Rising from the hibernation was like floating upwards from the bottom of the ocean. Willie was breathing but barely. Pressure surrounded her, squeezing her body and compressing her lungs preventing her from inhaling deeply. Her body gradually began to lighten, the weight shifting off of her as she was carried from the bottom of the abyss where she had lain within reach of death for an unknown period of time. Eventually she broke through the invisible but palpable barrier, sucking in a noisy wheezing breath to completely inflate her half filled lungs with air. She opened her eyes, staring at the crimson and gold expanse above her while her chest rose and fell laboriously to drag in more oxygen to revive her body. An attempt to move her arm was immediately halted by a hand that seized her wrist. The hand was cold like that of a dead person. The fingers that enclosed her wrist were long and thin yet incredibly strong. She turned her arm and yanked her wrist to try to free herself but the hand held tightly increasing to an almost crushing force. There was a stinging pain in the crook of her arm when she continued to struggle.
"Don't move," a low raspy voice commanded her. "You'll pull out the needle."
Willie's head jerked toward the owner of the gravelly voice. She gasped to see an old man sitting in a chair beside the bed. He looked older than time, fragile, and weak. However, he was sitting up in the chair, eyes wide open, while holding onto her with a strength his frail body appeared incapable of possessing. The crepe-like skin on his narrow face was folded into innumerable wrinkles and held the gross grayish coloration that comes with death. His eyes were a faded blue, nearly colorless. His hair was white and slicked against his head giving him the appearance of being bald. Glancing down at his arm, she saw that there was a needle inserted into the area where it bent. Her eyes followed the length of tube colored red from the blood that filled it from his arm to hers. His blood was flowing into her body, restoring her life to wake her from her hibernation.
"No," she gasped, her eyes returning to his tired, haggard face. The knowledge that she was stealing his life, killing him, dawned on her. The realization made her queasy and a for a moment black spots appeared and danced in her vision as her body threatened to make her lose consciousness again; this time from fainting. Instead of giving into the syncope, she gritted her teeth and grabbed at the needle embedded in her arm. The powerful hand released her wrist to stop her before she could snatch out the needle.
"No, you mustn't!" he exclaimed in a forceful, booming voice, once again exhibiting a power he appeared physically unable to produce.
"But you're dying. I'm killing you," she said, her voice hitching as tears clogged her throat.
"I'm dying anyway, my dear," he assured her, giving her a sad smile of resignation. Letting go of her wrist, he patted the back of her hand that was lying on his bare forearm where the blood transferred from his body to hers. "I'm old. I've lived my life and completed my duty to God and man. This is my last grand gesture before I die. My act of martyrdom. Fitting for a Catholic priest, don't you think?"
"But I'm damned, doomed to hell. Why would you help such a creature as myself? Why waste your last sacrifice on me?" she inquired, receiving a smile that showed pity toward her. How could he pity her at a time like this when what little life he had was being sucked out of him by a godless creature?
"Who needs my help more than someone like you?" he asked her, raising his hand to stroke her cheek like a parent attempting to comfort a frightened child.
She had heard that quite recently from another priest. "Have you allowed your blind beliefs to mislead you like Father Anderson? Do you still think you can save me?"
"What do we have left if we lose every last bit of hope? There's always a chance for redemption. Perhaps you just have to find yours in a different way than what we subscribe to here."
"Maybe," she murmured, rolling onto her side toward him.
What would she be redeeming herself from? Giving up her mortal soul for the man she loved? He had given up his soul first leaving her with no other option but to do the same so she could be with him. Alucard had fulfilled her last wish, returning her to Father Anderson so her children would be safe. Thank you, she spoke in her mind, hoping the message would find its way to him through their bizarre psychic link. Tears pushed past the edges of her eyelids despite her attempt to hold them back. She did not want to be here, but she had no choice.
Willie opened her eyes when the old man started to pet her head to soothe her. She wondered how he could be so kind, willingly giving up what little remained of his life for her and going even further in his benevolence by comforting her while his was dying.
"You should know, I was not forced to do this. I'm doing this of my own volition," he informed her although he had already told her as much. If he was sacrificing his life of his own free will, he would not be sitting so docilely while dying, reaching out to her to dispel her sadness, anger, and fear.
"Stop hating yourself for what you are. I've met many humans along my journey through life that are far worse monsters than you could ever be," he told her as if he had been reading her thoughts.
