A Day With Brian Callahan

"WELL ITS SEVEN O"CLOCK, A BE-YOOTIFUL MORNING."

"THIS IS KBBL. WITH MAC MANAGING THE MUSIC. KATIE AND JOE SCREENING THE CALLS, JESSICA, AND OF COURSE, ME, THE BARTMAN."

"ITS FRIDAY, AND THAT MEANS OPEN-LINE DAY! FIRST CALLER, GO!"

There was an ominous silence. A slight breathing was heard.

"HELLO?" Jessica asked.

"Hello…" came the deep, raspy voice, "………"

"YES? Hello!" Jessica said.

"This is for you, Jessica Lovejoy, and Bart…and for all the rest. We know who you are…where you work…where you sleep…"

"DO YOU HAVE A SONG OR NOT?" Bart asked impatiently.

"We will kill you tonight. Despite your best efforts, no matter where you hide, where you go…we'll hunt you down and taste your blood! There is no escape...Oh, and I'd like you to play Twisted Sister's "Burn In Hell"…tonight you die!"

Bart, painfully oblivious, hit the play button and sat there humming along. Jessica, who had been paralyzed with terror for the better part of the call, came to her senses, stood up, grabbed Bart by the shirt collar, and drug him out of the room.

"Man!" Mac said, "That Jessica's a wild one! Cat hiss !"

"Bart! That was one of Burn's men! They're on to us!"

"Jess, chill…"

"That gravely-voiced goon just said that an uber-powerful UnDead monster knows where we live and is coming to kill us, and you just sit their like a lump of-!"

"JESSICA! Calm-eth, thy self-eth, chick-eth. I'll call up Sideshow Bob, we'll have an emergency meeting tonight, we'll trace their call next time they phone in-its all good! Bob said Alucard should be back soon, and he'll probably have already found out where Burns' lair is and it will all be over before he can cause the Apocalypse."

Jessica was frightened and angry. Her face always looks so ugly when she's like that, Bart thought.

"I don't trust Alucard. And I certainly don't trust Sideshow Bob. He's a freak! He tried to kill you, at least seven times!"

"I don't trust them either. But they don't trust us either. No one trusts anyone these days. But they act like they trust some people-because we're desperate."

"Wow. That's really deep…kinda pretty…you didn't make it up yourself, didn't you?"

"Movie poster," he answered curtly. She nodded, then smiled. They both went back into the studio room.

"Burn In Hell" was just finishing. The annoyingly loud theme for the station played, and then they were back on the air.

"OKAY, WE'RE BACK! NEXT CALL, AND PLEASE, NO MORE DEATH THREATS. HELLO?"

"Yes, hello," the baritone voice intoned.

"AHHH!" Bart screamed, recognizing his former arch-nemesis' voice.

"Bart, you and Jessica are doing a fantastic job. Truly, you are the best disk jockeys in town. Could you please play 'Danger'?"

"UMM, I DON'T HAVE A SONG LIKE THAT ON OUR LIST," Bart answered. Jessica sat, her hands palms-up on her lap, noting the keywords Bob accentuated. You, and, Jessica, are, in, danger…You and Jessica are in danger!

"Really? Well then, could you play 'Under Pressure'?"

"SURE THING."

"Thank you Bart. Again, let me say how splendid I think you and your co-host are, and that I should like to meet you. I just got a page from my brother at home. I need to get back to the house. Le back house."

"OK, LATER," Bart said impatiently, and he gave Mac the signal to hang up.

The opening bass notes played, those famous notes the now much-loathed Vanilla Ice stole so long ago. Jessica sat with her hands in her lap, rubbing her index finger and thumb together and biting her bottom lip. Bob had been more discrete with the words this time; his accents were slighter, his words fewer, not even forming a complete sentence. Meet, at back house…Le back house…

"Man can that dude talk your ear off!" Bart said, rustling some papers.

"'You and Jessica are in danger. Meet at…back house'" she repeated, pausing on the incomprehensible last words.

"What?"

"Bart, Sideshow Bob heard that creepy call, and he hid a message in his seemingly-inane conversation…'Back house'…what did he mean by that, though?"

"Back house…back house…" Bart said, his mind racing. He had found straight thinking difficult in the last few days, partly because his brain was not used to such, and also because his mind was now crammed with all sorts of information he could never have gotten into it normally. Le…the word, which he hadn't even registered when he was listening to Robert's call, triggered a chain of subconscious thought. Le…French, definite singular article…French…'back house', in French…le maison derriere…he wants to meet us-where though?

"Bob wants to meet us at the Maison Derriere!" Bart gasped.

"Wha-of course! That's where we always meet! How'd you-back house! Oh, I'm an idiot! I always think of the 'derriere' as in 'ass'."

Bart's eyes widened in a sudden destruction of lingering innocence.

