She was very punctual. I loved that about her. It seems like a small thing, I know, but I loved every last little thing about her.

The internet is an amazing thing. That’s how she met me. I say ‘how she met me’ because I had met her before we talked online. At least, I had seen her and, I’ll admit, watched her. I was lucky with her; I heard her on the last day she ever set foot in a church. I was lucky. So I thought this time might be different. But that is getting ahead of myself. I will tell about her first.

I heard her before I saw her. I never pay attention to faces anymore. The prayers tell me more than the faces, and it is easier to listen the silent voices than it is to examine each and every face. Her prayer was full of pain, and those are the ones that most often catch my attention, for they are the ones that signify a soul like unto myself. Not that I’m at all sure I have a soul. That is a topic for someone else to determine, though.

As I was saying, her prayer was full of pain. It was prayer of petition, and she did desperately need help. A series of tragedies had wracked her life very recently, revolving around the deaths of several people who were close to her. Her prayer flew to the rafters where I habitually hid myself, and beat against the ceiling, desperate to find someone who would listen to it. I decided to take that pain unto myself and transform it.

Understand, I normally took it upon myself to answer prayers in my own fashion. Transforming something though was something I had not attempted in many many years – and for a vampire, many years is rather a long time. But hope, nagging hope that I can never kill no matter how many deaths I cause, writhes within my still breast yet. I thought that perhaps this was a chance to fulfill it, the chance that would redeem me. I followed the trail of the prayer back down to its origin. Her face was as beautiful and well formed as the thoughts behind it. I delved into those thoughts with my own considerable mental prowess, just enough to find some necessary information. This information secure, I could examine the woman herself without fear of her leaving.

Her name was Angela. She had dark brown hair that lit somewhat auburn when the light fell on it. It curled tightly and framed her face in bouncing ringlets, cascading over her shoulders as well. She was fair skinned with a very light dusting of freckles across her nose that gave her a bit of a girlish opinion. But I knew from her thoughts that appearances could not be trusted in this case. I did not have further opportunity to study her, however, as the church began filling for a mass and Angela left. Content for a brief time, I settled myself in the darkened rafters for a rare sleep.

Very soon, the next night perhaps (days are such small increments of time that I lose track of them easily), I contacted her in, rather conveniently, a vampire chat room. I was in a desolate library, surrounded by warm quiet and the smell of books. There was complete seclusion; nobody seems to bother with libraries anymore, have you noticed? A pity. The chat room had a great many people in it who had no business being there, as chat rooms usually do. It didn’t take long for Angela to suggest that the two of us continue our conversation through single instant messaging.

I was sympathetic and willing to listen without offering advice. It helped that I already knew exactly what she’d gone through, so my comments seemed oddly appropriate. I didn’t pry (what did I need to know about her that I didn’t already know?) and was extremely courteous. The first few times we talked, we stuck mainly to the subject of vampires, which was dreadfully convenient for me. I was able to offer what she saw as a new viewpoint on the whole subject, and I was also eager to get her impressions (as a human, though I didn’t tell her that) of vampires. She didn’t have most of the delusions that normal people hold regarding my kind, and I grew to like her more and more with each session.

Naturally we started sharing bits about ourselves as we grew more comfortable with each other. Sadly, I did have to lie some here, because I wanted to gain her trust. How odd, lying to someone so that they will trust you. It works though. I told her my name was Evan, which it is not, and that I was thirty years old, which is the age I appear to be. She told me the same things for herself, only she, I know, did not lie.

Eventually, I suggested that we meet. I suggested it instead of waiting for her to because I knew she’d agree. She’d been living more and more dangerously since the tragedies. Actually, if I didn’t get to her, it was altogether likely that she’d die in some other situation and slip through my grasp, which was another reason I didn’t wait for her to bring it up. Of course, she hesitated a bit before agreeing, but I knew her too well to think she’d turn me down. I exhibited my characteristic patience and did not press the issue, and soon enough she agreed. I did offer to meet her somewhere she’d feel comfortable though, but she ended up letting me pick the location: another sign of her growing recklessness.

I picked the church that was my home. It was a different church than the one I had seen her at. My home was often abandoned. It was in a poor parish and had only one mass a week on Sundays. The priest visited from a neighboring parish, so no one even lived in the rectory. I had the place completely to myself all the time except for one hour a week. Meeting there was a good idea because, if I were actually successful, it would be most convenient if we were already somewhere that I knew was safe and secure. We set the date two weeks in advance, so she’d have enough time to back out – which of course she did not. We met as planned.

This, then, brings me back to where I began: the scene of my latest failure.

