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Stepping over the threshold of his new, rather humbling rectory, Jean took pause. There was a general melancholy in constantly relocating for work, leaving each and every home he’d ever settled into, however this time the earthy scent of dirt he’d drug in on his boots and the brick church shrouded by sturdy foliage made for a particularly depressing environment. This town was quiet by design and secluded by choice- perhaps something midwestern Oregon had mastered. Jean had never stepped foot across the New York border, not before now.
The silence would take some getting used to. The thick brush crowded the space between buildings and overwhelmed the sky above, those long bristle-like leaves not allowing much sun or human sound to pass them. Only the very tip of his spire protruded into the sky to alert the townies towards their only building for worship. Jean wished that the rural life was a comforting reprieve from the chaos, but seclusion was the same wherever one goes, and he had mastered the art of loneliness. God, if there was one knitting ugly patterns of the human condition, was not one of comfort, but of a fear so absolute it rotted Jean to his core.
His decision to become a Catholic Priest was not one he took lightly. There were personal reasons that Jean tended to sweep into the dustbin of his mind in hopes those real, verbal answers would become a bit cleaner. The general public saw Jean was a martyr, a child of god who turned his palms upward, fingers twitching towards the lord in prayer, but those who knew the truth could easily identify the blood under his nails- or the curve in the bridge of his nose from one too many hits to the face.
Jean was a hunter, a brutalist who believed in his own cause before the will of a god that never gave him a reason to believe in a world that could, or should, be better than the hell on earth humanity had created. He understood that seeing was not believing, that same crap he’d learned in seminary school about the wind that blows will not be seen without the movement of a tree’s leaves, but the things he had seen were enough to prove that the world was more cruel than it was glorious.
There were plenty of other careers that would have appropriately covered the family business. A more daring man would opt for grave digger, others chose overnight mining or manufacturing, but Jean took an easier road- one more windy than others but objectively safer on foot traffic. Nocturnal threats make nocturnal men, Jean’s father used to bellow from the pit of his chest. If only he’d accounted for his eventual spiral into obsession, perhaps he would still be alive to spout his disapproval in Jean’s choices.
Jean slumped his duffle bag off his shoulder and carefully tossed it over the couch, displeased by the dust cloud that puffed up off its textile surface. He unzipped it slowly to not damage the poorly handled map he’d shoved in at the last moment. Jean slid his thumb along the open end of its fold and gripped either side to pull it open in its entirety. He had outlined the county limits in bold red marker, allowing his colleague to mark his own findings in black without overcomplicating his plan.
“Marco.” Jean murmured to himself, pulling a pen from his bag to bite off the cap. “Bartender, West… Broadhollow Tavern… 8PM to 2AM.” Shorthand followed each of his suppressed vowels, amalgamating in nothing but light, senseless scribbles only Jean could read. “Reported by… passerbyers, Reiner Braun and Bertholdt Hoover of Washington, Annie Leonhardt of Nevada. All currently in their respective states and not open for questioning. One reported death in the area within the last two weeks.” He sighed. The information provided was not nearly enough to make a definitive decision, especially on someone's life.
Jean re-folded the map and shoved it in his back pocket, turning over his duffle bag to empty its contents on the couch. Tied within a dirtied sleep shirt was his Smith & Wesson Model 10, an aspin steak, and four silver railroad spikes. It didn’t take much, he thought, the only real struggle was subduing the excessive strength of an otherwise human being. That was easy enough; What Jean lacked in physical strength he made up for by being astute, calculated and careful with his actions.
Jean pulled the gun from his bag and tucked it between the back of his hip and the waistband of his briefs, fluffing his plaid button up over the weapon. He had decided to plant the steak and railroad spikes where he’d planned to lead Marco, coaxing him into a nearby forest a couple yards off the trail. The clean-up crew would be waiting by the pager for Jean’s word, so the body would only be unattended for two hours at most, mitigating the risk of any civilian stumbling into it.
With another hearty sigh Jean loaded his tools back into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He gripped his left sleeve and pulled it up his forearm to check his watch. It was half past eight, and with a little speed he’d arrive at the bar at nine if he left now. He dropped the fabric back down his forearm before jogging towards the door.
His black Talbot Sunbeam Lotus sat crooked in the driveway, headlights blaring as it patiently waited for Jean to saunter back over and toss his bag in its backseat. Jean gave the roof a couple gentle smacks as if to praise it for all the hard work. Perhaps it had become a compulsion to reassure the vehicle that he could make it just a couple more miles, if it would hold on past the desperate need for an oil change and low tire pressure, since without fail Jean’s palm met its cracking paint before each journey. The car wasn’t old , just incredibly worn from traveling the country in search of these nocturnal pests.
