Morgan Rice: Fated

“Father McMullen?” one of them asked.

The father stood his ground as they approached, and nodded back shakily.

“Who are you?” he asked. “How may I help you?”

“You sent for us,” one said.

The father looked at him, puzzled.

“I did?”

They reached him and as they did, one of them held a piece of paper out.

The father took it. It was from the Vatican.

“They’ve sent us to investigate,” one of them said.

The father felt some relief, yet still, he examined them with apprehension, taking in their stark appearance.

“I am honored that you’ve come all the way from Italy,” he said. “Thank you for coming. Can you help?”

The men ignored him, though, all turning, examining the plywood on the windows, looking at each other knowingly, as if they had seen this before, as if they knew exactly what had happened.

“This girl that you describe,” one said, his voice dark and low. “What is her name?”

“Her name is Scarlet,” Father McMullen replied.

“Last name?” the same man asked.

The father looked at him, unsure. He did not know if he should protect his parishioner, protect her privacy. But he knew that was silly; these men belonged to the Church.

“Paine,” he answered, feeling increasingly hesitant.

One of them wrote as he spoke.

“And where does she live?” he prodded.

Now the father felt even more uncertain. He cleared his throat.

“With all due respect, may I ask why are you asking all of these questions?”

The three men looked at each other disapprovingly, then one of them stepped forward. He came too close, and the father took a half step back.

“If we are to help her,” he said slowly, his voice somber, “we need to know everything.” He leaned forward. “ Everything .”

The father cleared his throat and averted his stare.

“Well…” the father said, then stopped. “I would like to know how you plan on helping her. Perhaps I can bring her here to the church to perform the service?”

The father wanted these men, whom he felt unsure about, on neutral ground.

“Father,” one of them said, stepping forward and clasping a firm hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think you understand. We did not come to help your parishioner. We came to stop her.”

“Stop her?” the father asked, horrified. “What do you mean exactly? She’s just a teenage girl.”

The man shook his head.

“She is far more. She is an ancient, demonic soul, and she will unleash a destruction unlike you have ever seen on the world. Our jobs, as members of the Church, is to stop her – by any means necessary.”

The father paled. “Our job is to heal our people,” he said, horrified. “I did not write to the Vatican for this. I think you should all leave now. I did not want this.”

The man tightened his grip on his shoulder, and the father cried out. His grip was so strong, it sent a pain up and down his spine.

The man stared back with steely black eyes, and the father felt as if he were staring into the depths of hell.

“You may not have wanted us,” he said darkly, “but we are here. And we are not leaving until this girl you speak of – Scarlet – is dead.”

Caitlin looked down and was confused as she saw a beautiful, medieval European city floating by beneath her. She tried to figure out where she was as she took in the church steeples, terra-cotta roofs, a river cutting through it spanned by low, arched bridges… Suddenly, she realized: Venice. Not the modernized Venice of today, but the pure, intact medieval Venice, roads of cobblestone, trodden by horses and carriages, and people in archaic dress.

Caitlin felt someone gripping her hand as the clouds brushed by her face, and she looked over to see Caleb with her, flying at her side. She did not understand what was happening, how she was flying, how Caleb was with her, what she was doing here. She felt stronger than she had ever felt, as if she could conquer the world by herself. As if she were not human.

Caitlin was led by Caleb as they sped downward, cutting through the air. They soon reached a bridge, and landed in the center of it. All around them, the city was packed with people, peddling their wares, browsing in all the booths. Caitlin looked around and saw gold trinkets everywhere, and she realized: they were on the Ponte Vecchio. The bridge of gold. One of the most romantic places in the world.

Caitlin could not understand what they were doing here, but she felt as if she had been here before. In some other time. Somehow, she had vivid memories of this place.

Caleb led her to one of the booths and picked out a beautiful golden ring, laden with diamonds. He then led her to the edge of the stone rail, and knelt before her.

“Caitlin,” he said, looking to her eyes, “will you be with me? Forever?”

Before Caitlin could respond, she found herself riding on horseback, amidst breaking ocean waves, beneath the Aquinnah Cliffs on the island of Martha’s Vineyard. To her right were the beautiful red clay cliffs, while before her sat huge prehistoric boulders, scattered in the ocean. She and Caleb laughed wholeheartedly as they rode through the water, water splashing all around them, heading into the sunset.

They eventually stopped and dismounted as Caleb took her hand and kissed her.

Caitlin felt the world slow down as he held her, the waves crashing around him. She looked into his beautiful eyes, and knew they would be together forever.

Before she closed her eyes, again, she saw a flash of something in the setting sun, and was horrified to spot two long fangs extending from Caleb’s mouth. She was startled as he suddenly leaned in and sunk his fangs into her throat.

Caitlin gasped, the feeling at once so painful, yet so ecstatic.

Caitlin sat up with a start, breathing hard. She opened her eyes, disoriented, and looked around to see herself sitting on her couch, in her home, in Rhinebeck. She was alone in the room.

She shook her head, trying to shake off the crazy dream. She realized she had fallen asleep here in the living room, with Caleb and Sam and Polly, all of them here with her. And yet now she was alone.

“Hello?” she called out.

Caitlin got up and crossed the room, and as she did she looked to the floor and saw torn pages everywhere, covering the entire floor. She picked one up and realized it was a page from a diary. They were all over the house, covering everything.

She looked up and saw, with wonder, that they were all over the ceiling, too.

Caitlin, not understanding what was happening, felt compelled to go to her front door, and she walked toward it as if in a trance, thinking of Scarlet, feeling that maybe she was there somehow, behind that door. Her heart pounded as she approached.

Suddenly, the door burst open. A cold gale rushed in and blew the pages everywhere, all throughout the house, and the noise was deafening as Caitlin stood there, her heart slamming, ecstatic to see Scarlet standing before her, looking okay.

“Scarlet?” she asked, hardly able to believe it. “Where have you been?”

Caitlin rushed toward her, preparing to embrace her, when Scarlet opened her mouth, extended two fangs, and stepped forward and plunged them into Caitlin’s throat. The pain was excruciating as Caitlin fell to her knees, the world spinning around her.

Caitlin opened her eyes and sat up screaming. She breathed heavily, grabbing her neck, and looked all around. She grasped the edge of the couch as she cried out, flailing, and Caleb, Sam, and Polly appeared before her, running over.

“Caitlin?” Caleb asked. “What is it?”

Caitlin breathed hard, looking all around slowly, until finally, after a long time, she realized it had all just been a dream. One cruel dream after the next. She was fine, in her house. Everything was normal. Caleb was normal. Sam and Polly were still here.