"My lady," Noah called while knocking softly on her door. "It's time to go."
Willie put on her hat, pulling the thick veil of black lace over her face to hide it. She did not want people staring at her throughout the funeral. Surprisingly, even to her, she had not cried since the day Father Garetti died. Anger, deep seated and powerful, had prevented her from doing so. She was no longer content to be so accepting of her circumstances that always seemed to be beyond her control. The last few days had been spent thinking, reflecting on her life, particularly on her present.
She had stubbornly remained in her room, steadfastly refusing to leave for any reason. Noah had faithfully visited her, bringing her the wine infused with his own blood. He had attempted to engage her in conversation only to receive clipped one word answers or mute replies given by a shake of the head or a nod of confirmation. Patiently, he continued to talk to her, telling her about himself.
Noah had been an orphan left to die on the streets in Ireland when Father Anderson found him. He was brought to live at the orphanage the priest ran there. He had taken to the man as if he were an actual father, assisting with everyday duties such as cooking and cleaning and attending to the other children. Eventually Father Anderson allowed him to help with compiling information into books about creatures Noah had only heard about in scary stories told by the older boys at the orphanage. At first he had thought they were only story books, but one night, when he was supposed to be sleeping, he discovered those fabled beings were all too real. He had awakened in the middle of the night to hear a commotion outside. Following the sound of growling and whining that was almost drowned out by the hypnotic drone of many voices joined in prayer, he found Father Anderson and several other priests surrounding what looked to be a massive wild dog. The hulking beast was standing on two legs, its claws and teeth glinted like knives in the moonlight. Its white fur was matted with blood. The terrible creature's wrists and ankles were shackled, the chains held securely by four priests to it keep him from attacking them. They were performing a ritual to destroy it. After much chanting and many prayers, all of which seemed to be useless and having no effect at all, Father Anderson had drawn one of his Blessed Blades and stabbed the werewolf through the heart. It had terrified and fascinated Noah to watch the large wolf like creature die then slowly transform back into a human being.
That was when Willie had learned that Father Anderson was grooming Noah to take his place, to be the destroyer of evil and the guardian of what he believed to be a sacred duty. So he thought of Noah as a son. How ironic. The man with a God complex was sending his son to be a sacrifice to the demons on earth, all in hopes of bringing down his arch enemy. A similar story was told in the Bible of the God he served so faithfully and His son. The parallels were almost unbearable. She wondered if the narcissistic priest had made the connection. Doubtfully. He still thought everything he believed to be true and everything he did to be blameless and ordained by heaven. Stupid, stupid man.
"Willie!" Noah cried, banging harder on the door.
"I'm coming," she responded, smoothing down the front of her black dress that skimmed across the floor giving her appearance of floating. The dress was dowdy and plain, covering her from her chin to her toes and down to her wrists. With her hat in place and the veil lowered, the only skin that showed was that on her hands. She was not looking forward to the sad occasion, but she wanted to honor the memory of the priest, Father Garetti, who had brought her back from the bottomless abyss. Although she could not help think it would have been better for everyone, especially her, if he had left her there. Turning the knob, she opened the door, and announced, "I'm ready."
"My lady," Noah said, offering her his arm to escort her.
"I wish you wouldn't call me that." She threaded her arm through his, allowing him to lead her down the hall.
"Why not? I'm showing you the respect you deserve."
"I don't deserve your respect. I'm a monster who deserves to live in the shadows, hidden far away from humans. I shouldn't be here." My lady was also how Gannon had referred to her at first rather than by her name, and it unnerved her to be called that by someone else. The fact that he looked just Gannon only added to her dismay.
"Well, Father Anderson doesn't believe you're evil. He believes you can be used for the greater good, to defeat the ones who are evil."
"Used," she murmured, grasping her skirt to raise the hem to descend a flight stairs. "I'm not sure if I'm good or evil. Honestly, at this point in my life, I don't care. I've done what I've had to do to survive and protect my family. I've killed people you know."
"So have I," he confessed, staring straight ahead.
"Oh?"
"I told you he's been training me. I've actually killed werewolves and vampires and ghouls. They were all human once. Just like you. To me, you're still human."
"Hmmm," she muttered thoughtfully. And you are a fool, her inner voice said but she refused to persecute him aloud. A trusting, naive fool. I feel sorry for you. "So does that make you evil? You've killed those who were once human. But I suppose Father Anderson's definition of good or evil changes depending on who its in reference to."
Willie cast a sidelong glimpse at him to see the blush that had spread across his cheeks. Silly boy. Maybe he had no real opinion at all on things and followed the priest and his teachings with the same blind faith Father Anderson employed himself. At the bottom of the stairs, Willie turned to him, raising the veil to reveal her face. Her eyes captured his before she spoke. "One day, you will see the monster in me. You will see what I really am. Then you will hate me."