"Hey! The place's name is a double entendre!"

"You didn't realize that before?"

Springfield University…

"And in blah blah blah blah blah the Aztec emperor blah blah blah-blah blah the Olmec empire, ruled by blah blah-blah-blah blah blah…" droned the Native American History teacher. Lisa sat in the front row, struggling to stay awake. She had long given up even trying to pay attention; she was now struggling just to look like she was paying attention.

Buddha! She thought, Why am I here? I'm falling asleep! Wake up! Wake up-wake up! God! I wish that Senora Finell was still teaching. Dropping out first week of the year, what a gyp…oh, that's an ethnic slur against the Roma. What a…bad…thing…for me. I guess she's in her rights to quit teaching…I mean, if she's having a baby…jeez, I hope I'm never pregnant. Mom seemed so uncomfortable when she was pregnant with Eric…she was far too old, far too stressed. At least she didn't have a career. Ms. Finell said she wasn't coming back. Well, if I ever have a child, I sure as hell won't let it ruin my career. But they do say that having a baby changes everything about how you view things, changes everything. But it's possible that's a cultural control, emphasized by the new emotional/psychological state induced by the hormones and added to by the culturally-imposed responsibility of child raising. Still…I guess I won't know for sure until I do have a child…Look at me! I'm twenty-two, a junior, triple-majoring in physics, ecology, and biology, and here I am, thinking of motherhood!

The bell rang. Lisa pulled her head up from the desk. I fell asleep? Crap! She looked at the professor, who turned and shot her a disappointed look, then went back to erasing the board. She gathered her things and hurried out the room.

As she walked across the quad, she felt a hand on her shoulder. With her new reflexes, she spun about, fists ready. Brian Callahan stood behind her, a surprised look upon his countenance. She smiled.

"You dropped your books, Lisa."

She looked down. She saw how he was standing, one foot ahead of the other, his muscles in prana bindu tension, coiled springs of tension. The look of surprise on his face belied the unconscious preparedness his new 'programming' had bestowed upon him. She felt eyes upon her, her fellow students surprised to see Lisa the pacifist/Buddhist/feminist/environmentalist/Green Party member, ready to slug a teacher. She relaxed and bent over to pick up her books. She gathered them in her arms in front of her. Brian handed her one.

"Thank you."

"C'est rien."

She reached for the last one. Her hand and Brian's met upon its cover. Their eyes flicked up at each other. Brian was surprised by her forwardness as raised her hand over his and clasped it. He flicked his eyes back to hers. She was smiling coyly. He knew to return the smile, and did so with all expediency, lest she think him reluctant, or merely smiling after the decision to do so in order to not embarrass her. But he knew the other students to be watching them. He changed his expression, and flicked his eyes twice towards the others. She withdrew. He grinned and handed her book. They both stood.

"So," she said, her books in front of her chest, rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet in a deliberate mock-shyness, "What's going on?" Her voice cracked slightly. She new how to play the 'game', but didn't quite do it well, partly because her political advocacy had alienated most of the local boys, and her insistence on intellectual equality excluded most of the students at a school the College Board had deemed 'The Underachiever's Best Hope'.

She could tell it was bad news before he spoke. The corners of his mouth turned down, and his eyes assumed their hawk-like, piercing stare.

"I received an e-mail from our mutual acquaintance, Robert Underdunk Terwilliger, saying that he heard Bart and Jessica receive a threatening telephone call at their workplace, presumably from one of Burns' goons."

She suppressed a gasp. "Where does he want us to meet him?"

He was pleased by her directness. "The burlesque house, at seven thirty tonight. He also wants you to stay with me. He says that it's…a liability for anyone to be alone. Of course, your mother and father are together with Mr. Flanders, Bart and Jessica are with each other…"

"Are Maggie and Eric safe?"

He was caught in his ramblings, which, he realized, contained the subconscious hinting that they should be together. Hardly subtle, she certainly caught me. And I wasn't even thinking it…

"They've been moved to an undisclosed location. He didn't say where, only that they are safe."

"Okay."

"We should probably leave the campus."

"Why? I have class!"

"First off, we can hardly protect each other if we are working, in separate classrooms, and we can hardly be on campus, hanging about, without people asking what we are doing. Also…" his voice lowered to an intense whisper, "I was looking for an original Saxon copy of Beowulf in the basement when I encountered several caskets…inside of each was a vampire…it was less than an hour until sundown, and I hadn't enough stakes to them all…going back to the house would've taken too long, even going to Frink's or your place for more would have cut it too close; they could've grabbed me while I was staking them, and that would be the end of me. I staked five, but there were about twenty of them, some were pretty old, pre-European Indians, some of them…"

They were walking now, slowly, deliberately. He had her by the sleeve of her sweater, and looked about suspiciously as he continued.

