Work Text:
October 2012
The Commonwealth of Massachusetts
Standard Certificate of Death
Place of Death
Boston, Mass.
Full name
Judas Lilith Duplenticy
Residence
Lynn, Mass.
Medical Certificate of Death
Date of Death
16 October, 2012
I hereby certify that I attended the deceased from 15 October, 2012 to 16 October, 2012 and that the death occurred at the date above at 1:52am. The cause of death goes as follows: blunt force trauma.
Boston Police Department Homicide Report
PERSON(S) INVOLVED: Duplenticy, Judas Lilith
Phone: (781) 986-4165. Email: [email protected]
THE INCIDENT
15 October, 2012 Time: 10:34 PM Boston, Massachusetts 02108
A boxing incident resulting in the murder of seventeen year old Judas Duplenticy. The suspect left the scene before the police were called. Investigation into the suspect is still ongoing.
Judas was pronounced critical at the scene and was rushed to Mass General Brigham in Boston, Massachusetts, and was pronounced dead at 1:52 AM on 16 October, 2012. His injuries were too great to bear, including but not limited to a broken jaw, a broken nose, whiplash, and various brain injuries from repetitive head trauma. Further information located in the medical report and autopsy report. There were a minimum of six witnesses at the time of the assault. Their statements are included…
Send the victim's belongings back to his address in Lynn, Massachusetts 01902.
Jud's funeral was held a week later.
It wasn't grand. His resting place wasn't grand either, despite it being a family tomb. The Duplenticys didn't do a very good job of maintenance upkeep.
Jud opened his eyes to nothing but a dark void surrounding him, tight and enclosed. He assumed this was Hell, or some kind of purgatory for his sinful life. He tried to sit up, but instead hit his head on hardwood above him. He cursed and laid back down, opting to wiggle around a bit instead to get a feel of this "Hell". His flailing soon revealed to him that no, he was not in Hell, or any kind of purgatory for his short life of sin, no, he was alive. It didn't take long for the panic to set in, slamming his shoulder against the top of the coffin, attempting to loosen the lid from the nails keeping him in. The lid began to budge with Jud's constant slamming and he was able to push it open and sit up. Panting, he looked around the black crypt, nothing but darkness surrounded him, and the only source of light in the void was the open door leading out into the cemetery. The crypt never had a door, or never a particularly sturdy one, his parents thought it wasn't necessary to invest in. Later in life he considered this oversight an act of God's grace.
He stumbled out of the tomb, the light of the full moon bathing the cemetery in a cool white. His cheap burial suit failed to keep out the crisp chill of Massachusetts fall, sending shivers through Jud's skin as he wandered around looking for another person, or maybe some money to get a bus or grab the T, but he ended up walking all the way from wherever he was to Boston.
Jud couldn't pinpoint when he noticed his canine teeth had grown into vile fangs, protruding from his gums and piercing his bottom lip, consistently drawing a dribble of blood. After a period of stark discomfort, Jud had gotten used to the fangs; he learned when they retracted and he grew to adapt his speech to compensate for the lack of space in his mouth, telling people he just had a cavity filled and was having trouble talking, or a similar convincing lie.
However, with the vile fangs came the vile urges.
He knew the tales of vampires spread by popular literature. But that's all they were, tall tales of blood hungry monsters preying on humans to drink their blood. He had never suspected he of all people could be one. Did he have to hide? Something like shame clouded his subconscious then, telling him that this was something worthy of ridicule of the highest order, and to never let anyone in on this little fact. Jud told himself then and there he would never give in to the vampiric urge to draw blood, never deliberately go out of his way to harm another person for his own sustenance, despite how hard his body wanted to. Some of this had been his motivation to join the priesthood, thinking maybe only God could seal away Jud's urges to consume others.
This mindset was sustainable for a bit. Whenever he got "hungry", he'd supplement his human blood-thirst with bloody, almost raw steak, or in more dire situations he'd take a bite of his own tongue or lips, or make confessions to his fellow priests about purposefully vague "impure urges". At some point however, despite his best efforts, his hunger got too much.