Jean let his body guide him out of the driveway so his mind didn’t have to, allowing the emotional autopilot to work him through planting his tools so he could attempt faux hospitality when he arrived at the local bar. The thickly settled trees and exposed roots plunging in and out of the saturated dirt made for decent cover. Jean briefly wondered if disposal was easier out in the wilderness, where most land remained untouched until the weight of tomorrow's rain washed the tree trunks down to their veins. Some petulant or intoxicated teenager might stumble into the woods for a smoke and still miss the rot and decay teasing the surface of the mud if he wasn’t looking for it.
He didn’t bother attempting to scrub the dirt from between his finger nails, and only noticed its presence when he pulled up to his destination. It wouldn’t matter, he convinced himself. There was no reason for anyone to think twice about something so trivial. Not a soul in this town knew who he was, though they might have an inkling of why he might be here and it was far from the only truth.
Jean pulled himself out of his vehicle with a huff, leaving the window just cracked enough to allow airflow without the risk of a hand sliding its way into the driver's seat.
The bar was so dimly lit from the outside that Jean had to squint to find the entrance, and even then he guided himself with his palm dragging the side of the building until he was met with a large, wooden door knocker. There was a sliding peephole a couple inches above it that led him to believe this was once a speakeasy, which Jean found pretty delightful. The idea of some strange, mustached man slamming it open to press the bar goers for the long sought after password made Jean grin inwardly.
Jean gripped the handle and pushed toward, met with a much heavier smell of booze than he expected. The room was almost entirely overcome in a dark red hue, broken by thick clouds of smoke emitting from a slender, promiscuous looking woman at the bar. The button helplessly clinging her suit vest to either side creased the navy blue fabric just below her ribcage, lifting the back to expose the lighter hue of her undershirt tucked into her grey slacks. She nursed the cigarillo against her lips, smearing her bright pink lipstick on both her fingers and the filter. The man across the table from her had his index finger tucked nervously in his crewneck, gazing over at Jean a moment until the woman took his attention back by force.
“What can I do ya for?”
Jean whipped his head around to find the bartender, whom he could only assume was the Marco he was looking for, with a hand towel hung over his shoulder. “Excuse me?” Jean swallowed hard .
Marco was nothing like the monsters he’d grown to know. Typically, Jean would saunter in to find some older gentleman with drool on their chins, forcing an unsuspecting woman’s neck in full gaze, or the pale form and fangs of another. Marco, though, had his wits about him. He stood calm with his hips pressed to the bar, both elbows leaning forward on the cherry red wood to address Jean directly. His big, brown eyes still sparkled even in the poor lighting, and Jean could see the clear whites of them from a mile away.
“Are you meeting someone?” Marco asked. “Or, would you like to order a drink?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” Jean slowly walked up to the bar, only becoming more enamored the closer he became. There was no way a person of his stature was a human being, simply because his features were so exaggeratedly perfect. “What’s on tap?”
“Sierra Nevada.” Marco pursed his lips, both eyebrows creasing the bridge of his nose in thought. “But, you strike me as a Sam Adams man.”
“How so?” Jean scoffed, his lips curling into an uncharacteristically genuine grin.
“There’s something about you… I can’t put my finger on it.” Marco pulled a cup from underneath the counter, flipping it in his hand in an act of hubris- that or his desire to impress. Jean couldn’t tell the difference. “This one’s on the house. Next one you buy is for me.”
“Oh?” Jean hopped himself up on the bar stool, keeping his body language open to Marco’s interpretation. If he was a vampire, a monster, he wouldn’t be able to choke down his desires long under these circumstances. Drunks rarely came home on a regular day, Jean couldn’t imagine anyone would blink an eye if a couple ended up face down in the brush, exsanguinated. The longer he watched the man flip and load cold glasses with mostly foam, the more he was starting to doubt himself.
“You’re new in town.” Marco called over his shoulder, turning on his heel to slide Jean’s drink into the knuckles of his closed hand. “I haven’t seen you around before, and I know everyone.”
Jean gratefully took his glass, gulping down a couple mouthfuls before setting it carefully back down. “Yeah, um, I was just assigned to lead the town church services- just over on Jackson road.”
Marco’s lips pulled into a straight line, nodding his head in understanding. “A priest? I like a bit of a challenge.”