"I could never - "
"We should be leaving," Father Anderson interrupted, emerging from the open door of the room behind Noah.
"Yes, Father," Noah agreed, placing his hand on Willie's elbow to lead her out of the front door of the house behind the tall priest.
Willie glanced up at the leaden sky filled with clouds varying in shades of gray from the light silvery gray like the color of her dead husband's werewolf eyes to the dark, foreboding gray that warned of the impending storm. At least the weather was appropriate for such a sad occasion. A sunny, cloudless sky would have been too cheery as if mocking them in their mourning. She replaced her veil to once again shield her face from curious eyes as they walked across the lawn from the house to the church where people were gathering.
Upon entering the front doors of the church, the bells started to peal as if beckoning mourners to come inside for the service that was about to begin. There were many people already in the church, priests and nuns along with parishioners who had sat through sermons given by Father Garetti. Some of those people had probably received life changing counsel from him. Despite the numerous attendees, everyone was silent. Not a word was spoken by anyone. The only sound to be heard was the shuffling of feet from people filing into the sanctuary and the rustle of clothing when people dipped down to one knee to bow and make the sign of the cross over their body before taking their seat.
Father Anderson led Willie and Noah to the front, directing them to sit on the first pew on the left directly in front of the pulpit and positioned diagonally from the coffin. The coffin was painted a shiny black with gleaming silver handles on the side and a massive silver cross on the top.
This was so different from the funerals she was accustomed to. As gypsies, they burned their dead, allowing their bodies to return to dust and be scattered on the winds or waters to return them immediately to the earth. As a soldier, she had watched the bodies of her enemies and her comrades alike being burned on the battlefield. They were sent to the afterlife with flames to purge them of their sins and to purify their bodies while releasing their spirit to go to heaven.
This was new to her. There had been no wooden boxes or buildings or big gathering of softly weeping mourners who might or might not be sincere in their tears. Those who mourned at the funerals she had attended, had wailed and sobbed, pouring out their grief and rage at the loss of their beloved; or they had quietly looked on, sometimes in happiness and in relief, that their foe had met their demise or that their suffering friends no longer had to endure pain. But then some, who had no interest in the departed, had simply walked away. All of this seemed contrived, as if they were making a show to each other, rather than a sincere gathering of grieving individuals. Perhaps she was being too judgmental because it had been too long since she had been human, and she had forgotten what it was like to be one.
Stealing covert glances at the people around her from under her veil, Willie began to question where the true evil resided. Did it lie inside of her and her kind? Or within common man, the pitiful humans surrounding her? After all, what had created her other than the greed and selfishness that lay in the heart of a man? She did not realize her hands that lay folded in her lap were trembling until Noah covered them one of his big hands.
"It's all right," he whispered to her.
No, it wasn't. Things had not been all right for a very long time. They had been all wrong. Her life had always been out of her control. She had always been pushed and pulled by outward forces that she could not escape. Tears slid down her cheeks, but she left them unchecked. She was grieving but not for the poor man in the casket. Even he had been selfish as he had told her when he readily admitted his motivation for sacrificing himself was an effort to save her soul and acquire a sainthood for himself. Humans were awful, self-centered beings. At least as animals, demons, or monsters or whatever the humans chose to call them, they learned how to live and love beyond themselves. Not that they were not given to bouts of selfishness. Alucard stood as a testament to that fact just as she did at the moment thinking of no one but herself. She was not listening to Father Anderson while he prattled on about the positive attributes of Father Leopold Garetti, of the sacrifices he made, and the ways he made other people's lives better.
The rage that had seized her days ago welled up inside of her, hardening her heart and flooding the deepest depths of her being. All at once, she felt physically tired from being weary of doing the right thing. She had permitted herself to be led and used by others. She had become an unintentional martyr by being sacrificed time and time again for what she thought was the right thing. Perhaps she had more in common with Father Anderson than she cared to admit. That realization offended and infuriated her.
Raising her head, she glared at the man in the pulpit who was praying for the acceptance into heaven of the everlasting soul of the dead man. There was no reason to pray for his soul. It was gone. It had left three days ago. She knew this without a doubt because she had felt it when it vacated his body just as she had felt her husband's spirit one last time when his soul passed through her at his death.
When Father Anderson opened his eyes, they connected immediately with her fiery gaze despite it being obscured by the veil. She believed that he could sense her anger before he saw her eyes and that was why he had looked directly at her. A spark that she believed to be fear, ignited in his green eyes, then instantly disappeared. One day, she would give him a reason to fear her. She would make him regret what he had done to her. She vowed to make him pay for what he had done to those like her. And if she wasn't damned already, she would be if she allowed him to kill Alucard.
