Sister Mercy Cypress watched the woman leave the building and drive off in her car. Some poor soul, probably, who was looking for guidance. Mercy hoped she'd found it.
Meanwhile, she was in charge of putting out the candles that lit the main foyer. It was her favorite job; while all the other sisters save a few slept, she would walk the large silent hall with her damper and extinguish the little flames. Something about how the smoke curled up and into the high arches of the roof made her feel safe, as if the very building were the mother she never knew.
She took her long staff and started closest to the door so she could work closer and closer to the altar. This way she wouldn't have to walk back in complete darkness.
Being a real sister now; it was a dream she'd had since she was twelve. After only two years here in the seminary, she'd realized it was her destiny to pledge herself to God and wed the church. She straightened her habit and kept going down the long line.
Passing the basin of holy water, she realized she hadn't used it yet today and hurriedly dipped her finger in it. Crossing herself, she said a prayer for protection and went back to her job.
Suddenly, she heard a loud echoing knock at the heavy door. Taking her staff with her, she made her way down the half-darkened hall and opened the door.
Standing outside was a man with wavy black hair, dressed in a black shirt with a red button-down hanging open over top, and torn black jeans. He looked in at her with a sinister air, but she knew not to judge.
"Good evening, sir," she greeted with a smile. "Please, come in."
He stepped over the threshold, but winced when he saw the other end of the hall, which ended in the rows of pews and the altar.
"Are you alright? Do you need help?" she asked, clutching her damper to hold herself up. Something didn't ring right with this man; perhaps he was mad.
"No, I don't." His voice was deep and rich and everything she'd dreamed of in her fevered adolescent fantasies of puberty. Had she not remembered she was a nun of the Magdalene Order, she might have wanted this man instantly.
"Well, what can I help you with? Do you need a confession?"
He chuckled softly. "No."
"A place to stay?"
"My sweet princess, no. I need none of this that you offer me."
She was taken aback by his speech. But he did have a bit of an accent; perhaps this was his custom; to refer to a woman as "princess". "Well, how can I help?" she offered again. "Surely you need something."
He moved close and she felt herself frozen. His face was dangerously close to hers and she heard him inhale deeply of her scent. She knew she should be appalled at this, but somehow she wasn't. She felt it was perfectly normal of him.
"You smell…" he whispered, "like spring in the twilight. Like a Van Helsing."
"What?" she managed, unable to move and unable to speak any louder.
He grinned and put a hand on her staff, his fingers lightly touching hers. As he moved closer, she realized his canines were sharp, like fangs. His lips touched her forehead in a soft kiss, but instantly he pulled back with a hiss.
"Holy water. I should have known."
She was free to move again. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, moving away slowly. "What…who are you?"
He advanced, slowly but surely. "Why does everyone put such stock in names? We are given new ones all the time. Like we outgrow the old ones."
This struck her more than he realized. Having been renamed herself after having no name for ten years, and then gaining her Order name, she understood this statement.
"Then what are you now?" she asked, edging down between the rows of pews.
He laughed in his throat again. "Now? Now, my dear, I am that which you have spent the last ten years of your life preparing to face."
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to. But how like the Powers Above to give me this one final irony; that you would grow to be a nun." He said the last word with an air of someone spitting out poison.
She touched the altar and used it and the staff to brace herself. "There's nothing wrong with it. It is an honor to be one of the Magdalene order, and I'm proud."
He threw his head back and sighed exasperatedly. "And now, now that I am so close…I cannot touch you." He stretched out a hand and caressed her cheek, and she flinched.
"Let go…"
"It's all I can do, for now." He pulled back. "What is your name?"
"M-Mercy. Mercy Cypress."
"Until our next meeting then, Mercy." The man took her hand and, wincing a bit at the pain of the dried holy water on her fingers, kissed the back of it and fell away. Suddenly, as if he'd never been there in the first place, he was gone.
She stood stock-still; afraid to breathe. Surely she'd just encountered a demon of some sort; some monstrous thing that had no place in a church of God. She had to speak to a father.
Rushing out of the seminary, she made for the small monastery not a hundred yards away. Sliding in at such a late hour – or early, depending on one's point of view – was understandable, however, for the guilty conscience never sleeps.
"Father Avery? Father Sebastian? Brother Marcus?" she called quietly.
A black robed figure stepped out of the shadows and she gasped, then breathed deeply when she saw who it was. "Oh, Father Sebastian. I need a confession."
The bespectacled priest nodded and smiled calmly. "But of course, Sister Mercy. The Lord will always listen, no matter the hour."
They sat down at one of the pews and she bowed her head. "Forgive me, Father, for I might have sinned. I'm not sure if I have or not."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"This evening, I was visited by…well, it might have been a vision or it might have been a real man. But whatever it was, it seemed to make me feel…dirty. Just by looking at it, I felt like I had no right to live, to take another breath. I felt as if it wished, I could die instantly, and it was holding this feeling over me as if taunting me."
"Calm down, Mercy. What exactly was this vision?"
She looked up into his eyes, and he realized she was terrified. Her green eyes were alight with the carnal fear of the human being and he was scared for her.
"It was a man, Father. A man who I feel as if I've known forever, but never met. I don't understand it, and I don't want it. Please, if there is anything the church can do…"
"Mercy," he began, taking off his glasses to rub them clean. "Understand that whatever visions you may be seeing, they may be manifestations of your insecurity. You took your vows last night; perhaps this is your mind finally grasping the idea of forever abjuring the company of men."
"No, sir. I thought that at one point during the meeting, but I pushed it away. And the vision persisted."
"Well, then you must pray to the Lord to help you. Should it go on, we have a small amount of money that could pay for a therapist or maybe a recovery course, should it come to that. But you should try the Lord first, above all things."
"Alright, Father. Thank you for your guidance."
She stood and left.