“Pardon?” Jean tilted his head. His years of compartmentalizing his desires made it hard to recognize that someone beautiful may fancy him enough to act so casual about such a thing. Of course, it wasn’t that Jean minded the attention, only that the self doubt pounded into him left him blind towards the most direct of confessions.
“I’m sorry I just assumed you were gay.” Marco laughed, pulling a freshly rinsed cup from underneath the counter to buff out the lipstick stains caked against it. “That’s what the ‘something about you’ line was referring to.”
“Oh.” Jean fought the heat burning its way up his back, reddening his cheeks. “Well, I’m not… not interested.” Whatever truth was creeping its acidic way up Jean’s throat was also one he could use to his advantage. His homosexual proclivities were easy to suppress under his religious disguise, something that benefited him in his every day feats, however, if his carnal desires could seep through his current demeanor and benefit his plan, the better the outcome might be. Both objectives could be completed under the same guise if Jean was careful.
Marco’s shoulders relaxed at Jean’s interests, whipping the towel back over his shoulder to solely focus on their conversation. His brown eyes were intensely darting between both of Jean’s golden ones, and the subconscious fear of his thoughts being heard by the man made Jean’s mouth dry up. “Well… I’m getting off work a little early tonight. I was going to go see a friend but, I think I found a new one I’d rather spend my time with. If you’d join me, that is.”
“I don’t even know your name.” Jean lied, smirking against the rim of his glass. If he ignored the reality of the situation, he could almost convince himself this was a genuine, warm welcome to friendship, and not just the job he’d become all too familiar with. He tried to keep his head firmly screwed to his shoulders, but the blossoming excitement railing his heart against his ribcage could be heard behind his ears.
“I’m Marco.” The man’s tone lightened to a pleasant, singsong tone. “You?”
“Jean.” He held out his hand for Marco to take, pleased to see that the man's arrogance was but a joke proven by an overdramatic kiss to the back of his hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Jean noticed the man linger on his knuckles, longer than one normally would, and the reality of his situation burned quickly around the edges of his fantasy. “What um, what time do you get off exactly?” He recovered as smoothly as he could, pulling his hand back around his half empty glass.
“20, maybe 30 minutes?” Marco turned his head towards the clock. “My coverage is in the back setting up for his shift. Can I get you something to eat in the meantime?”
“I’m alright.” Jean reassured him, gulping down the rest of his drink before pushing it back towards Marco’s hand. “I’ll be in my car out back.”
“Great.” Marco seemed to sigh with relief. “There’s a park around the corner from here, probably a five minute walk down the path leading out back… it’s a pretty common spot but I don’t think anyone will bother us this late.”
Perfect, Jean thought, tapping his palm against the bar to hoist himself up. He hadn’t stashed the weapons too far from there, and if Marco’s intentions were to corner him, he was certain he could aimlessly lead him in that direction. Jean parted with another smile, a sickly sweet one that dropped from his cheeks the moment he exited the building. He tried not to focus on the weight of the situation crushing his lungs, deciding instead to light a cigarette and smother them in a more self soothing fashion as he leaned his weight against his driver's side door. It truly was a shame if Marco was the blood sucking demon he was after, though it would be somewhat saddening if he wasn’t that after all.
False reports were dangerous, perhaps that was the appeal of it. A hunter less careful than Jean was wouldn’t think twice before planting a silver bullet in the skull of a suspect, and that played out tragically more times than successfully. If not for his sins, then for another person’s vengeance.
Jean’s uncharacteristic apprehension made the minutes feel like seconds, and before he could wrap his head around the events that may occur, Marco sauntered out of the building with a bright smile. That, for obvious reasons, left Jean teetering on upset off his hesitancy.
“Didn’t think you’d stick around, Father.” Marco tucked his tongue between his incisors, both of which would be no indicator of what was to come. A vampire's fangs were built for deception, hiding beneath the curve of his lips until prompted to extend. Jean never got a close enough look to see the mechanics behind it, and a very sheltered part of him was curious how near he would get to the sight.
Jean tossed the cigarette butt he was rolling between his fingers and hoisted his waist off the car, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m full of surprises, I guess.”
Marco laughed, that sweet sound tapering off into a hum as he settled a foot from Jean. “Let’s go, the park isn’t far from here.” He offered his arm to Jean, which he gladly took to let him lead.
They walked a few steps in silence before Marco spoke again, flitting his eyes between Jean and the path ahead. “So, why Oregon?” He asked. “Why priesthood in Oregon?”