"I barely made it home that night…and all night long, I heard the others, scratching the window panes, howling like the Devil himself…by dawn, they were gone, and nearly all of my chickens slaughtered and the horses loose in the pasture, frightened half to death."

They were walking faster now, looking about madly, heads so close they were almost cheek to cheek.

"They followed you?"

"Yes."

"How'd they find out?"

"Vampyr are only partially aware when they are asleep, but they probably sensed someone moving about in their hiding place. When they woke, they followed my smell to my room, most likely, found out who I was, and where I lived, and raced to stop me. That's the most likely scenario…"

His tone as he finished, the way he trailed off, indicated his belief in another, less likely, and much worse explanation. They both thought it. Brian especially, having been told by Sideshow Bob 'They know our meeting place, they said…Belle never invites anyone suspicious in, and I checked the last few weeks' security tapes…nothing unusual, no invisible persons walking in the door, no seats with no one in them…'

'What of Burns'…sight?'

'Father says he can not see into a room that has the Blessed Sacrament in it…and he said that he stores a Consecrated Host in our meeting room…and the rosary…interferes with his visions, shall we say…So the only logical conclusion is…'

Yes…the most horrible of conclusions!

'Is the Maison safe for our meeting?"

'I called Belle. She said she's put a crucifix in sight of the main door and on the doors to our room, and she's hired some extra muscle. For tonight, we'll be safe. I hope.'

She followed him back to his office, where he set about to collecting all his things. His papers for the class he crammed inside his battered leather briefcase, while his weapons and assorted instruments he placed in a heavy carpet bag.

"You have plenty of stakes with you now…couldn't you…" she began, stopping when the she saw the obvious answer.

"Yes," he said, seeing her sudden realization, "I arrived the next morning, with stakes and enough holy water to baptize China, but they were gone. They're very crafty the UnDead. They are like animals, you see-their individual survival is all they think of. That makes them difficult to exterminate, but has also kept their race in the shadows for so long."

"Our altruism is what makes us great; it makes no evolutionary sense, but that's why it works."

"Yes. And it makes Burns a threat: normally, Vampyr are solitary hunters, working in groups only because of familial or 'blood' ties, and only when the pressures of finding food and avoiding Hunters does not force them into every-man-for-himself-ishness. Burns has rallied nearly all the UnDead under his banner, and they are now obedient to him."

"But how could he make them fight for him, like a few nights ago, when such puts them at risk of death with no visible benefit to themselves?"

"Burns is powerful. The Vampyr cling to power. They hunger for it. So, hoping to benefit from his power, and fearing what he could do to them if they resisted, they must have made a pact of blood with him, binding their fate to his."

A thought came to her.

"And…if they drank his blood, then that would enable them to enter houses he had entered?"

"Certo."

"Is their will then his?"

"No, but, if they entered the pact, and failed to fulfill their side of the bargain, then Burns…we don't know what he could do."

"Is it true that some of the vampires worship him?"

Brian looked down, his eyes glazed in thought. A slight smile curled his lips.

"They see him as their messiah, the one who will bring about the return of the Vampire King, Dracula, whose they believe will usher in an era in which the UnDead shall rule the living and the Church and all who can oppose the Vampyr will be destroyed. But no, the Vampyr worship no one and nothing but themselves. They see Satan, by whose power they continue to live, as someone they duped, and pay homage only to the gods of their own wills and liberated animal passions."

Lisa listened to his words. He had mentioned 'paying homage to the god of the will' earlier in the year when he had railed against the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche.

She followed him out to the parking lot.

"Where's you carriage?"

"I didn't bring it today. I brought my motorcycle," he said as he gestured towards a large, black motorbike.

She analyzed it as he donned his helmet and started up the bike's engine.

"There…there's no side car."

"You don't mind, do you? I mean, hanging on back…?"

"Oh, no, not all," she said, her voice cracking in her nervous excitement. She threw in a small, nervous laugh. He tossed her a helmet. She fumbled, caught it, and, feeling quite awkward, she put it on.

She looked at the seat of the bike. It was longer than normal, easily allowing a passenger, but with no backrest or support, she would have to cling on to his back. Lisa looked for some time, trying furtively to get on. She felt alien and uncomfortable. Stupid hormones! Look at me, I'm acting a total ditz!

"Just throw one leg over. Its easy," he told her. He did not see why she was having such trouble.

Lisa picked up her right leg and flung it over the bike. It rocked slightly, but Brian held it up with his feet. Sitting down, she set her hands on his shoulders, feeling strange, right up against him.

"You might want to wrap your arms around my waist," he said.

"What?"

"Around my waist."

"Oh…sure…heh heh heh…" she breathed nervously.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. She felt…safe. Secure. Loved. The brief revelation was shattered by the roar of the engines and the sudden jolt from the acceleration.

