son. Another ray of light. They are getting sloppy and making mistakes, and last night, they left their first witness. I wasn’t able to question her enough to see what she knows.”

             
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Christian asked, jumping to his feet. Lorenzo laid a gentle but firm hand on the boy’s arm.

             
“Not so fast,” Lorenzo said. “Sit.” Though puzzled, Christian obeyed.

             
“Now is probably not the best time. She’s been through quite an ordeal; her entire family is dead and she has had a close brush with death herself. The funerals will be in two days. We will attend. I think we can safely wait until then. The Master Vampire won’t move beforehand, I don’t think.”  He closed his eyes, allowing the peacefulness of the chapel to settle over him.

             
“Are we going out on a limb here?”

             
Lorenzo opened his eyes and looked at Christian, noticing a hint of self-doubt not only in the boy’s voice but also in his eyes. Seeing the puzzled expression on Lorenzo’s face, Christian continued.

             
“I mean, we’re really just going on a hunch here, aren’t we? For all we know, there is no Master Vampire in New York. This place is an ideal feeding ground for any vampire; the large number of killings here recently could just be a coincidence.”

             
“Do you really believe that?” Lorenzo asked. Christian hesitated for a moment, but his answer was strong.

             
“No, I don’t. He’s around here someplace. I can feel it.”

             
“Trust your instincts, Christian. Your subconscious is often in tune with things your conscious isn’t even aware of.”

             
Christian glanced over at the far wall of the chapel, and a large street map of Manhattan that had been hung there. There were five thumbtacks pushed into it, one at each location where a vampire attack had occurred over the past few months. Lorenzo followed Christian’s gaze.

             
“Vampires are fiercely territorial creatures. Slowly, a pattern will emerge, and at the center will be the Master Vampire’s lair.”

             
“And meanwhile, more innocent people will die.”

             
“We do what we can do, Christian.”

             
“That’s not good enough, Lorenzo,” Christian answered fiercely. “At least not for me. I’m a Hunter. I’m
the
Hunter. It’s my job to do more. It’s my job to save the world.”

             
“Yes, it is,” Lorenzo agreed. “You are the Hunter, and so you can do more than most, but you still only do what you can. All right?”

             
“All right,” Christian finally answered, though reluctantly.

             
“Meanwhile, I will continue to consult my books, see if I can’t find any more prophecies or other information concerning the Master Vampire. We will find him, Christian. He’s young, which makes him arrogant and overconfident. Eventually, he’ll make a fatal mistake, and we will find him, and then you will kill him.”

             
“The sooner, Lorenzo, the better.” Christian stood up as he spoke, suddenly more animated, a fierce determination on his face. He wandered over to the map on the wall, studying it intently, as if he would find in it the answers to all his questions. He turned around and faced Lorenzo.

             
“Have you learned anything from any of the books?”

             
Lorenzo stood and walked over to where he had placed two, ancient looking books on a windowsill. The leather binding was cracked and dust-covered, the pages worn and yellowed with age. Lorenzo picked them up and brought them over to Christian, who took them, holding them gingerly in his hands, as if they might crumble into dust at any moment, which they probably would.

             
“I left most of the books back in the hotel room, but I wanted to go through these two more closely.”

             
“What are they?” Christian asked, eyeing the covers, trying to read the faded lettering on them.

             
“The top one is the journal of a man named Lucius, a priest in the northern German countryside around the year 1360. He was assigned to help the Hunter, and he spent much of his time doing research on any type of folklore or prophecies that had to do with vampires. I found some intriguing stories so far, but nothing yet that can help us. I am still hopeful, however.”

             
“And the second book?”

             
“I am not yet certain. I found it hidden in the back of the Vatican archives, all but forgotten. I picked it up because it mentions the Master Vampire and the apocalypse. I haven’t read much of it, but it appears that the author, a French monk, believed that though a Master Vampire would contribute to the coming of the Apocalypse, ultimately, he would not be responsible for it.”