Jean rubbed his hand upward until it settled on Marco’s bicep. “I was sick of New York… wanted to practice somewhere more quiet- with less people.” He spoke half truths, hoping to turn the conversation somewhere less personal so lies wouldn’t fellate themselves. “Figured I’d trade the east coast for the west.”
“Oh, I see.” Marco nudged Jean off the trail, something he pretended not to notice. Marco was leading him off so early on that it was almost astounding. Jean recognized one of the trees he’d dressed in the distance, though the gun warming against his skin would buy him the time if he didn’t get much closer. “It really is beautiful here, quiet in all the right ways- I’ve always loved how secluded the forestry areas are, so I couldn’t imagine how loud it must get there. No one will bother us out here.”
“Have you always… lived here?” Jean asked, looking down at his feet as the dirt path disappeared and the heavy clover and moss blanketed the ground beneath them. It was clear to anyone with a brain that the situation had become a dangerous one, however the friendly conversation was a clever ruse.
Marco gripped Jean’s arm a little harder as he guided him over to a clearing, turning his head from left to right before offering him an answer. “Most of my life, yeah. I lived in Nebraska for a while until my family moved here… but I have a sneaking suspicion you don’t really care about that, do you?” He took Jean’s arm and spun him outward so they were facing each other, soaked in the moonlight creeping it’s way between the trees.
Jean felt like the breath was being ripped from his lungs as he took in the sight of the man, lost in the notion of being regarded as fondly as Marco feigned. Whatever lies hid behind the sincerity of his gaze left Jean open for attack, and when the chest of the broader, taller man was only inches from his own, he realized his guard had melted so pathetically at his feet.
It was quicker than he could wrap his head around. One foot between Jean’s legs, bent and swiped forward until his back smacked against the ground. The air he’d been holding in his lungs burst out into the open air a loud whine, followed by a desperate inhale to replace it. Marco had the luxury of taking his time while Jean struggled to roll off to his side, using the newfound leverage to dig his heel into Jean’s wrist as it reached toward the gun. “Jesus.” Marco huffed. “Don’t you watch TV? We’re in the middle of a serial killer epidemic.” Marco dropped to his knees, both hugging Jean’s waist as he halted him with the weight alone. “I’ll make it easy… quick, okay? You won’t suffer.” He pleaded, in guilt or impatience Jean couldn’t be sure.
Jean used his strength to try and free his waist to no avail. He had trapped himself in his own hubris, leaving him with nothing but a merciful promise from someone who seemed too innocent to commit such an act. If Marco was less charming, less charismatic and sweet, Jean knew the job he came to do would have been easily completed. It was truly unfair that he had been spun a web of lies, not from Marco necessarily, but from his own selfish outcry for love in a world he’d curated to dispel it.
Jean wasn’t quite sure what caused his jaw to unclench, letting out a quiet, but meaningful string of words that he thought might be his last. Marco’s fangs had unearthed themselves between his lips, and Jean’s innermost appreciation for his rawest form came spilling out. “You really are… so beautiful.”
The air between them seemed to stop blowing at that moment. The whirring that filled that empty space quieted, leaving the dew dripping from the leaves above and cicada cries to fill it instead. Perhaps it was easier for Jean to accept his vulnerability when he was irrevocably vulnerable , and the notion came easier when he felt like the end had come. Marco’s skin was so gorgeously tanned in contrast to the white moonlight, and his lips that remained parted only twitched in the meanwhile.
“It’s not that simple.” Marco’s fangs remained out, but he took no further action, letting his full weight settle in Jean’s lap. The crease formed between his eyebrows led Jean to believe that, after all, there were bits and pieces of him that were soaked in regret. “I can’t let you go now.”
“Then let’s just talk.” Jean’s voice shook, though he had trained himself to allude to more abrasive body language in hopes of hiding that fear. He wasn’t ready to resort to emotional warfare unless he absolutely had to. “Like we wanted to… the truth this time.”
Marco closed his lips around his teeth to hide their appearance, only nodding in reply.
“You’ve lived in Oregon most of your life, right?” Jean asked. “Was that the truth?”
“Yeah.” Marco’s eyes gazed off into the distance.
“When?” Jean tried to sit up a bit, but the force of Marco’s grip heavily exceeded his body weight. “It was a really long time ago, right?” He hoped his rational tone didn’t further irritate Marco.
