Confessions of A Lost Soul

Confessions of a lost soul
A short story
                                       

         The old priest walked down the corridor which led to the main part of the old church.  As he entered his pace changed from a quick and lively step to a slow and reverend stride.  He kneeled in front of the alter, and made the sign of the cross upon his chest.  He got up and turned, ready to lock the doors of the entrance and go home.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a movement. Turning, he saw a dark figure enter the confessional booth.  Oh well, he thought to himself, what’s one more little job before I leave.
         When the priest sat down in the other booth, a scruffy, harsh voice came from the other side of the screen.
         “Bless me Father, for I have sinned greatly.”  It was the voice of a young man.
         “What is this great sin of yours, my son?” there was a heavy sigh.
         “Oh, Father, you cannot even imagine what I have done.  Many, many years ago I threw my immortal soul away for a new life.  One that….seemed to make every pain I ever felt vanish.”  The priest nodded, and stroked his chin in thought.
         “I take it you mean this figuratively?  That you made a selfish decision that might as well have damned you?”
         “No, I mean that I actually traded my life for a new one that has destroyed my soul.  I mean that for me there will be no existence beyond the grave.”  The old man sat in stunned silence at the young mans response.  “Many years ago, probably when you were very young, my lover of five years was taken from me by the disease known now as AIDS.  I was such a pathetic creature, stricken by grief.”  The priest nodded.
         “It’s not pathetic to mourn the loss of a loved one my son.”
         “Oh, but Father, you have no idea the pain I was in.  I wanted to lose my money, my estate; everything.  I wanted death, sweet death.  I longed for it.  One night, a young woman accepted my invitation.  She told me she could take all my pain away.  I agreed to it, and she accepted me into her fold of darkness.  She was slain two years ago today by a member of fellowship.  Still, the night following our encounter, I needed to feed and found the perfect victim.  I followed a nun one night on her way back to her convent.  The sun had been set for over an hour.  She had no idea I was there.  Then, about three blocks from the convent, I snapped her skinny neck in a heartbeats’ time.  I sunk deep into her veins, and when I heard her failing heat beat that macabre rhythm, I knew what ecstasy could truly be.  Every night after that I have killed or maimed an animal or a human, so that I may live in my current age forever.  Your God neither knows nor loves me now.  Now, Father, what do you think of that?”  The priest sat in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the young man’s confession; he flung open the screen that divided the booth in two, and gasped in horror.  The young man was trim yet muscular, white skin shining in the darkness.  His eyes were green and piercing, his nails long and sharp; in his mouth flashed a pair of sharp elongated canines.
         The priest stumbled out of the booth, and tried to run with all his might, but he would not get away.  Within seconds, the creature was upon him, sinking its’ talon-like nails into his back, and ripping his flesh in a show of pure carnage. 
         The vampire stood slowly, his mouth stained with fresh blood.  Beneath him lye a lifeless corpse that was once a priest.  Most of the body’s’ blood coating the ground.  He lifted his head, and gazed at the alters’ cross with fierce green eyes.
         “My God,” he shouted, “why have you abandoned me?!?!”
              "Oh, please! Get over yourself.” The vampire looked round, shaken up by the sudden voice in the dark. “Up here, you great drama-queen!” He looked up at the organist loft, and there bold as brass sat what appeared to be a middle-aged man. He wore a white shirt, black slacks, black shoes and a black knee-length coat of velvet; he smiled at the vampire, revealing a set of fangs, gleaming like ivory daggers.
“What do you want with me, Michael?” The young vampire took a step back, furthering himself from this threat seated above him. Michael crawled down the ledge of the loft to the floor, almost like a bat on a cave wall. When he was near the floor, he leapt only to land on his feet, facing the young vampire.
“What do you mean, ‘what do I want with you’? Vincent, you have threatened our way of life with your reckless behavior!” As Michael spoke, they both circled the floor, Vincent ever wary of Michael, while Michael kept his sights on Vincent. “Not only are you killing all of your food supply, which we haven’t done for centuries, but you’re feeding on children? Tell me where there isn’t a problem in this situation! Your actions are being noticed by the human police; we can’t have The Family jeopardized.” Vincent’s’ eyes flashed and he snarled in fury.
“Don’t feed me that bull story about my responsibility to the vampiric “family”! Camilla, murderous slut, condemned me to this eternal hell on Earth, so you are just going to have to deal with me! I never wanted this!” As the expressions on Vincent’s face mixed between anger, hatred and pain, Michael went suddenly cold and emotionless.
“Be that as it may, you knew this was coming,” Michael reached into his coat, pulling out a custom 13mm, “goodbye, Vincent.” With a shriek of terror, Vincent turned to flee, to escape something from which he would never heal. The shots rang out in the church, flesh was torn, and Vincent fell.
The bullets, due to their size alone, had blown his kneecaps off, and he wouldn’t be able to reassemble them.
“You see, Vincent," Michael stated in a matter-of-fact type of voice, while the young vampire writhed on the floor in agony, “The problem with these bullets is the fact that they’re made out of blessed silver from a cathedral cross. This silver works through your system, slowly killing your body, and disabling your healing ability.” Michael got close to Vincent’s ear, grasping his trembling head, “Normally, I’d plant another in your heart and kill you now, but I have something special for filth like you.” His voice, full of malice, was only above a whisper.
Vincent’s eyes widened and he gasped for breath as the iron stake pierced his heart. With a Cheshire grin, Michael twisted the handle which activated a series of hooks all around the stake and all snagged at the still beating muscle; with a sharp yank, Michael ripped Vincent’s heart out of its’ chest cavity. His body ignited, and turned to ash, like a cigarette being sucked dry.
Buzz buzz, buzz buzz. Michael answered the phone strapped to his waist, “Hello? Yes Sire, everything is fine—The Target has been silenced….no, no, I’ll make sure there’s no evidence left behind….well, not to be rude Sire, but if I could make Adolf and Eva look like a suicide, then a priest and some ashes shouldn’t be a …. Yes, I’ll have the report to give to the Council tomorrow. Don’t worry; for now, the Vampire Nation is safe. Goodbye, Sire”
So, with a nights work almost complete, Michael set to the task of destroying evidence that could lead to exposure, as he had always done.