He was twenty when he joined the priesthood and had made some friends at his seminary, ones that were familiar enough with the case to know the other man involved but not enough to know he was supposed to be dead, and learned through loose talk in the Boston boxing scene the young man who killed him had received not much more than a slap on the wrist for the killing. He was a juvenile too, they'd say, it was a mistake. Jud had attempted to forgive and forget, in the spirit of good priesthood and all, and either way, he was still alive, in some sense of the word, so in his mind he had no reason to still be upset. He barely remembered the man's name when not dedicating time to thinking about him.
It was a cold night in December when Jud made an effort to find the man that killed him. Jud doesn't know what drove him to the boxing ring that night. He sat towards the back of the crowd, watching him win every match thrown at him. Jud doesn't know what drove him to follow that man into an alley close-by, throwing a small stone to get his attention. The man recognised Jud, of course, fear creeping upon demeanor after seeing his face illuminated in the warm street lights. Jud especially doesn't know what drove him to jab his newly descended pointy teeth into the man's throat and steal his fill of blood, leaving him in the passageway, half-conscious and groggy, blood spouting into the snow next to him.
No sleep came for Jud that night. Instead, he stayed up, kneeling by his bed, praying for forgiveness.
Chimney Rock, present
If somebody were to ask Father Jud what he thought of Monsignor Jefferson Wicks, he’d probably smile politely and say,
“We don’t agree on most things, but he can deliver an impressive sermon.”
And as much as Jud tries not to feel hatred, as much as he attempts in earnest to see the best in everyone, Jud unquestionably held at least a sliver of hatred in his heart for Jefferson Wicks. His assignment to Chimney Rock wasn't all awful, he did enjoy being a pastor's assistant, even if the pastor in question was an asshole, and he liked the change of scenery. Despite all of the positives, the negatives soon took their toll on Jud's brain.
The "hardened cyst of regulars" soon became the bane of Jud's existence. After the failed attempt at a prayer meeting, he stopped trying to be more involved in their lives and faith than he was required to be and instead focused his energy on Wicks. Wicks and his re-emerging blood thirst issue.
Up to this point, Jud had done a very good job of avoiding and ignoring his urges. It had taken its toll, of course, he feels lethargic and always just a little hungry but it's nothing he can't handle. He continues his ritual, getting his temporary fix with rare steak and goes on his way, but recently his fangs have been making a more prominent appearance. They'd descend in the middle of Wicks' homily, forcing him to sing the hymns while trying to hide the protruding teeth when Wicks disappeared into the storage closet, making for a very awkward looking mass.
None of this flew under Wicks' radar, of course. Nor Martha's, or the flock's.
Wicks was the most critical of it, telling him to "get his act together", threatening to cut from the masses completely if he doesn't fix his speech. Martha would bring him herbal teas or similar beverages afterwards to help him "overcome the sickness". Jud didn't know what she meant by that but he accepted the tea with a smile regardless.
He felt as though he was under constant surveillance, as if everyone was waiting for him to slip up. Leading sermons felt weird, wrong, he felt out of place, like a wolf in sheep's clothing. He'd sit alone in his bed in the attic wondering if he was committing sacrilege by preaching God's word while being unholy himself, if the flock or Martha or Wicks, God forbid, knew he wasn't normal. He tried to ignore it, continuing to sing his hymns and recite his psalms regardless of the fangs messing up his speech, never daring to look those in the pews in the eyes. Despite his efforts, he still went to sleep anxious his act wasn't good enough at hiding his impurities, that the scorning eyes of the people he was leading knew who he was under the clerical collar, something devilish and cruel.
He continued to ignore it.
It was around eight months into Jud's exile when the Monsignor's weekly confessions started weighing on him. Wicks was fully dedicated to making Jud uncomfortable, attempting to draw him to sin and win at their little game. Jud tried to never let this get to him however, letting his mind wander elsewhere while the Monsignor went off on his tangents while feigning interest. This day was no different; Wicks led them out into the courtyard behind the church where they usually held their confessions, this time in the late morning so a gentle chill still hung in the air despite the sun beaming down on them.