Maybe he had read her mind since their blood had mixed. She had never questioned if the memory transfer worked in reverse for the person with whom they became intimately entwined with beyond the physical plane for a short period of time.
"Father Anderson is not the monster you think he is either," he added, surprising her with his frankness.
"How so?" she questioned him with genuine curiosity.
"He has a generous, loving nature that few people are allowed to see. He chooses to show only his heartless and cruel side especially to those he views as his enemies," he explained to her.
"I must be his enemy then." She squeezed the skeletal hand that held hers.
"Actually, no. His animosity is centered on Alucard, the one you so blindly love with all of your heart. I suppose it's a matter of guilt by association in the simplest terms. Please, don't hate him. He has righteous ambitions and strives to do what is good and beneficial for those he cares about. Sometimes he just uses the wrong methods to bring about the desired result."
"I'm sure you've heard the adage the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I have set many stones on my own path with ill designed aspirations. Although Father Anderson believes he is working toward the greater good, striving for loftier goals, he's no different than me and my kind, the godless heathens that he hates so desperately," she muttered with bitterness tainting her voice. "He threatened to kill my children if I did not return to assist him with those misappropriated ideals, chasing his own Holy grail of sorts."
"Mmmm, I see," the old man muttered thoughtfully.
"He plans on using me to hunt and kill supernatural creatures he deems as unholy or evil, enemies of God and man. Does the end always justify the means?"
"I would have to say no, my dear, which goes back to what I said earlier. He has admirable ideas but his methods to bring those goals to fruition are sometimes lacking," he reiterated. The old priest fell silent, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes as his head lolled a little to the side. "My end is near."
"I'm sorry," she apologized not knowing what else to say. She clutched the hand that was holding hers, the amazing strength of the man ebbing way with his life.
The door opened and Father Anderson came sweeping into the room. Around his neck he wore a deep purple colored silk stole over his light gray cassock. Gold crosses were embroidered above the gold fringe at the bottom edges of the long scarf that was part of a priestly garment for giving the last rites. He was holding a Bible in one hand and carrying a decorative glass bottle of anointing oil in the other hand. Uncapping the bottle with one hand, the teardrop shaped glass top hung from a small chain wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Covering the top with his forefinger, he tipped the bottle to coat his fingertip with the oil before marking the forehead of the dying priest with a cross. He set the bottle down on the table next to him and opened the Bible to an earmarked page that was tattered on the edges from frequent use.
Willie stayed silent, watching the ritual of the last rites with fascination. During her research to save Alucard, the Catholic religion had become a source of interest for her with its complicated rituals and strict doctrines that sometimes directly contradicted with the actions and personal morals of its greatest proponents. She sat up, scooting over to the edge of the bed when the dying man began to make the distinct wheezing sound of breathing his last few breaths. She carefully removed the needles from both of their arms, tossing the empty plastic tubing with the needles attached on the floor. Her skin sealed itself instantly. The priest did not bleed because the beating of his heart was not strong enough to pump the little blood remaining in his body to the surface of his skin any longer. Edging close to him, she wrapped her arms around his skinny shoulders to hold him so he would not die with only the comfort of the words being recited by Father Anderson to carry his soul to the afterlife.
"Thank you, my dear. I shall remember you in heaven," he whispered before allowing his last breath to vacate his body and taking his soul with it.
Willie closed her eyes, gasping when his soul swept past her face like a warm breeze. Tears noiselessly spilled down her cheeks while she continued to hold his dead body. Suddenly she was overtaken by shame because she had never even asked his name. "What was his name?"
"Father Leopold Garetti," Father Anderson answered with a tenderness that surprised her. "He came to this church as a young man and stayed here all of his life. Throughout his days, he taught many priests, including myself, numerous lessons about life and the people we would encounter during this life. He was a wise, kind man."
"I could tell," she responded, unhinging her arms from around him carefully when Father Anderson started to pull the body away from her.
"I need to take his body to be prepared for burial. The funeral will be held three days from now. You're welcome to attend if you like," he invited her, gently lifting the body of the dead man into his arms as if it might break.
"Thank you. I believe I will," she responded, moving back onto the bed to lie down.
"Father Anderson, I'm here!" a young man announced, rushing into the room and almost barrelling into the priest. He held up the tray he was carrying, sidestepping the priest awkwardly to avoid a collision. Spinning around on one foot, he miraculously avoided dumping the crystal decanter of wine and thin stemmed wine glass from the tray.