"Yaaaaaaah!" she screamed as the shot out of the parking lot. They roared down the street, the wind blasting past them. Lisa clung on for dear life, her eyes squeezed shut. Her heart was pounding, and felt like it nearly exploded each time the brakes screeched and they lurched forward. She smelt the acrid smell of burnt rubber, and thought they would fall over and die each time they hit a bump or pothole. She felt the bike sway back and forth. She opened her eyes. They were whizzing down pothole-ridden Main Street. It was a veritable obstacle course.

After several perilous blocks, they turned left and headed out of town. She watched as the crowded blocks became suburban housing developments. The houses grew fewer, larger, more widely dispersed. They crossed over a bridge, and were outside the city limits.

The houses were fewer, older. With greater frequency, she saw houses with chickens, turkeys, goats, and horses. Horses! Lisa thought of how much she once loved horses, how she still loved them. Oh! How I wish that one was mine! she thought as saw a beautiful gray mare with a small foal.

The ranch houses and farms morphed into large groves of oranges and grapevines. Soon, they were surrounded by orange trees on each side, and Lisa felt somewhat trapped. The road slowly arched westward, and soon, the mid-morning sun was at their backs. Lisa smelt the sharp brine of the ocean. The groves fell back, and she saw the grey sea, boiling and churning majestically. Her heart was gladdened by the sight of it. She wondered what it was, that dream men towards the sea. The promise of new discovery? The independence of the voyage? The hardships of sailing? Or perhaps, something deep within the soul, a longing, a need? She stared at it as long as she could. Finally, she lost sight of it as the road turned away.

She looked ahead, and saw a beautiful Victorian manor house on a nearby hill. Painted a sea grey, and surrounded by a tall iron fence, with tall, barren trees in front of it, it had every appearance of a haunted house.

They pulled up in front of the house. Brian turned off the motor and took off his helmet. He set the kickstand into the gravel and dismounted the bike. Lisa pulled off her helmet and looked about. The house was isolated, surrounded by forest, untended orange groves, and the sea. Springfield was merely a smoggy blob in the distance. Completely cut off from the world…what a fitting home for the strange, eccentric young professor.

He took out a large iron key and unlocked the heavy, rusted lock on the gates. He pushed one open, and it creaked eerily.

"Bloody salt water," he said, inspecting the hinges, "Everything rusts like mad."

Lisa looked at the massive house.

"How do you afford this place? The rent must be ridiculous!"

"Actually, that's the funny thing: I practically got it for free! The realitor said that I was crazy to buy it, that it was haunted! Well, I moved in, all this crazy stuff started happening, you know, writing appearing on the wall, weird apparitions, noises late at night, my bed was shaking, I was scared out of my wits. I called Fr. O'Flaherty, and he inspected the premises, and said that it was infested."

"With what?" she asked as she slid off the bike.

He turned and looked at her, a wild look in his eyes.

"Evil!"

Lisa was part frightened, part dubious. Recent events had caused her to cease to be a total skeptic of all paranormal activity, but her rational mind still refused to take everything abnormal at face-value.

Brian took the bike and started to walk up the gravel driveway with it. She followed.

"You see, Miss Simpson, demons can inhabit objects, as well as living creatures. The father blessed the houses, said the prayer of exorcism several times, at least once in each room, and even said Mass in the house. After a few months, it all subsided. He repeated the ritual a few more times, and blessed the house as a whole, and then every room. I put a blessed crucifix in each room, and every month he comes to say mass in a different room. So far, there have been no more incidents."

"Why didn't you just move out?" she asked as he put the bike in the garage.

"Well, I mean, look at the place! Its gorgeous! Plus, where could I live on a professor's salary? An apartment? Where would I keep all my horses, my chickens?"

"Chickens?"

"Sure, I need the eggs. I could never eat one of those store-bought eggs! Do you know the conditions those chickens live in? Seven to a cage, never seeing the light of day!"

Lisa smiled and shook her head.

"And yet you ate steak on our date."

"Hey, that was USDA certified grade A organic, raised in the rolling green hills. Those cows have it made…until they're slaughtered. But still, in all honesty, meat is a luxury for me. In all practicality, I am a vegetarian. I just object to people saying that the soul of an animal is of equal value as the soul of a human being."

"So animals do have souls!" she laughed, feeling as though she had gotten him to admit something.

"Sure, but you see, they aren't of the same value as that of a man or woman. Walk with me." And he walked out of the garage, and she followed him. The manor was on a fairly large parcel of land, mostly rolling hills by the sea. As they walked, Brian lectured her.

"Life, Lisa, is more than what science calls it: a continuous, self-maintaining, self-duplicating chemical reaction. Life is spirit, it is soul, it is, ultimately, a supernatural phenomena. Life is a gift of God. He created it, sustains it, and only allows it to end, only allows death, because it is one of the penalties for Original Sin, through which evil entered His Perfect Creation by our own fault. Life is the present of the animus, the soul, in a thing. The higher the creature, the greater the soul. The soul of a fly is greater than that of an amoeba, but less than that of a horse. Truly, animals do have souls."