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned," Wicks began, as he always did. Jud had nearly perfected the art of indifference, not letting Wicks know how this was getting to him. Most weeks follow the same routine, an easily tracked list of confessions perfectly weaved to make Jud shift in his seat and evade Wicks' gaze; Wicks asking for forgiveness after his long week of giving in to lust. Jud wondered absently if Wicks was being truthful. He didn't see Wicks as such a weak man, someone prone to giving in to such desires so frequently, but it seemed too absurd to be an elaborate lie. Jud ignored it.
"It has been a week since my last confession. I have brought pleasure to myself twice— no, three times over the past week." Jud always attempts to be attentive during the sessions, so it is against his better judgment to tune out the Monsignor's self-pleasure escapade. Jud let his mind wander, letting "uh-huh"s and "yeah"s out every once in a while while ignoring Wicks' stories about the shower and whatever else.
"— Something else has been on my mind though, Father. If I may," Wicks says, his strong gaze never leaving Jud's. Jud's eyes snapped up from the ground to meet Wicks'.
"Yes, anything." Jud replies, and smiles. He sensed a new tension betwixt them, something heavier than what usually hangs in the air during their confessions. The breeze that previously went unnoticed seemed to pick up, chilling Jud to his bones.
"I know about you," Wicks says, tilting his head. His voice was different now, more serious, like he was about to tell Jud he was getting grounded for breaking a vase. "I don't appreciate predators like yourself dressing up as holy men to deceive innocent townspeople." Jud's heart dropped to his stomach, making him nauseous. He tried to widen his smile and make himself look oblivious, trying to hide the fear creeping down his spine.
"What are you talking about?" Jud inquired. His response came quickly, voice quivering, trying to keep a semblance of his composure, refusing to let the mask he's spent these months perfecting slip. Despite his desperate attempts to keep collected, his inability to lie started to rear its ugly head. Jud ran his tongue over his canine teeth. "Really, I joined the church to save myself, and others too-" Wicks shot up so quickly his bench nearly flipped over.
"Cut the shit." Louder now, Wicks continued, "I know about what you are, Jud Duplenticy from Albany. You have a certain persuasion that makes you hungry for defenseless, pure people. Your sin runs as deep as these tree roots do!" Wicks gestured wildly at the forest around them. He focuses his attention back to Jud, his eyes narrowing. Jud felt as if he was one shout away from throwing up. His stomach twisted and turned and he kept swallowing away the lump in his throat. "Just you being here is disturbing the equity I had! You are lucky I don't have you sent back to where you came from for disrupting the synergy of my church!" Jud stared up at Wicks, his eyes wide and heart beating so heavily in his chest he feared the high heavens might hear. Wicks took a breath and sat back down, sighing and clearing his throat before continuing,
"Do you want to know how I know of your supernatural nature?" Wicks asked, crossing his legs. He folded his hands in his lap and looked at Jud again, who this time was visibly shaken. "I invaded another priest's privacy. There's a paper in my office that Martha filed away. A death certificate filed in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Wicks leaned forwards, examining Jud's face.
"No, Monsignor. I don't know the details of everyone who dies in Massachusetts." Jud responds, a smile still plastered on his face.
Wicks clicks his tongue, leaning back into the bench again. "The reason I ask is because the certificate is issued to one Judas Duplenticy," Jud's blood ran cold. "He died to… blunt force trauma. After a boxing incident. If Judas Duplenticy is supposed to be dead and buried in his family crypt, how is he sitting in front of me taking my confession?"
They stared at each other for a while then, Jud frozen in place, mind racing and heart beating like he'd just finished a run. Wicks shrugged and stood up, sticking his hand out for Jud to take, helping him up. "So?" Jud took his hand and stood on his shaky legs to look the Monsignor in the eyes, his own wide and his mouth slightly agape in surprise. He nearly forgot this is a confession ritual. He shook his head.
"Ah, uhm… 5 hail Marys and 5 our Fathers."
Wicks had died. Dropped dead in a little storage closet hidden from everyone, one Jud was only familiar with from watching Wicks go inside and "recover" with the collection of nips he kept in the breaker box. The group standing at the door wide-eyed and curious made Jud feel extremely claustrophobic, as if under scrutiny by the angels themselves, their prying eyes watching him poke around the object sticking out of the Monsignor's back, watching the blood drip down his fingertips.
