Nine
JULIAN
The thing about people who eat and drink at the cost of their health, they generally have shitty tasting blood. Father Paretti is an exception to this rule.
Who knew?
Not me, that’s fucking who. It makes the fact that I’m sitting cramped in a confessional booth with Father Paretti draped across my lap worth it.
“Knock it off,” I order when he kicks a foot out and hits the door to the confessional booth. There’s no one else here. When I entered the church, I almost thought it was empty but then I heard the snoring. I crept closer to the booth, clocking the empty wine bottle that sat outside the door of the booth, and when I opened it I found Father Paretti inside fast asleep with his hand on another bottle.
I thought about dragging him out of the confessional to eat but sloppiness was how you got vampire hunters on your ass and I was already on thin ice with the powers that be so I took the responsible route and I’d slipped inside the confessional booth, opting to dine in, just in case someone else came looking for him.
It had been a quick kill, all things considered. Once I made the tight space work, it was over faster than Father Paretti couldunderstand what was happening. He’d grabbed his cross and pressed it against my hand. That had burned, I’m not going to lie but not enough to make me let go once I tasted him. I tighten my hold on the priest and bite down again. A fresh wave of blood hits my tongue and I moan. Some vampires catalogue blood like wine vintages. Sometimes there’s auctions or special events where they bid on the very best blood.
I’ve been to a few of the auctions to see what all the fuss is about. The most expensive thing I saw that night was a bottle of enchanted blood–Virgin, circa 1990 from the South of France. A nun’s blood aged in an amber, gold-leafed bottle that sparkled like the sun. That bottle went for over a million dollars that night. I’d say Father Paretti would have been close to that, and here he was just waiting for me in Vesper Point. And I thought the only pleasure I’d get out of this was the life slipping out of the fat fuck. What a find.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat and I let it out. I laugh and that shit feels good. I feel loose, I feel…wait, a fucking minute.
I push Father Paretti away from me enough to get my bearings. I’ve been drinking him so fast that I haven’t been thinking clearly. It’s not just that Father Paretti tastes like bottled sunshine, it’s more than that.
“I’m fucking drunk.”
I should have known this would happen from the two bottles of wine he had here, plus the bottle he was working on at dinner. I haven’t been drunk in a while, maybe years. My body metabolizes alcohol too fast for me to get more than a buzz at best but drunk?
That’s rare.
Something I can only do if the person I’m feeding on supplies me with the liquor. Father Paretti had enough alcohol for a girl’s gone wild night. Getting drunk off his blood was easy work.
The priest moves, brings a hand up to try and push me away but it’s no use. He’s lost too much blood at this point. He’s dead. Blood spills from his neck and onto me. It’s intoxicating. I move close and bite down again. I’ve got no mind to stop now that I’ve started, even though I do play with the idea of bottling some of his blood for a nice sale on the market. I don’t though, opting to finish the priest off in one go. Greed is what got me into this fucking mess. There will be no selling of Father Paretti’s blood. He’ll be a fond memory, a tasty fucking treat that got me fucked up. A story that made this trip worth it and nothing more.
I keep feeding until I hear the death rattle, that soft gasp of air, the last breath all humans make before he slumps forward in my arms and goes still. I’ll give it to him. For a man that was as old and unhealthy as he was, the man had fight in him. He didn’t stop trying to get away from me the entire feed. I pull back from him and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before I let him fall from my arms and onto the floor of the confessional booth we’re stuck together in.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, stepping over the dead priest for the door unsteadily. I’m going to be drunk until sun up with how good I feel. I have to get the fuck out of here. Go home and sleep this off. The face of the woman next door flashes into my mind. Dark hair, dark eyes, strange fucking behavior.
I wonder if she’s up?
I could always pay her a visit. She’s close enough that it wouldn’t attract attention. There’s not even a full acre between us. I don’t prey on people that live where I live, but that’s not why I want her. She’s…interesting. Punching a man in the face or crawling like a crab around a kitchen to hide from me, the woman has my attention.
I don’t want to eat her, not like Father Paretti. At least, not right now. I’m too full even to try and I’ve never been a glutton.
“I’m going to see my neighbor,” I tell the stiff body at my feet. I chuckle when he doesn’t answer me. “Told you to watch what you drink, didn’t I? Now look at me. I’m drunk. How could you do this to me?” I’m about to push the door open when I hear the sound of a door being pushed open. It’s quiet, but even quiet is deafening in the silent church. I tilt my head and listen. A second later there’s the sound of running footsteps and ragged breathing. Whoever just came in here is hiding from someone, no doubt about it.
“Fucking shit!” A woman yells. Her voice echoes among the pews and her footsteps get closer. Of course the person on the run is coming straight for me.
I sigh and step back over Father Paretti and take a seat while I wait for the inevitable. I prop my feet up on the priest’s belly and consider him. His mouth is slightly open in a silent scream and his sightless eyes stare up at the confessional’s ceiling. You know, on second thought, maybe I should have taken my time, drained him slower, I’d have a snack while I wait this woman out.
The slap of her shoes on the marble floors gets louder until surprise, surprise, she launches herself into the confessional booth with a sob and slams the door shut. I briefly think over killing her to get out of waiting however long it takes for her to move along but I don’t.
If she’s running then someone’s chasing.
Both are shit options but if I kill her and get caught, I’m fucked. I can, in a pinch, get out of this even if there’s a crowd after her. The woman slides from the bench and onto the floor and I hear her head hit the wall between us.
“Oh god, what did I do? How could I do that?” Her voice breaks as she cries. She’s pretty torn up about whatever it is that she did. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing I got rid of FatherParetti. I don’t really think he’d have been in any state to handle her with how blasted he was.
I put my hand against the booth’s wall I’m leaning on and test it. It’s not that thick, these booths were built more for looks than anything. I bet it’s not even an inch thick. If I punch through it, I can get out of here. I knock on the wall to test how thick it is when the woman on the other side goes quiet.
“Hello?” She sniffles.