At that, they encountered a large, white cat.

"Hello, Fluffy," he sang as he picked it up and nuzzled its thick, fluffy fur. "See, Miss Simpson, how could this thing be without a soul, how could there be no spirit behind those beautiful green eyes?" He held the cat out her, and she took it into her arms. She stroked its soft coat, and felt its strong, forceful purr. She smiled, cradled it in her arms for a while, then set him down.

"The soul of an animal is mortal. When it dies, the animal dies, and when the animal dies, the soul ceases to exist."

"That's horrible!" Lisa gasped.

"Yes, but its not the way its meant to be. Death was not what God intended for His Creation, though He certainly foresaw a future in which it would become a reality. In Eden, there was no time, no disease, no pain, no discomfort, and no death. Only through the sins of Adam and Eve did evil enter not only the human creature, but also into all creation, for human beings were made the caretakers and preservers of Creation."

They were now outside the chicken coop. Fat, contented hens were strutting about, some with small chicks, clucking and scratching at the dirt. Brian picked one up, and Lisa was amazed to see that the chicken he caught had no feathers on its neck.

"Oh, the poor thing!" she gasped.

"It's alright, it's a turken," he explained.

"Wha-!"

"It's an eastern European breed that has no feathers on its neck. They're very friendly little birds. Look, you can pick 'em up, just like that!"

"Hmmm…"

He set the chicken down, and it went back to its happy foraging. They watched the birds strut and peck about for a while, telling the occasional chicken joke. He asked Lisa if she was hungry, and she said that she was. As it was lunchtime, they decided to go back to the house. They went in through the back door, and stepped directly inside the kitchen.

The kitchen was clean, if somewhat poorly-lit, and smelt strongly of garlic.

"How about I make my famous Spaghetti con Broccoli? It's delicious, my mum used to make it all the time."

"It's vegetarian, right?"

"Couldn't be any more vegetarian if it tried. It's so vegetarian, its repel meat like magnet."

"Okay. Sounds good."

"Right then, you just go rest and I'll start cooking."

"Alright."

Lisa left the kitchen and walked about the dilapidated manor. It seemed more like an abandoned home that had been moved in to, rather than a home that was sold. The gossamer, moth-eaten curtains trailed like ghosts in the feint drafts. The rugs were torn and heavy with dust, and every other floorboard unleashed a heart-rendering creak. She looked about. She was now in the main foyer. A cobweb-enshrouded chandelier hung high about her head. She looked up, around, at the arching double-stairway, then down, to the room underneath it. She walked over to the double doors, and opened one a sliver. As she suspected, they contained a large ballroom. The curtains were all drawn tightly, and dust lay thick on the floor.

She wndered through the house for a while before coming to a door with gold letters inscribed above the frame.

"Archives"

She tried the door. It was unlocked. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, then went in.

The 'Achives' room was actually a large library. Lisa was thrilled at the idea. Oh, to have so many books, all nice and neat on fancy shelves and-ooh! One of those roly-ladder thingies! I always wanted one of those!

Lisa looked and saw a computer on a nearby desk. The monitor was on, but in standby. She touched a key, and the screen lit up.

Wow, he has a cataloguing system.

The program had various search modes: 'Search by Title', 'Search by Author', 'Search by Publisher', 'Search by Era', 'Search by Genre', 'Search by Theme', and 'Search by Catalogue Number'.

"Hmm…I'll try 'Genre'."

'Which Genre?' the program prompted, and it listed 'Fiction' and Nonfiction'.

"I'll try 'Nonfiction'."

The computer listed all the nonfiction genres: Art, History, Martial Arts, Military, Practical, Religious/Philosophical, Scientific, and Zoological.

"Let's see what the professor has under 'Religious/Philosophical'," Lisa mused as she clicked. A whole list of authors, with all their works, came up.

I recognize a lot of these names…Pythagoras, Aristotle, Socrates, Plato, Aquinas, Augustine, Nietzche, Freud, Randt...some of these are weird, though. Serge Trifkovic…must be some right-wing propaganda writer he reads…look at his books! "The Sword of The Prophet: The Politically Incorrect History of Islam". Pah! Let's see…Father Alfonso Liguouri...'The Deciever: Our Daily Struggle With Satan"…M-268…

Lisa followed the long walls of books until she reached the 'M' section. She continued along until she saw the book by Fr. Alfonso. She pulled it out, and looked it over. On the cover was a picture of 'The Temptation of Christ' by Botticelli. She opened it up, its tired, broken-down bindings creaking faintly, and skimmed over it. She found the pages smudged and dog-eared, indicating frequent use. He reads this one a lot…maybe even recently…

A key sentence caught her attention, one that spoke of how the Christian theology was incomplete without an understanding of angels and demons and the cause of Satan's fall. She began reading seriously, but, seeing it would only be more work to start anywhere else, she flipped back to the beginning. She started on the preface, feeling that, even though they were boring and often repeated what had been said already on the back cover's summary, that if someone had taken the time to write it, that she should have the courtesy to read it.