I watched her walk into the church. I had been nervous all evening, half-worried that she’d see the building and choose to leave. She stumbled a bit, fumbling for a light switch. Of course, I could see perfectly well. I indulged in watching her just for a bit, to see what she would do.

“Hello?” The sudden voice pierced the darkness and sent the echoes scurrying away into corners, then bouncing back, targeting the voice that had disturbed them. I had forgotten about the echoes. I had lived with them for so long that they seemed a normal part of my environment. But her voice...it was a real voice, the voice of someone I wanted to spend eternity, or the better part of eternity, with. It was actually the first time I had heard her physically speak, and I felt that I had made the right choice this time. She ran into one of the pews and I decided that I’d watched enough. It was time to go to her.

I alit near the altar in the center of the building and struck a match, lighting a tall candle standing at the corner of the altar. The smoke from the match floated lazily upward to join the echoes as the candle struggled to find stability. I watched the light play over her features, warming them. There is nothing quite like firelight for illumination, I have always thought. Angela, however, turned away, perhaps frightened by the shadows cast from the light.

“Don’t be afraid,” I said, to let her know I was there. I knew my presence could sometimes be unintentionally undetectable to mortals. She shivered.

“Evan?” Her voice was beautiful in it’s uncertainty. I loved the way she was vulnerable despite her forced confidence.

“I am. And you are Angie.” I used the nickname she had told me to when we first started talking. Truth be told, I prefer Angela, but it did not matter all that much. The power went out of names long ago.

“Nice to meet you,” She said, though I could tell she wasn’t at all certain whether it actually was nice to meet me or not yet. “But why the church, and at night too? Is there a light switch around here?”

“I’m sure there is,” I knew there was. “But I don’t know where.” I lied...I’m not sure why. But as I said, I’ve always been partial to firelight. And one can never overestimate the value of atmosphere. “And as for why- well, I wanted you to feel safe.” That wasn’t quite true either. I knew perfectly well that this setting would not make her feel at all safe. However, I also knew that she would feel that being in a church should make her feel safe, and would likely drop the subject then. “And here, we can talk without the least fear of being interrupted.” Ah, back to a subject she was familiar with, to put her on comfortable ground.

“Yes, I see what you mean.” She stepped closer to me, and I held my breath. I was so afraid that I would mess this one up like I had so many others. “I guess people might be a little weirded if they heard two adults talking seriously about vampires and stuff.” Vampires and stuff. That was something else I rather liked about her. Her thoughts were so developed and mature, yet the way she spoke gave her a sort of childlike quality, innocence even. I smiled, truly pleased.

“Exactly. I’m very excited to meet someone who has the same interest I do. It’s quite rare for me.” Completely true. I don’t even associate with others of my kind if I can help it.

“Oh, me as well. Most people kind of back off when they find out how obsessed I am,” She laughed, somewhat nervously, and the reverberations of it startled her. “God, that’s scary,”

I responded before I could stop myself. “I’m fairly certain God doesn’t have much to do with it. I don’t think he’s here right now.” It was like I was watching myself from outside my body. Why had I said that? I had not been intending on dragging God into this.

Or had I?

“What?” She was definitely startled. “It’s a church. Of course He’s here.” I panicked and moved a bit more quickly than I should have. She spun around, for to her it looked like I had simply vanished. Luckily, the human mind is extraordinarily adept at rationalizing things it does not understand, or does not want to understand. “The light is playing tricks on my eyes. Why don’t we go somewhere brighter?” I smiled softly.

“As a vampire researcher, I should think you’d enjoy the dark.” I had to steer her back into our familiar territory.

“I said I liked to learn about them, not that I am one,” She was on the defensive now. I had to tread carefully. I was silent in thought for a bit too long though, for she came to her own conclusions. “Oh, I see, you think you are a vampire. Ok, time for me to leave. Nice meeting you.” This time I moved quickly on purpose, to get in front of her as she made for the door.

“I thought you said you believed.” I could say this comfortably enough. I knew exactly where the conversation would go from here, and I knew I could manipulate it easily. After all, I was living (or perhaps unliving) proof of so many things. I smiled as she dropped her purse, her source of security, deliberately showing my fangs. But she didn’t see. “Your gun isn’t going to help you,” I stated, deciding to put some of my gleaned information to good use. “But I’m not going to hurt you anyway, so stop worrying.” She stood, having retrieved her purse.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a gun.” Lie. “And I’m not afraid of you.” Lie. “But I have to go.”