Jud ushered them to the gates of the Church, telling Cy, who gave him an unimpressed sneer before dialing to call the police and quickly going over the details with Nat. While the group of them waited outside for the ambulance, Jud made a quick pace back to the small storage closet to get rid of the flask hidden just out of sight. Squatting down by the door to retrieve the flask, his gaze landed on Wicks, staring for longer than was acceptable. Something about the metallic stench flooding the small room awoke something in Jud's subconscious, something he'd been pushing down and hiding for so very long. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to blink and take his eyes off the body. He placed the flask on the floor again, storing it away in the back of his mind to take with him later, and started crawling over towards the body, being very mindful to not get a drop of blood on his vestments.
Leaning over Wicks' body, Jud felt an uncomfortable pressure in his gums, his teeth shifting to accommodate the sudden growth of his canine teeth into shameful fangs. He tipped down, pressing his chest to Wicks' back and used his fingers to move the collar of his robes out of the way, revealing more of the Monsignor's neck. Thousands of thoughts danced and swirled in his head: he should, he shouldn't, "it's a vampire's nature to bite, he has to give in eventually". Against all of his better judgment, Jud dipped his head down close to the skin there, searching for a spot to bite, his eyes twinkling with excitement and fear. Finding an acceptable place, a tender patch upon Wicks' carotid artery, Jud shut his eyes, dragged his tongue over his newly-grown teeth, and sunk his fangs into Wicks' neck.
It's been so long since Jud had bitten a person he almost forgot what it felt like.
Jud took his teeth out and opened his eyes again, raising his head slightly to admire his handiwork. The bite was small and clean, placed nicely in a spot that would be hidden when Jud put Wicks' collar back, and was spilling a generous flow of blood into the satin of the gown. Jud put his head back down and gave the bite a small lick to get himself used to the taste before fluttering his eyes shut again and taking his tongue to the wound. Wicks' blood was sour, stale, like he could taste the alcohol and sin coursing through his veins. Squinting his eyes shut further, he lapped up the liquid into his mouth in earnest, letting himself get lost in the feeling he's been depriving himself of for years. He sucked the bite, trying to extract as much blood from the stagnant arteries as he could get, perhaps in such a way that would bruise if Wicks were still alive. Jud tried to keep a mind not to be messy, to keep just a bit of decorum in his mania, but despite the efforts, the blood was still running down his chin, threatening to dye his vestments if left untamed. Not that he truly thought it would matter much though, as his gown was a sharp crimson anyway.
After getting his fill, Jud raised his head from the neck, a thin thread of blood connecting his lips to the bite. He pushed himself up onto his heels, licking his lips and wiping his chin clean with the back of his hand, careful not to stain the white fabric hanging out from under his outerwear. Reaching for the flask behind him, Jud sat there for a little while, canister in hand staring at the body, making an attempt to wait for his teeth to disappear back into his gums before talking to the police, but that seemed a moot idea. Jud hoisted himself up, hiding the silver bottle under his clothes and making a brisk pace to join the others outdoors.
Benoit Blanc's company was not unwelcome. Jud truly desired a friend, or at the very least someone to be in his corner when it seemed the whole town had turned against him. Blanc immediately threw Jud into the investigation with him, dragging him into the morgue to look at Wicks' body and walk him through "locked door crime" scenarios at the crime scene. Blanc is very eccentric, Jud notices, very passionate. Jud wonders how perceptive Blanc really is, if he noticed how Jud got more fidgety looking at the body, his eyes quickly scanning up and down his neck and torso, as if looking for something, or how often Jud licks his teeth.
It was late one afternoon, Jud was sitting in the front row of the nave, mulling over recent events and looking over the stage again, trying to make any sense of what happened. The afternoon sun beamed through the stained glass windows, the church was getting hot and stuffy quickly. Jud clasped his hands together and brought them up to pray. He'd been thinking about the bite more frequently, shame and guilt rushing over him like ocean waves. He prayed for forgiveness, prayed for his teeth to retract, alone in the warm church until the big front doors swung open and Beniot stood at the entrance. Jud whipped around to look at him, shading his face from the sun with his hand.