Witnessing the graceful movement was like watching a ballet dancer execute a flawless Pirouette à la seconde. The man was in early twenties with short, pale blond hair that stood up straight from the top of his head and eyes that were a bright, iridescent blue. Willie stared at the young man, overcome with a sense of familiarity as if she knew him. He reminded her of someone dear to her. The stunning revelation hit her like a punch in the gut knocking the air out of her. She covered her mouth to keep from screaming when she recalled that this was exactly how Gannon looked the very first time she had seen him. On that day, they had marched out to battle together for the first time after both swearing fealty to Vlad Tepes and promising to protect him with their weapons and their lives. She had no idea then just how much that young general would mean to her later in their lives.
"Slow down, Noah! You're far too old to be running down the halls like a child!" Father Anderson chastised the young man.
"Sorry, Sir, sorry. Oh!" he gasped as if just noticing the dead body in the priest's arms. He did not seem shocked by the presence of the deceased priest; only embarrassed that he had not paid proper respects. He bowed his head like he was going to pray, making the sign of the cross over his body. He picked up the silver cross laying against the front his white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He kissed the crossed then held it up as if making an offering of his condolences for the departed soul.
Willie was enchanted not only by his appearance that was so similar to her beloved Gannon but by his actions. He did not act like a typical priest. He was nervous, unsure of himself, every movement speaking of his deeply ingrained unease. She detected that he did not feel comfortable here. Whether it was from not wanting to be near her or Father Anderson, she was not sure. Perhaps it stemmed from the fact that he did not want to be a priest or a part of the church at all. Whatever his reason for feeling discomfiture, she not really care. Her own reasons for not wanting to be here dominated her mind. She was a compliant prisoner in basic terms. Was he to be her personal guard in this cell?
"I'm counting on you to take care of her," he addressed the blonde in an even voice that carried a veiled threat. Anderson's attention turned to her, his vivid green eyes stern when he intercepted her line of vision. "This is Noah Landon. He's an apprentice priest and not a very good one. He's volunteered for the task of taking care of you. It is his duty to fulfill all of your wishes and to make sure you are kept safe and comfortable. Whatever you need, you are to take it from him."
"What are you getting at, Father? Tell me plainly," she demanded, glimpsing at Noah whose gaze was latched firmly onto the Italian hand made rug under his feet. She glared at Anderson, silently demanding that he give her a clear answer without mincing words.
"He's your servant. He's your blood donor. He's your lover. Whatever you need him to be, he's yours."
Willie could feel the heat of a blush induced by humiliation and anger creeping up her face. She could not shake the suspicion the priest had purposely picked someone who so closely resembled Gannon to torture her. Surely there had been other, less nervous and awkward volunteers - and ones who did not look like her husband reincarnated. But then again, maybe not. Babysitting a vampire, allowing that vampire to ritualistically drain their blood, could not be high on the list of desired jobs. Her eyes flitted back to Noah who had turned nearly purple with embarrassment and appeared ready to faint.
"It is his job to provide for you, Willene. He understood completely what the job entailed before I made my final decision. Now, I must go," he proclaimed, exiting the room with Father Garetti's body.
"Noah," she called, seeing his head snap up as if he had been spooked by the sound of her voice.
"Y-yes, ma'am!" he exclaimed apprehensively without moving from where he stood.
"Don't be frightened. I won't hurt you. Come here," she beckoned him, patting the bed beside her.
"I-I br-brought s-something f-for y-you," he stuttered helplessly, the glass items clinking against the silver tray due to his uncontrollable shaking.
Willie observed him without saying a word while he poured the wine from the decanter. She resisted the urge to help him, to steady his hands, when the burgundy colored liquid sloshed over the side of the glass and spilled onto the tray. Her hands reached for the glass before he could pick it up and risk spilling it on her. She did not like to drink wine, and she certainly did not want to wear it. However, since he had poured the wine for her in a gesture of kindness, she would drink it. In hopes of assuaging his nervousness, she raised the glass to her lips. There was a slight metallic tang and salty undertone to the liquid. Unable to stop herself from imbibing the drink, she gulped it down with greedy, audible swallows until the glass was empty. Extending the glass toward him, she almost begged, "More, please."
Noah looked pleased, picking up the heavy cut crystal bottle. His grip was more steady this time, and he poured with confidence without spilling. He watched her drink, a happy grin thinning his full dark pink lips. Dutifully he waited to see if she requested a third refill, remaining standing at the side of the bed. Once she had finished off her third glass, he released a breath that he seemed to have been holding for some time.