“How can you say you believe, but when confronted, deny your faith?” I suppose it is a failing of mine that much of my speech is tinted with a religious hue. If you only understood my upbringing...but there again is a story for another time, and another author. For now, let us focus on my failure known as Angela.

“You talk like it’s a sin. But it’s none of your business. And for your information, I believe in God, that is my faith.” She said it with such conviction that I’m sure she convinced herself. But she did not leave.

“You believe in a being you’ve never seen...but here I stand in front of you and you deny my existence. I don’t understand.” Actually, I did understand. I’d seen the phenomenon enough times before. But I needed to see how she viewed the matter, the better to argue with her.

“I know that God exists. He answers prayers and He listens. He has to be there. Something has to be there...” I was looking at her quite intently and she trailed off. My stare can do that to a human. Her answer was perfect for my purposes. Had she answered simply that faith was faith and could not be explained, I would have had trouble. She was in a time of questioning, though, and I intended to lead her to answers.

“He answers prayers? Then what of all these?” The echoes, pleased to be remembered again, began bouncing about with greater fervor. Angela looked to me in her confusion. That was good. “These are prayers.” I explained. “They remain here. Faith, concentrated, does indeed fly toward the heavens. But the ceiling is as far as they get, because there is no one beyond it to receive them.” I placed my hands on her shoulders, savoring even this little bit of physical contact. I had a good hold on her attentions now, so she did not wonder at my movement. I turned her to face the crucifix, keeping my hands on her shoulders and standing close enough that I could feel the heat from her body and she could feel the lack of heat from mine.

“That’s not true. You’re full of lies. If you were a vampire, you wouldn’t even be able to look upon that cross. I don’t believe you.” Maybe she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t move away from me either. I guided her back into the circle of candlelight.

“Why should I not look upon it? It doesn’t mean anything.” Not anymore, anyway. “If it had the force of true faith behind it, or if your God was there, perhaps it would hurt me, but there is no one anymore who believes that strongly. Your God has been dead thousands of years, and you celebrate his death.”

“We celebrate His rising,” Her nun teachers would have been proud. I turned her so that she was facing me, retaining my grasp on her shoulders. She was a bit shorter than me, and was forced to look up to make eye contact. She was challenging me to respond. I was becoming intoxicated with her proximity, though, and responded perhaps a bit too quickly.

“His rising. What else do you know of that rises from death?” I knew it was too large a leap as soon as the words left my mouth, and I cursed myself silently. Her eyes flashed triumphantly and she left my grasp, both her mind and body free from my hold for the moment.

“What are you, Jehovah’s Witness for evil? Jesus was not a vampire. And I’m not an idiot.” She now felt she had the strength to leave. I could not let that happen.

“No, of course not,” I conceded. My true opinions on the matter could be shared and debated with her later, when we had until the end of time to spend doing it. I changed tactics. “It’s hard to believe in God these days. Do you know how many prayers I’ve heard? Thousands. I listen to their prayers, and I wait to see what happens. They are almost never answered. So sometimes I answer them. It is surprising how many people pray for death when they think no one is listening.” I wondered how she’d react to that. Would she make the connection that I was listening to her? That I was watching over her?

“If they think no one is listening, then why do they pray?” She had decided to ignore my remark about answering prayers. Perhaps a wise decision.

“Hope,” I answered. “When Pandora opened the box, humanity thought that the vices escaping, the greed and envy and lust, were the worst part. But hope also came out of that box, and it is the worst thing that has ever happened to the world.” I sighed inwardly. Hope and I have had a long, painful relationship. “I heard your prayer.” She could not ignore that. But she could lie about it.

“This is pointless. I don’t pray.” Isn’t it amazing how much people can lie to each other over the course of one conversation? I decided to call her on it.

“Who’s lying now? You prayed for someone like you. So I contacted you. Your prayer was answered, but you are not happy.” And I could make you so very happy... I added silently.

“You’re not God. What right do you have?” I didn’t have an answer to that, but she didn’t seem to expect one. She should have been attempting to leave now, and she wasn’t. Good. “How can you say you’re like me? You don’t even know me.” She could not have said anything more perfect. I had no compunctions about using the knowledge I’d obtained with my abilities.

“The name Angie means ‘angel’.” I began with something simple, but quickly made it much more personal. “You’d think if God existed, he’d take better care of his angels, not leave them alone and on the brink of suicide. He wouldn’t take your family, and he wouldn’t take away your best friend. He wouldn’t leave you behind.” She was shocked. And perhaps a little disturbed. “But you are right. I can’t say I’m like you. It’s not true.” I was watching her reaction carefully. Tears stood in her eyes, magnifying them, threatening to spill over. My heart – figuratively speaking – melted. I wanted to hold her, and love her, and protect her forever. But not quite yet. I restrained myself.

