The old Chevy slammed into the brick retaining wall of a neighboring home. One of the vampires twitched, pinned between the wall and the truck’s smoking hood. The second vampire lay motionless under the front tire.
Luke leaped from the cabin and ran to his son. “Cody!”
Timmault pulled himself up and checked his feet and ankles where the vampire had clawed at him. No scratches. No bites.
Father Alderman rolled back and forth on the concrete, clutching his side and moaning in agony.
Luke reached Timmault and wrapped him up with both arms. “Cody! Jesus, boy - what the hell? Where did you - why did you …”
The warmth of Luke’s hug was comforting and too familiar. For a moment, Timmault was taken back to his life as Cody before centuries of war and pain caught up to him. At that moment, he was just a boy in his father’s arms. But there was no time for that.
“We have to get inside,” Timmault said urgently. He pulled away from Luke and hastily led the way to the rectory.
Ruth stood in the doorway with her hands over her mouth in shock. Father Alderman bellowed in pain, snapping her out of it.
“Duane!” she called out as she ran for the priest.
Timmault tried to reach for her as she passed, but she evaded his grasp. “Leave him,” he yelled to her without breaking his stride for the door.
Timmault led Luke upstairs. The guest bedroom was almost bare, except for the small twin bed and a nightstand with a small lamp, Bible, and Crucifix. Luke sat at the edge of the bed, looking worried and confused, as Timmault paced the floor in front of him.
“Cody, what’s going on? What’s gotten into you?”
Timmault crossed the floor in short strides, staring at his feet. He didn’t know what to do - what to say. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to see Luke ever again.
Without an answer, Luke stood up and tried to reach for his son.
Timmault shook him off. “No!” He lifted a hand in protest. “Dad - err - Luke, I need you to sit down.”
“Luke?” his father repeated, befuddled.
Timmault should leave him confused. He should find the next opportunity to run away and leave Luke behind. This wasn’t the protocol. But the protocol had just gone sideways.
Luke slowly sat back down, his eyes fixed on his son. He spoke with a measured tone. “Cody, tell me what’s going on.”
Timmault took a deep breath and looked up from the floor. “Luke, I’m not Cody. My name is Timmault.”
“What are you talking abo-”
“Just listen,” Timmault said. He felt the blood pulsing in his temples as he considered what to say. How could he explain it all delicately enough that Luke would understand?
“My name is Timmault. I’m a vampire hunter, and I’ve been alive for over 500 years.”
“Cody, this isn’t the time for your stories. This is serious, and you’re in big trouble unless you tell me what all this is.”
“It’s not a story,” Timmault said. “It’s the truth.”
“Cody, you just turned ten. I - I’m your father. I watched your birth.”
Timmault shook his head. “You watched my latest birth. I’ve died and come back 23 times now.”
Luke’s eyes drifted from Timmault momentarily as if to consider what the boy in front of him was saying.
But Timmault knew he wasn’t convinced. “I belong to an ancient order of vampire hunters. The Orden de la Sangre Pura and I am their weapon. El filo.”
Luke stood up, shaking his head. “El filo? Is that Spanish? Cody, where did you learn Spanish?”
“I told you, I’m not Cody. My name is Timmault.”
“That’s a stupid name. I’m not calling you that.” Luke walked past Timmault with his hand on his hips. He stopped at the door and turned around. He held his hands out in front of him, trying to make sense of it all. “Cody, you’re scaring me, man. I need you to talk straight to me. Who were those men attacking you outside?”
“Vampires,” Timmault said.
Luke sighed exaggeratedly. “Of course,” he said.
“Right,” Timmault confirmed.
Luke sat back down on the bed and rubbed his eyes. “So you’re not my son. You’re a 500-year-old Spanish vampire hunter.”
Timmault carefully sat on the bed next to Luke. “Well, I think it’s more complicated than that.”
Luke threw his hands in the air. A tear rolled down his red face. “How?” he asked desperately.
“Yes, I am a vampire hunter, but I’m not not your son. You did bring me into this world, and your blood runs in my veins. My life just began long before that.”
“Like reincarnation?”
“Exactly like reincarnation.”
Luke rubbed his face again. “How do you even know about reincarnation?”
Timmault put his small, ten-year-old hand on Luke’s knee to comfort him. “Well, when you’ve done it 23 times, you become an expert.”
Luke lurched out of the bed. “This isn’t funny, Cody.”
“I know it isn’t. It’s very serious, actually. I need to get to Philadelphia immediately, and my liaison is bleeding out in the street.”
“Your liason? What? The priest?” Luke furrowed his brow. His confusion turned to anger. “Cody, you are not going to Philadelphia.”
“I have to.”
“What do you mean you have to?”
“That’s where the Order is stationed. That’s the protocol.”
Luke squatted in front of Timmault and cupped his head with his hands. “Where did you come up with this? We need to find a therapist. If not for you, for me. I - I - can’t … They don’t cover this in the parenting books.”
The door behind Luke swung open, and Father Alderman fell against the door frame.
“What have you brought into this House of God?” he sputtered. The color had left his face. Dark circles swallowed his pale blue eyes. His thick, dark hair was matted against his head by something wet and sticky, and blood dripped from his lips.
Luke spun around and stood before Timmault, blocking the priest from the boy. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled.
The priest stumbled toward them. Luke lifted his boot and kicked Alderman back. The priest snatched Luke’s leg in a frighteningly swift movement and pulled himself closer. Luke tried furiously to free himself, but the priest only tightened his grip.
Timmault stood up on the bed and looked around for a weapon. He reached for the wooden Crucifix on the nightstand, gripped it like a stake, jumped over Luke’s shoulder, and plunged the bottom into the priest’s heart.
Alderman screamed in pain. The ungodly sound was raspy and violent. He collapsed to the floor. Before his body went limp, he lifted his chin and whispered, “Forgive me, Father.” And the blue left his eyes.
Luke pulled Timmault back behind him once more until he was sure the priest was dead. Finally, he turned around to his son. The look of shock was something Timmault knew all too well.
Timmault nodded. “Now, I need you to get me to Philly.”
To Be Continued . . .
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