"I'm glad you like it," he said, finally feeling comfortable enough to sit down on the bed beside her. His fingers stroked across the bandage that circled his wrist. "I mixed my own blood with that wine for you."
Willie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, setting the glass down on the table. The mixture affected her like alcohol once did before she attained a supernatural status. The drink made her lightheaded and her body a little numb, but she felt invigorated and energetic as well. Leaning back against the pillow behind her, she sighed deeply with satisfaction. Her body felt light as if she were floating ever so slightly, and she closed her eyes to savor the relaxing sensation.
"Thank you," she murmured without opening her eyes. She could feel him staring at her which raised goosebumps over her entire body. Every muscle in her body tensed when she sensed his hand hovering over her arm. His touch startled her, causing her to jump and her eyes to fly open when his fingertips massaged her forearm inches below where the needle had been removed. She did not protest when he flattened his smooth palm against her skin, gliding it down her arm to her hand. Her skin tingled in the wake of his touch. Although his hand was no longer on her, her arm retained a warmth sapped from his skin.
"It's amazing You're amazing," he murmured, reaching toward her face. When she turned away to avoid his touch, his cheeks flamed with embarrassment upon becoming aware of his actions. "I-I'm s-sorry," he apologized, getting up from the bed. "I'm just curious. You're not what I expected at all."
Neither are you, she thought to herself, still a bit mesmerized by how much he looked and sounded like a young Gannon. "What did you expect?"
"I thought you would be scary and ugly. Cold. Like a dead person." He glanced down at his hand, rubbing his other palm across it. "But you're warm to the touch. Polite. Kind. And beautiful. You're like a real human being."
"Hmmm," she hummed to herself, resisting the urge to be offended. He was not intentionally being rude by speaking so candidly. "I was a real human once. I don't know what Father Anderson has taught you about creatures such as myself, but I'm sure he has gotten a few things wrong." She pressed her back into the pillows in a futile retreat when he rushed toward her to take her hands in his.
"Oh, no, no, no! It wasn't anything he said. It was silly assumptions I made on my own," he assured her, releasing her hands once again becoming aware of his brazenness. He turned his back to her as if to hide the shame he had caused himself due to his continual acting without thinking. "I apologize for my boldness. I'm being far too rude, treating a lady such as yourself inappropriately."
"I can say with confidence that this is a situation neither one of us has been in before so it would be natural that we aren't sure how to act appropriately. Besides, I'm not the fair, coddled lady you seem to think I am," she scoffed, issuing a snort of self-derision.
"How should I address you, ma'am?" he asked, slowly turning around toward her but keeping his eyes on the floor.
"You may call me Willie if you like. Please refrain from calling me ma'am," she requested.
"Anything else?" His eyes gradually raised to meet hers.
"I would like to be alone. I'm extremely tired. Thank you, Noah."
"Yes, ma'am, uh, Willie," he corrected himself quickly before taking his leave.
Willie turned off the lamp to lay in the darkness. She wanted the massive, devastating tornado of emotion sweeping through her to cease. Her body was weary and ready for rest but her brain was busy attempting to make sense of the events that had transpired so quickly after her awakening. The unexpected introduction of Noah Landon into her life had been upsetting to say the least. That was only an addition to the other disconcerting things already happening.
"I have to make it stop," she whispered to herself, getting up from the bed.
Unwilling to permit herself to wallow in self-pity, Willie went to the window throwing back the tapestries that blocked every bit of light out of the room. She sighed with relief to see that it was nighttime. Unlatching the tall stained glass window, she pushed it open to gaze upon the full moon that had been skewed by the multi faceted colored glass. In times of distress, when she was too distraught to cry and too confused to understand what was happening to her, Gannon had always encouraged her to howl to release everything. Climbing onto the window ledge, she sank back on her haunches with her fingers curled into fists in front of her knees taking the stance of the gypsy werewolves when they prepared to offer their voices to moon above. Tipping back her head and closing her eyes, she opened her mouth and projected her voice toward the pale, round goddess of the werewolves. She yowled until her throat was dry and sore, her voice becoming scratchy and grating to her own ears. A few domesticated dogs in the distance responded to her cries but no werewolves. Hearing no familiar voices magnified her sadness and loneliness. Lingering in the window, she listened to the music of the crickets and frogs that was occasionally interrupted by a random bark from a family pet.