"Father?" Benoit trotted down the hall with a certain whimsy in his step. "I was lookin' all over for you. Maybe I shoulda checked here first." He glanced around the church before looking at Jud. Jud pinched his eyebrows.
"Do they want to see me?" Jud asked, his voice hoarse from not really using it all day. Blanc looked at him confused.
"Who, Geraldine? No, no, I just wanted to see you," Blanc smiled and tilted his head. "That Il Diavolo place in town seems like a decent spot for dinner, if you'd humour me. I'd wager you haven't had much to eat these past few days." Jud's eyes lit up and a smile crept across his face.
"Yes, yes, absolutely, I'd love to."
Il Diavolo wasn't busy, two of the booths had people in them and the bar was hosting about three people. Nikolai greeted Jud when they walked in with a friendly smile and a wave. The customers at the bar weren't so friendly, shooting Jud glances of hatred and scour, one mumbling "killer priest" under his breath. Nikolai noticed and scolded him and told Jud and Blanc to take a seat and he'd serve them soon.
"Friendly place, huh?" Blanc says, putting his jacket down on the seat next to him and sitting across from Jud, taking a menu into his hands and mulling it over. "Anything that sounds good to you?" Jud thought for a minute.
"Oh, I don't know. Plain cheese, maybe. Pepperoni," He takes the second menu on the table. He feels Blanc's eyes on him and looks up. "Yes?"
"I know you didn't do it. I need you to tell me more about your flock," Blanc sets the menu to the side, his attention now fully on Jud. "Especially those who work at the church too, with the most direct contact with Monsignor Wicks." Nikolai caught Jud's eye walking over to their booth to take their order.
While they waited for their meals came out, Blanc continued. "Who do you think did it, Father?"
"I couldn't imagine anyone doing it. None of them wanted Wicks dead, they worshiped the man. Besides, there was no way for any of them to do it. We talked about it." Jud looked back up at Blanc, who was grinning a knowing smile at him, his crystalline blue eyes piercing through Jud's very soul. Like a tic, Jud's tongue swept over his canines again, reminding himself to be careful because his damn fangs were still descended.
"You know something else, Father, I know you do," Benoit leaned back in his seat. Jud's eyes widened, a nervous feeling rising in his chest and he felt his palms get sweaty. Not Blanc too, he thought. The last thing he needed was to feel uncomfortable around his one and only friend. Part of him wanted to get it out into the open, to clear the air, admit he did bite Wicks. The rational part of him told him to keep it quiet as he had been, to not say the dishonest part out loud. "I wish you'd tell me, everything is relevant."
With that, Nikolai brought out their pizzas. A small plain cheese for Blanc and a small pepperoni for Jud.
Sitting down at his desk in the rectory, Jud began scribbling out the past nine months on a pad of notebook paper. He would be lying if he said the idea of writing out the events of the Good Friday murder didn't make him nervous. He knew Blanc was intuitive just by being in his presence for the few short hours they were together, and he wasn't the most adept at lying. The autopsy weighed heavy on Jud's mind, the bite was hidden while they were in the storage closet, sure, but being under scrutiny by a medical examiner and having Beniot stare at the body too certainly made the priest apprehensive. Nobody brought it up during or after the autopsy, Jud assumed nobody noticed, or nobody cared enough to mention it. The fire burning in the next room over provided some solace, gentle white noise and a nice warmth to calm his nerves.
While he wrote, Jud's gaze kept falling on Blanc. For what reason, he couldn't deduce. Joy? Possibly. Someone who finally believed he didn't kill Wicks and was intent on helping him prove it. Fear? Another possibility. Wicks knowing about his vampirism could have been a perfectly reasonable murder motive. Finishing his "report", he placed the pen down beside the paper and let his eyes linger. He didn't lie, no, but he was dishonest, yes. His fangs still hadn't fully retracted yet, they still poked uncomfortably into his bottom lip and were obvious to anyone staring at his mouth if he wasn't careful. Unusual, Jud thought to himself. They'd have been gone by now in a normal situation. Whatever the case, Blanc couldn't find out. No, never. Jud gave the papers to Blanc with a tired smile and curled up on the couch.
He let his eyes flutter shut and silently prayed to God that Blanc would stay oblivious.