As she read, trying to comprehend the talk of demons and angels and the Divine Plan for the Salvation of Humanity, Brian's voice came to the edge of her consciousness.

"Miss Simpson…Miss Simpson…"

Unable to put the book down, her mind whirring a mile a minute, she ignored and kept reading, though knowing she would have to stop sometime very soon.

"Miss Simpson…Miss Simpson? LISA!"

She looked up, snapping the book shut. She through a quick look over her shoulder, then ran out of the room, still clutching the book.

"I'm coming!" she called as she left the room.

"Lunch is ready!" he yelled back.

Professor Callahan had set the table in the dinning room with one setting on each end of the table. Lisa blinked as she entered, as he had drawn up the curtains and the room was now brilliantly white. Brian entered holding a large, steaming bowl filled with a mixture of pasta, egg, and broccoli. The smell was quite enticing to Lisa, who suddenly realized how hungry she was.

"Hold on while I get us some drinks," Brian asked as he set down the hot bowl, "San Peligrino alright?"

"Oh, sure!"

He smiled and nodded, then looked down and saw that he was still wearing a pink-frilled apron and oven mitts shaped like duck heads. Grinning embarrassedly, he ripped them off and stormed off into the kitchen. He came back with two large bottles of Peligrino mineral water and a pair of serving tongs. He set one bottle in front of Lisa first, then on next to his glass. He opened the bottle for her, and poured some into her glass.

"Oh, thank you."

"De nada."

He scooped up a rather large helping of noodles for her, and placed it on her plate.

"There you are, tuck in."

"Thanks."

He walked around to the other side of the table, sat down, and crossed himself. He felt Lisa staring at him as he said grace, but continued as though he didn't notice. He made the Sign of the Cross, then served himself some pasta.

"So, Miss Simpson, are you enjoying your stay?" he asked as he poured himself a glass of 'fizzy water'.

"Yes, your house is really nice."

He nodded, swallowed a mouthful, then said, "How'd you like my library?"

She nearly dropped her spoon.

"How'd you know I was in there? Do you have surveillance cameras?"

"No, I just know it, and your reaction and thinly-veiled surprise proves it. It's alright. And feel free to borrow that book for as long as you need to. Its one of my favorites-shaped the way I view the world!"

"Well, I haven't read a lot of it yet, but it's…interesting, different. I'm not sure I'll agree with all of it."

"That's the thing!" he interjected with a loud gesture. "How can you doubt, when you've seen what we've all seen! Holy water dissolving vampire flesh, creatures rising from the grave, Alucard-appearing and reappearing at will! How can you doubt!"

"I…just don't agree with a lot of Christianity's doctrines. I'm sorry, professor, I know you're a very conservative–"

"Orthodox."

"-orthodox Catholic, but it's just what I believe."

He looked at her for a while, eyebrows slightly raised.

"You're entirely in your right to believe what you believe," he said after a while, and then took a bite and munched it for a while, not making eye contact with her. He swallowed, took a sip of water, then looked at her.

"Free will-it's a terrifying thing! The possibility to reject God! Such is the risk he took when He gave it to us, the consequence of enabling His creatures to love as He loves: freely, completely. He even limits his own power concerning our wills-sure, He can tweak them, move them towards goodness, towards Himself, but H never changes our will outright. Your choice is yours, Miss Simpson…though, I must ask, what provoked this choice-your abandonment of Christianity for Buddhism?"

She paused for a while, looking down, past her plate, into her past.

"Rev. Lovejoy."

Brian's eyes lit up, and a sad half-smile flickered.

"Yes. From what I've heard, he's caused more people to turn away from God than priestly molestation and guilt."

"I'd go to church with my family every Saturday, and it was all so boring. My dad fell asleep, Bart fell asleep when he wasn't goofing off, half the congregation fell asleep, even the organist! And Rev. Lovejoy always seemed so bored and tired with it all, rolling his eyes as he read the Gospel and yawning at the end of his own sermon. And there was Mrs. Lovejoy, front row every time, acting all prim and proper, turning her nose up whenever she looked at my family. Welcoming everyone indeed…And don't get me started on the Flanders. 'Oh! We're so good, we're so holy! Our biggest scandal was when Ned knocked over one of the ficus plants! We give soooooo much to the church. We're first in line for Heaven! Oooh!'"

