feeding might have become more justifiable. But when
the spirit of Muriel had been taken from him, the void
could only be completely filled by the ravenous hunger
of the life. Many lives and loves had passed through his
in the hundred years since her horrible death. He had
always believed that it had been his fault that they had
found her out. When he encountered them, others of
his kind still tried to convince him that the burden of
guilt that he carried was not his alone to bear.
He had asked her to meet him, just before dawn, at a
spot near the church where he had been baptized. As a
child he had often gone there to watch the sun rise and,
though now he would have to be away before the sun
cleared the horizon, he at least wanted to see the church
courtyard bathed in the gentle pre-dawn light. He
wanted to share the beauty of the vision with the
woman that he loved. But he had been late, having
stopped to feed along the way. When he arrived it was
already too late.
Muriel was on the front steps of the church,
surrounded by a group of parishioners being led by the
parish priest. The suspicious priest had noticed Muriel,
nervously moving from shadow to shadow, glaring
occasionally at the lightening eastern horizon and
furtively searching the faces of the growing crowd in
the courtyard, seeking out her lover. The priest had
confronted her crucifix drawn like a sword and, armed
with holy water had begun splashing her, scalding her
with Saint John’s legacy. His suspicions confirmed by
the burning droplets, he had summoned the others to
assist him in providing this wretched and damned soul
with the holy fire of God’s cleansing love.
56