A soft knock on the door startled her. Willie jumped from the window ledge, hurriedly closing and locking the window. She left the tapestries open though to allow the moonlight to filter through the glass.
"May I come in?" Father Anderson inquired from the other side of the door.
"Do I have a choice?" she responded curtly standing stiffly in front of the window.
"Yes. You can choose not to allow me into your room. I haven't taken all of your freedom from you," he returned without opening the door. "I certainly won't intrude upon your modesty either."
Willie's anger melted away upon hearing the nearly undetectable current of hurt rippling under his voice. He was being nice. Dammit! He wasn't supposed to be nice after taking her prisoner. Crossing her arms over her chest, she rolled her eyes and reminded herself that she was supposed to be furious with him. However, the old strings from their past pulled at her heart.
"Fine. Come in then," she snapped, waiting for him to enter before speaking again. "What do you want, Father? It's late and I'm tired so if you will please make this quick, it would be greatly appreciated."
"I wanted to check on you. That's all. Are you all right?" He stood beside the door with his hands folded behind his back.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" She shrugged nonchalantly. The atmosphere was strained. The civility forced.
"I heard you howling. I could hear the pain and sadness in your voice. It - " He ceased speaking because his voice had grown thick and hoarse. He cleared his throat before continuing. His hand rubbed over his chest where his heart was located. "It hurt clear down to my soul. I could feel what you were feeling."
"Really?" she questioned him, incredulity obvious in her tone.
"Don't forget, Vlad's blood run through me. He's a part of me. Therefore in turn, that makes you a part of me because your blood was also in him."
Willie shivered. She had not considered that before. Hearing it out loud from Anderson's lips made the revelation extremely disturbing and downright unnerving.
"But don't forget, I already had emotional ties to you before I took his blood," he said, moving toward her cautiously like one would approach a skittish animal.
"How could I forget that we were friends? That has made everything you've done since hurt so much more." Despite the apprehension rising inside of her, she remained steadfast raising her chin defiantly while refusing to show fear when he neared her.
"I won't apologize for any of my actions nor my words. I regret nothing." He ceased moving toward her when he was within arm's reach of her.
"That makes one of us. I'm drowning in regrets, Father, and not just where you're concerned." Her eyes flashed in the darkness briefly reflecting off of the lenses of his glasses.
"How do you like Noah?" He smiled down at her with the same kind of sinister, dark grin he had given her during their confrontation in the church when he had blackmailed her to return to him. She knew she would have to become accustomed to that ominous smile.
"Did you do it on purpose? Were you intentionally being cruel?"
"Actually, no. I thought choosing a helper that looked like your dead husband would assuage the grief that still burdens you. I can send him away and bring someone else for you."
"No. It's fine. He's attentive and accommodating. Did you tell him to add his blood to the wine?"
"He did what?" the priest gasped, his eyes widening to fit the shape of the round spectacles in front of them.
Father Anderson's shock told her that the idea of the blood had solely belonged to Noah. Willie smiled. She really did like the young man. He had been pleasant and thoughtful in their brief interaction. He seemed to be sincere, kind-hearted, and genuinely innocent, having no ill will toward her.
"If there's nothing else, Father Anderson..." she prompted him, her words hanging in the air as a polite invitation to leave.
"Yes, well, I shall be going then. Perhaps on another night we can have tea and one of our talks like we used to," he said, crossing the room and reaching the door quickly.
"I don't know, Father. I'm not one to forgive easily," she said. A rush of nostalgia, a sharp, unexpected longing for the relationship they used to have, caused her to experience a genuine desire to have one of their special visits like they did centuries ago when they were still true friends.
"Humph," he mumbled, his smile morphing into one of sincerity. He smiled like this when he was that young, country priest in another life. "You're a terrible liar. You forgive far too much and too easily. At least where Vlad is concerned. Maybe I am undeserving of your forgiveness. But in my opinion, so was he."
Willie sighed in annoyance, turning her back to him to avoid looking at hm. At the moment, she was torn between hugging him and clawing his eyes out. If she could forgive Vlad, surely she could forgive him. Suddenly, she was weighed down by weariness so profound she thought she might fall into another hibernation. When he did not make a move to leave, she murmured, "Good night, Father."
Willie listened to his retreating footsteps. The door hinges did not make a sound when he opened the door. While there was still a sliver of light shining into the darkness through the crack of the almost closed door, he told her, "Good night, your highness."