Lisa blushed as she realized how much like her father she had acted when she was imitating the Flanders. Brian saw it too, looked away, smirking, then tried to take a drink, only to find he had already emptied his glass. He poured himself some more, then said to Lisa, "I'm sorry that such is your only experience with Christianity."

"Well, that's not all. Rev. Billy Graham, the pedophile scandal in the news, Pope John Paul II stance on various issues-oh! And that one time when the town legalizes gay marriage for six weeks, the only churches not allowing the couples to get married in them were the First Christian Church of Springfield…and the three Catholic churches in town."

"Yeah, those were some crazy weeks. I remember when a riot started outside of St. Mary Magdeline's Roman Catholic Cathedral of the Downtown. The Father Sean wouldn't let them in, and they started to scream and shout, I found out from one of my friends, and a bunch of us ran over to help the nuns block the door. Oh! The noise and the shoving all the anti-Catholic slurs and cursing. This one freak spat in my face and said that he was HIV positive-I got tested the next week, nothing. And then the Knight of Columbus showed up, and there was a even more yelling and name-calling and produce-tossing, and they stood there, like statues, taking it all. Then they drew their swords, you know, those supposedly 'ceremonial' swords they carry, and their leader steps forward and told them to disperse and get of the Church's property or they would charge. They all started laughing, until they did charge, that is. And those swords, as it turns out, are real."

"As things in Springfield tend to do, it quickly devolved into an orgy of bloodshed and violence. I got some gay guy in the stomach with my pocketknife. Unfortunately, he was one of the burly steel mill types. I don't remember much after that, except waking up at the nurse's office at nearby St. Jerome's."

Lisa shook her head exhasperatedly.

"See, that's the problem. Why couldn't Fr. Sean let them in and marry them?"

"Because the Church teaches that marriage is the sacramental union between a man and a woman."

"But does it really matter, as long as they truly love each other?"

"Lisa, Lisa, it's perfectly moral, natural, and, in fact, commendable for a man and another man to love each other, it's when that love is corrupted from filial love to an unnatural, romantic, and ultimately, sexual relationship that it becomes sinful. The feelings, the thoughts are not inherently sinful, but rather, the act is. While homosexuality is not a sin, and the Church has never taught that it is, it is an ultimately unnatural state centered around a life of acts that are unnatural and mortally sinful."

"Almost every society throughout history, with the very visible exceptions of the ancient Greeks and Romans, have regarded homosexual acts as morally reprehensible, and a homosexual lifestyle as unnatural and harmful to the society. In nature, we see the model: male and female. In Genesis we see the model: male and female, and that model is reaffirmed throughout the Old and New Testaments, as well as in the writings of the Fathers and Doctors of the Church, as well as its Popes and lay writers down to this day. Even in other modern faiths, we see that man and woman, in a loving and monogamus relationship, is the ideal."

Lisa thought for a while. He's good…Frs. McGillis and O'Flaherty have taught him well. I can't take him on this one. Better try a different angle, and quick, while he's flushed with his supposed victory.

"Tell me, Professor, what is the difference between contraceptives and NFP?"

"The same thing that is different between a married couple that can't have children and a gay couple that can't."

"What, nothing?" she pressed, a sly grin spreading.

"No, the Will of God. With contraceptives, a couple is saying 'We will not have children unless we want to', while NFP, when used properly, let's a couple see when God is presenting them the opportunity to have a child and avoid it if they are not ready for a child. With a sterile couple, it is God saying they can't have kids, unlike the gay couple, whose relationship is inherently sterile."

Lisa smiled, a sympathetic smile. She felt sorry for him, so imprisoned in his 'fallacies'.

After lunch they listened to music-Van Morrison, Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, and even some Bleeding Gums Murphy. They took a walk out across the property, and watched the horses frolic in the pasture. They walked along the hillside, discussing the nature of government. Lisa, of course, defended democracy, albeit with socialist systems such as welfare. Brian was more in favor of monarchy, sticking with Aristotle's classification of government, yet grudging admitted a democracy was best as it is less likely to lead to gross abuse of power than a monarchy, which can easily become a tyranny. As they turned and walked along the edge of the cliff, Lisa looked out at the horizon.

"What a beautiful sunset!"

Brian froze. He looked at the sunset, his eyes full of dread. Lisa understood.

"We should go inside," he stated gravely.

"Yes…yes, definitely," she answered fretfully.

They reached the house just as the sun was touching the horizon. Once inside, Brian rushed about frantically, locking each door and closing each curtain. It became very dark in the large, cold house. Lisa stood in the dark, empty foyer. A sharp noise alerted her. She turned and saw Brian lighting the many candles in a large candelabra.

"Why don't you come up to the drawing room?" he invited, his voice booming in the high-ceilinged room, "I've a nice fire burning, and a pot of soy hot chocolate boiling?"

"Okay. But I should be calling my parents soon. They'll be worried."

"I have a phone up here. And we'll be seeing them at seven thirty at the Maison Derriere, anyway."