Much to Jean’s delight, Marco seemed to ease into his understanding. “Early 1800’s… my family migrated west… Did you know about me this whole time? Is that why you’re asking?”
Jean swallowed hard, draining his mouth of any saliva he had left within it. “Yes.”
“And you still came out here with me?”
“Yeah.”
This time, Marco’s reaction was unclear. Jean had never seen a vampire express emotion, perhaps guilt, in all the time he had been playing this field. There were slivers of regret in others, but never the whirlwind of thought Jean could see playing on behind Marco’s eyes. “I thought I was being more careful.”
“Careful?” Jean asked, his voice coming in and out of a light whisper. “What was careful about this interaction exactly?”
“No, I mean, in general- normally .” Marco furrowed his brow. “I never, ever fed off someone who didn’t deserve it. Rapists, criminals, just society's undesirables… but there’s only so many before I make an enemy- or I get too hungry.”
Jean offered an empathetic glance, before shaking the look from his face. “I’m none of those things, asshole.”
“I’m not implying that you were… but you’re unremarkable, and new, and it was convenient for me because you were interested.” Marco groaned. “Fuck.”
“Thanks.” Jean grumbled to himself.
“I’m not saying I wasn’t interested, I just-” Marco held his hand up to Jean’s face. “It wasn’t personal…”
Jean wiggled a bit from underneath Marco. “Well if it wasn’t personal then let me go.”
“I can’t do that, Now I know you’re a hunter.” Marco squeezed his legs around Jean again, this time causing him great discomfort.
Jean gasped, holding his breath until the pressure on his torso paused. “Stop, stop.” He whimpered. “I’ll make you a deal, my life for yours.”
“That’s not enough.” Marco reiterated his previous point, but before he could continue Jean cut him off yet again.
“If you promise me,” Jean swallowed, this time out of nervous habit. “If you promise me that you’ll spare the residents of this town… and you do exactly as I say to stay under the radar… I’ll let you go. I’ll take care of you.” He pleaded. “I’ll tell them it was a false report- they’ll strike it off their records… if you get caught afterwards, they’ll kill us both. Win win.” Jean’s attempts at bartering fell short at the risk of death, especially the fear of asphyxiating as opposed to exsanguination. Being pointlessly murdered was far more unjust.
“You expect me to trust you? Just like that?” Marco scoffed, his demeanor betraying the passive attitude he was attempting to convey.
“Yes.” Jean reaffirmed his prior statement. “I’ll even offer my blood. My penance, to seal our truce… to offer my trust in exchange.”
The mention of blood made Marco’s pupils grow twice their size, rendering him silent a moment more. Jean knew he was hungry and desperate, and though he had an inkling that the offering of his being would have been enough to begin with, the strategic benefaction came after his request with purpose. “You have no reason to trust me not to just kill you all together and be done with it.” He whispered.
“That’s why it’s a part of the deal.” Jean reassured him. “Just a little, from my wrist- enough to keep you satiated until we can figure out a way to handle it going forward.”
Marco pursed his lips, raising his hips so Jean could slither out from under him. “You have to warn me when you get light headed.” He whispered, aiding Jean in sitting up against the nearest tree.
Jean’s heart started pounding in his chest at the sight of the man preparing his meal, allowing him to roll up his sleeve and poke at the veins protruding from his wrist. The act was growing more intimate than he anticipated. Jean could feel the air exhaled from Marco’s nose raising the hairs on his forearm. “Is it gonna hurt?”
“Not from what I remember.”
“Hm?” Jean asked. Instead of a response, he was met with the sharp prick of Marco’s teeth digging into his skin. “Ow…”
Marco signed with relief as both hands cradled Jean’s hand. He had attempted to draw slow, circular patterns on Jean’s skin to comfort him, and it was successful for the most part. There was a kindness in his eyes, hidden just beneath his lashes as he carefully fed. Marco’s beauty was simply unmatched, to Jean anyway, and his promise to care for him made the decision to spare his life one he was proud to do. Perhaps New York wasn’t all he’d made it out to be, since staying as Marco’s protector in Oregon was steadily taking his mind hostage.
There was a sense of purpose in their pact, a newfound responsibility to serve and protect a strange town for what felt like selfish purposes. Marco seemed kind, and Jean’s vulnerability lulled him into the belief that he was- proven shortly after by the pop of Marco’s lips off his wrist when he had satiated himself. The stress of his hunger had steadily left his gaze, and the soft, scared boy beneath took precedence.
“Are you okay?” Marco asked, his bottom lip quivering as he swallowed.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”