“But what do you believe?” Caitlin pressed.
He stared silently out at the courtyard.
“It’s odd you should ask me this question, because my own doctorate was on the history of the paranormal and the church. I happen to know the history of it, from a scholarly perspective, very well. If you look at the literature, the records, what’s remarkable about the vampire legend is that it persists—not just for a century or two, but for thousands of years. That would be remarkable in and of itself, but even more remarkable is that the vampire legend has existed in nearly every culture in the world, in every geographical location, every language. Even in ancient times, you find recorded entries of vampire myths and legends, even some supposed documented occurrences, in languages ranging from Chinese to African, and in places that were never geographically connected. That, of course, makes it not so easy to explain away.”
He paused, taking a deep breath.
“Even harder to explain away is that there appear common threads to the legends. Nearly always, it has to do with the body of someone recently interred. With a body rising again. Almost always, the soul has died in a way which was unharmonious—a suicide, or murder, for example.
Someone who had left the earth in a way of great calamity. In the legends, these unsettled souls rise again, after burial. In some legends, they merely visit their families; in others, they are more aggressive, and seek out blood. Blood is the common theme.” He sighed again.
“Of course, viewed from another light, blood is a recurring theme in Catholicism, too. The blood of Christ. The sipping of the wine. The holy Grail. The drink that promises immortality. In this light, one could argue that these legends and fables are intertwined with Catholic doctrine in a disturbing way.”
“What are you saying?” Caitlin asked, excited. “As you saying that you believe they exist? Now, in the modern day and age?”
He sighed.
“Again, it’s not so simple. Historically, there were many forms of vampires. Not just a physical one—but emotional and even psychic vampires. I do believe in emotional and psychic vampirism.
We see it every day, all around us. A person who, for example, vents on a co-worker with all of their troubles, and the co-worker leaves feeling deflated. That is emotional vampirism. One has fed on the other.”
“But what about the other kind?” she asked. “Physical vampires?” He slowly shook his head.
“It is not that I discount it, necessarily. It is that I have yet to see an example of it with my own eyes. I’ve seen horrible, awful things. I’ve seen perfectly healthy people have psychotic breaks.
Completely unexplained. Could this be accounted to demonic possession? Yes. Could it be accounted to vampirism? Perhaps. In my view, it doesn’t really matter what you label it. What you have is an unexplained event that is outside the guise of normal—thus, para-normal.
“Do I believe there exist in the universe dark spiritual forces that can sway a normal human life?
Yes. If you would like to call that vampirism, you could. But I would view it more along the lines of possession. In other words—I would view it as a dark spiritual force that could be exorcised. I believe that God is all-powerful, and that any force on this earth which is not positive, can be healed through God’s light.”
Caitlin’s eyes opened wide, as she felt herself fill with hope for the first time.
“Can you heal my daughter?”
He looked back at her, long and hard.
“First, remember that I am not a healer.”
“But you have healed people. I mean, you have helped them, at least. You help them every day.”
“Yes, I have helped people. Whether I can help her…I would have to meet her before I could say,” he said. “But I don’t feel that anything is impossible. I don’t know if I can heal her,” he said,
“but I do have faith that she can be healed. Whatever her ailment.” Caitlin stared back at him, welling with hope.
“Please, father. I would give anything. Please, please help my daughter.” He stared back at her, long and hard. Finally, he said:
“Bring her to me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sage pulled the huge, iron gate closed behind him, rattling as it slammed shut, then began his walk down the endless driveway towards his family mansion, upset with himself. They had asked him to fulfill a simple mission, for the sake of his entire clan. And he had sincerely intended to. But once he had seen her—Scarlet—everything had changed. He could not possibly bring himself to do what they asked.
He walked slowly, kicking the dirt, eyes on his toes, thinking. The driveway stretched as far as the eye could see, lined with huge, old oak trees, branches arching over it, almost touching, their leaves creating a medley of color. Sage felt as if he were walking into a postcard on this beautiful, late-October day, leaves crunching beneath his feet, the late afternoon sun bouncing off of everything. On the one hand, it made him happy to be alive.
But on the other, it sent a pain to his stomach, as it made him more aware of his own mortality than ever. After all these centuries, he was now faced with only a few weeks left to live. He knew he must savor each day more than ever, savor every site, every smell, taste, experience—knowing it would all be his last. He wanted to hold onto everything, but he felt it all slipping through his fingers so quickly. It was a funny feeling: he’d lived for almost two thousand years—1,999 to be exact—and all throughout the centuries, he’d never paid attention to the passing of time. He had taken it for granted. He had felt like he would live forever.
But now, with only weeks left to live, everything took on a supreme importance, a supreme urgency. Finally, after so many years on this earth, he felt what it was like to be mortal. To be human. To be frail, vulnerable. It was awful, like a cruel joke. Finally, he realized what humans went through. He couldn’t understand how they dealt with it, how they lived with their own death sentence every day. It made him admire them more than he’d ever did.
He, like his entire clan, had known for centuries that there was an end-time to their existence.
He’d always assumed that when the time came, he would deal with it gracefully, would have had enough of life, would be tired of all the centuries, of all the people coming and going. But now that the end was here, he wanted more time. It still wasn’t enough.
Being an Immortalist, Sage’s life was almost identical to that of a human’s: he ate and drank and slept and woke and gained energy from food and drink—just like any other human. The only difference was, he could not die. If he did not eat or drink, he would not die from starvation; if he got injured, he would heal almost instantly. He could not get sick, or disease.