A picture of him and his father, Luke, lay on the seat of the pickup when he returned for his bag. It must have fallen from the visor, Timmault figured. Before he could remind himself not to, he picked it up and admired it.
It was taken the day they went to Gumwood Farms. It had rained hard the night before, and the mud was thick under their feet. Halfway through the day, they crossed paths with a rooster that was angry with them for some reason. When Timmault and his dad turned to run, both of them lost their boots in the mud and fell face-first to the ground.
Timmault smiled at the mud-covered faces staring back at him in the photo. He should have tossed the picture back in the truck when he left. ‘Stay on mission,’ he whispered as he tucked the picture into his back pocket and closed the door to the pickup.
The sun had already fallen behind the buildings in Rogers Park when the bus dropped him off in front of St. Jerome’s. Dusk was as dark as it was the night before. The wind was just as chilly, but this time, it blew with an old, familiar terror. The day before, he was just a boy and might have imagined many wild things to be afraid of, standing all alone on a city street. But now, only one thing haunted his thoughts, and it was not his imagination.
Had the vampires and their network already caught on to his presence? They were known to work fast. American vampires were particularly cunning. Their lineage was less ancient - less confined to tradition.
Timmault knocked on the red wooden door to the rectory. An iron lantern hung over his head, casting a halo around him on the stoop. A woman talking on her phone turned onto the sidewalk and walked in his direction. She didn’t seem to notice him, but a chill fell down his back as she walked past the rectory. She could be working for them, he thought. She could be one of them. Timmault banged on the door again.
“Come on,” he whispered.
Someone called from deep inside the rectory. “Just a minute.” It was an old lady, he guessed from the sound of her voice.
He heard a sneeze from across the street behind him. Timmault looked over his shoulder at the homeless man, wiping his nose as he rummaged through a garbage can. He didn’t seem interested in him any more than the woman on her phone was. Timmault heard the old lady inside the rectory open a door into the foyer. He was about to turn back to the door when he saw something that made his heart sink into his chest.
Behind the homeless man was an elementary school. A marquee on the roof read ‘New Meadow Elementary: Welcome Back Students.’ And in front of that marquee stood a man staring back at him. He wore torn jeans and a tank top, and his bare toes curled over the edge of the roof. Dark hair fluttered in the wind, and his ghostly white complexion blended almost perfectly with the marquee behind him. Timmault could see his blood-colored eyes, even from across the street.
He started to fear that this Comeback would end much too soon when, finally, the rectory door opened.
An old woman standing at Timmault’s height greeted him. “Hello?” she said sweetly. “Can I help you, young man?” She inspected him through her thick glasses.
Timmault didn’t hesitate. He pushed past her into the rectory, leaving the old woman on the stoop.
“Wait,” she called, befuddled. “Young man, what do you think you’re doing?”
Timmault turned back for her, grabbing her arm and pulling her inside. As he reached for the door, he looked once more toward the roof of the school. But the man was nowhere to be seen.
Timmault didn’t waste time looking for the vampire. He slammed the door and locked it shut.
“Young man,” the old woman pleaded. “You are not-”
Timmault grabbed her shoulders with both hands. “Shut up!” he yelled.
The woman looked stunned.
Timmault took a breath and cleared his throat. “Shut up,” he said more calmly. “Now, listen to me. My name is Timmault, and I’m not going to hurt you. I’m supposed to meet somebody here.”
The old woman coughed. “But this is a rectory,” she fumbled, confused.
“Yes, St. Jerome’s. I know. Did he get here yet?”
The woman’s mouth hung open as she shook her head. “He? Who?”
Timmault scanned the first floor. A hallway led back to a kitchen. A wooden staircase led to the second floor. Sitting areas bookended the entryway, but there was no one else to be seen.
He took another breath.
“What’s your name, lady,” he asked, trying poorly to mask his impatience.
“Erhm, Ruth,” she said.
Timmault felt her shaking in his grip. He looked down to see her white knuckles wrapped around a rosary. She was terrified of him - a boy.
“Ruth, listen to me. A man is coming to meet me here.”
She asked desperately, “What man?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never met him. Never seen him, actually, but it’s important that you let him in. Do you understand?”
Ruth finally closed her mouth long enough to swallow. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to process the boy barking at her. Finally, she nodded.
He squeezed her shoulders tightly. “But more importantly, Ruth. Do NOT invite anyone inside. Okay? No one.”
“But,” she coughed. “How will I know who I’m supposed to let in?”
“Because the man I’m waiting for will come in without asking.”
Ruth scoffed. “Family of yours?”
To Be Continued . . .
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