The dark skin of the paladin was roughened with the chill of the night air, the grass and cement wet with rainwater, while the wind and the clouds overhead promised more showers before the storm broke. He wore pedestrian clothing on these hunts, which limited him to a thin stack of scriptures – unbound pages blessed by his Holiness, the Pope – and two bayonets – out of which he could produce as many as he needed. So in many ways the change of attire did not truly 'limit' him, only the number of holy artifacts he might carry, and then it posed as a nuisance, a discomfort. However, as discomforts go, lack of sleep was beginning to leave him irritated, and more explosive than usual – or so Father Anderson reasoned with himself, bypassing darkened trees that hung over empty picnic tables. The courtyard was barren without the children. It was silent. It was unholy. A monster had tainted the concrete paths the priest stalked, a film of dampening drizzle dusting his hair as the wind swept through it and tugged at his clothes. The blades of course were still concealed. Valentine's Day night suggested that young lovers would not be turning in before their 10 PM curfew – it was well passed the hour mark, yet before entering the building, and then the courtyard, out front where the students parked their cars, there had still been plenty of activity. Even in this inconvenient parking lot, far from the student housing. The dormitories would be watched, but they might as well stare at the security monitors until their eyes melted inside their heads – the youths wouldn't bother taking the risk of returning to the dorm rooms. They were wealthy little fools, prepared to use daddy's money on something daddy certainly would not approve of. Withdrawing cash from an ATM and carelessly flinging the hotel expenses into hyperspace. Daddy will never know his little princess is a wh-
He shut the door with a snap, violence added due to the numbness that gnawed at his fingers. As he rubbed his hands and flexed his frigid digits, he saw the window panes beside him catch a cinder of electric light, a glint against the streaming glass, with the heavens releasing the downpour upon the roof of the empty building as lightning sparked somewhere in the distance.
Hard heels resounded against the polished floor of the hallway, the wind rushing through tree limbs that strained with the icy bombardment of hard droplets, and thoughts of the orphans came to the priest's mind. His children, distant, likely blanketed by clearer skies and kinder weather.
They would sing on such nights, to hide the fears of the little ones, make them forget the terrible voice of the storm.
The eensy weensy spider~
The thunder crashed and rolled against the shingles of the roof, many floors above, echoing against the walls that enclosed the courtyard so that the sound funneled downwards and swirled, built against the hard surfaces, enforcing illusions of destruction and devastation, 'shattering' the windows and tearing through the hallways of the school building.
went up the water spout~
The line barely surfaced within the priest's mind as the sky submersed him in sound. It drained from the building, like ocean water receding to muster another assault.
Down came the rain~
The delicate flare of lightning entered the reflective faces of the windows, as the storm filled the space the thunder had left. But the sound of footsteps, laughter carried on light notes, a young woman's voice – a female student, with a male timbre behind it – clattered down the hall, and Father Anderson looked back into the darkness, no shapes awaiting the hard gaze. His lips tightened as he listened, half turned. He began to retrace his footsteps silently, and the voices continued. Laughter continued, though fainter – a door had opened to a classroom, and now seemed to be slowly closing – both were speaking of the storm, she of the keys her male companion had used. The door shut and the voices became an unintelligible and fluctuating murmur. Father Anderson, as part of the school staff, had entered with such keys – keys which were ready within a pocket should he encounter an inquisitive maintenance worker, curious about how the 'math teacher' had entered the building after hours.
Whatever mischief the couple was planning, whether devilish or merely deviant, Father Anderson had the authority to flush them out.
He paused before the door, listening to the muffled tones, waiting. He placed a hand on the door handle, and the thunder followed.
Father Anderson entered the classroom like an apparition, silent, unseen, covered by the crashing that flooded the room through the open doorway. He detected a spike of sound that must have been the girl's shriek, her response to the thunder, and from what his eyes detected in the gloom – made for such dim lighting – she was laughing, while her companion, a man, was leaning against the instructor's desk before the blackboard, smiling as he watched her. His grin was handsome, warm. His eyes were lustful and violent.
Finally. Father Anderson drew the blades from his suede coat, as the door slowly closed, the thunder dying. He approached the oblivious pair with a grin that was hideous and dripping with wrath, fanned by the nature that made him protective of vulnerable children, regardless of their 'innocence' or their age. He would be the first to claim one of the demon spawns, this fresh fledgling that had planned to repurpose this lover's night for his own evil vices.
As their startled faces finally registered his advancing presence, the wild flare in his eyes which seemed to glint over the lenses of his glasses like a streak of lightning, shone as he pictured the look of envy that would appear on Alucard's repulsive, girlish features. The hatred, the jealousy, brimming in those once haughty and offensive deep crimson eyes. He laughed. Yes, Hellsing would be good for something. Clearing the girl's memory would be an artlessly simple way to tie up the evening.
There was nothing more delightful than slicing and impaling and then beheading the damned. Nothing more delightful, but the song of a children's choir.
The girl's screams were drowned in the descending wave of thunder, as the priest had his fun.