She ascended the stairs.

"Right this way," he said, with in a mock-frightening voice.

She followed him down the dark hallway.

"Doesn't this place have any lights?"

"No. It has no electricity. It does have running water though. God knows I couldn't live without a warm shower every night. It has no phone lines either, no cable, no satellite, and no mailbox. I live as much 'off the grid' as I possibly can. I just don't like the idea of 'Big Brother' knowing my every move."

"Wait, if you have no phone, how can I call my anyone?"

"Oh, I have a phone. It's a prepaid cellular phone that I hooked up to all the phones in the house. I have three phones in the house, they're just connected to a cell phone that can't be tracked."

"Oh, that's…nice."

He led her into a large room lit by candles and firelight. Several red sofas and armchairs were gathered around the large marble fireplace, in which hung a pot that was gently simmering.

"Please, have a seat, Miss Simpson."

"Thank you," she said. She felt uneasy in the undeniably romantic setting. Was he trying to impress her? Surely, a twenty nine year old celibate was no threat to her, was he? Sure, she new fifteen different forms of unarmed combat and countless weapons techniques, but did that matter against someone who knew them and was four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier? She quickly dismissed her thoughts as needless fretting. Brian was pure gentleman-courteous, chivalrous, borderline cavalier. If anything, his feelings for her were sweet and sympathetic, not aggressive and lustful.

She sat down in one of the sofas while he went to get the cocoa. He reached for the handle without a mitt and burned his hand.

"Ahh! Shizenkopf!" he swore as he shook his injured hand.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine," he said. He took a mitt off the mantle and took the pot off the fire. He handed Lisa a mug and filled it, carefully, as the cocoa was horribly hot.

"Careful now, its scalding hot."

Lisa blew on it cautiously. Brian set the kettle on an iron hook hanging near the mantle. He crossed across the dark room, fading into the red shadow. Lisa looked over her shoulder. His face came into view in the dancing light. He held out a telephone.

"Here, call your family, they should be worried."

He crossed the room again, the opposite direction this time, towards the door, and returned with a decanter filled with bourbon and a large glass. He filled the glass halfway, and swirled it about under his nose.

"Yes mom, I'm fine."

"Oh good! Are you alright with that lunatic?"

"Mom! He's not a lunatic, he's…eccentric…a romantic. His house is really lovely, you ought to see it!"

"Well, anyway, Robert and Mel should be over in about ten minutes to take to guys to the meeting. I'll see you there sweetie. Kiss-kiss, bye!"

"Bye mom."

"I'm flattered…'eccentric'…!" he laughed.

"Huh?"

"I've been called much worse…" he mused, looking off into the gloom. He took a long, dramatic gulp. "Yes, I drink too much. I smoke too much, I worry too much. And I sleep too little."

"You're really cutting into your life expectancy, you know."

"A little alcohol can be healthy," he countered, the contents of his glass sloshing about as he moved his hand.

"Well, I think you've already had about twice of what would be considered 'a little'. Plus, that's hard liqueur, not even wine. At least wine has beneficial amino acids in it."

"Oh hell…it numbs me. I need it. Man's gift and curse is to live and forget, live and die. To experience but to escape it, to lose life but to at least be able to escape the bad parts of it. And yet I don't forget. Do you believe in it Lisa?"

She did not answer. She leaned in closer to hear him better; his voice was barely a hoarse whisper.

"Fire…eternal flame…burning…burning the soul. I've seen them. I know the full weight of my sins. And in knowing it, the weight has broken me. My mind is gnawed away by the teeth of fear, the immense dread one has after seeing Hell-and knowing…how badly he wants me!"

Lisa stared at him, horrified. These were not his normal, offensive views, These were something more real. This was fear.

"Who?"

"CAW!"

The black crow flew into the room. It lighted on the mantlepeice, upon the bust of Pallas.

Brian looked at it. It stared back, turning its head from side to side curiously. It stared with its beady eye.

"Depart, Demon, I rebuke," Brian muttered, looking into his now-empty glass.

The bird made no move.

"Depart, Demon. Leave this place now!" His voice had a rushed anger to it, a ritual impatience.

It rustled its wings and looked to Lisa. She sat transfixed, pinned to her seat by its shadow.

"In the Sacred Name of Jesus Christ, I command you leave!"

"CAW! CAW!"

"In the Name of God, the Father, Son, Holy Spirit, leave us!"

"CAW! CAW-CAW!"

"In the Name of JESUS CHRIST! GO AWAY!"

The bird let out a sickly croak. Like ink in water its shape dissolve in the shadow. The darkness spread out like a miasma, then retreated into nothingness.

Lisa was confused and horrified. Brian was still sitting in his chair, looking at his glass. The bird was gone, not a feather left. The phone rang.

"Mel and Robert are outside."