“How do you know all that?” I knew this part was important. Depending on what I said or did next, she would either flee or welcome me with open arms. She would judge whether I was from God or the devil...or if I was exactly what I said I was. This would affect the entire process. “Maybe…maybe you’re like me after all.”

“No. We’re very different. But we don’t have to be.” The tears brimmed over her eyelashes and tumbled down her cheeks. “Oh, don’t cry Angie. You don’t have to cry now.” I took her into my arms, holding her tightly and rocking slightly as she pressed her face to my chest and shook with repressed sobs. “I know you feel alone in the world, and you were. Not anymore. We can be alone together. We can be the same.” It was exactly what she needed. She should be ready now.

“What? I don’t know what you mean. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to get like this.” Her words were muffled. She was talking into my chest.

“Look at me, Angie. See what I’m offering you.” She obeyed. Even with a tear-stained face, red from crying, she was beautiful to me. She looked at me with eyes that were willing to believe, and finally, belief came.

“No. I don’t want to die anymore. No.” I could hardly believe my ears. Did she not understand? I was surprised enough to let her go when she pulled away. I walked with her down the aisle, away from the altar. This was my last chance to convince her.

“It is not death. Nothing is waiting for you out there. There is no one like you. No one will understand you. What I offer is life.” Knowing that my sway over her would increase with physical contact, I took her hand. And I wanted to touch her again. It seemed to work. She stopped.

“No. You’re lying to me. I don’t want to be like you.” She was lying to herself. She was strong and stubborn, and I loved that about her too. But she was lying to herself. She had to be.

“Yes you do. Ever since the people around you began dying, you’ve put yourself in increasingly dangerous situations. You agreed to meet a stranger alone on his terms. You’re lying to yourself.” I drew her gently by the hand back towards the light and the altar. She allowed herself to be led. “You have to believe in something.” Believe in me... I begged silently.

“I believe in you,” She whispered. I felt a surge of triumph. “But...” I interrupted her before she could talk herself out of it.

“Angela. How often has doubt stopped you from doing something you should? If you hadn’t doubted, perhaps Cynthia wouldn’t have died in the fire.” Her best friend. Angie had been out shopping and had returned to find the apartment building in flames. Cynthia had been trapped inside. The event haunted her thoughts and she felt an irrational guilt, which I could easily play on.

Don’t look at me like that. I’m not proud of it.

“I would have gone back. The firemen stopped me.” She rationalized, as she had done countless times when trying to sleep at night.

“You could have gone back.” I should be damned for all eternity. I wish there was a God so that he could strike me down into the deepest pits of hell to suffer as I deserve for saying such a thing to Angela when she was completely innocent in that affair.

“I should have. I…am to blame, I know.” She gave in to me. That was what I needed. It was like some slight form of permission in my twisted mind. I embraced her again, and kissed her neck. But she was stronger than I had ever thought, for she made one last effort to save herself. Would that I had let her go.

“No,” She whispered. It would not have been audible to anyone other than a vampire. I told myself that she didn’t mean it, that everyone gets scared when they are about to die. I bit her, allowing her sweet, pure blood to flow into my mouth, not forcibly drawing it from her so as to cause her as little discomfort as possible. She pulled away from me. I suppose she really meant it when she said ‘no’. She was able to stand, her hand pressed against her neck in a futile effort to stop the bleeding. She knew she would die. I could see it in her eyes. But she was not afraid to die. She was afraid to pass by death, and become like me. She was looking at me with fear for the first time that night, and I must confess, it only encouraged me. I approached her.

“Just let me die,” I thought she might try to run, but she already knew she couldn’t get away from me. She was weak, about to collapse, looking at me through her brunette curls, a prayer in her eyes. She was praying to me to stop this. She wobbled and began to fall, but a caught her in my arms and held her firmly.

“I promised you life, love.” She did not respond. I returned to the wound in her neck and continued the process. Horrible creature that I am, I enjoyed it. It is the vampire’s nature to feed, and a vampire’s privilege to create life. In doing both the vampire derives the greatest pleasure he will know in his undead days. I was aware of little else as her blood flowed into me, all the sweeter because of the trouble I’d taken to get it. When she was drained to the point of death, I removed my fangs, reluctantly, as always. I lowered us both to the floor and with my fingernails made a cut on my own neck. I pressed her mouth to it, willing her to drink, to take the blood back.

I felt the blood begin to flow out of me and into her, and thought that finally, finally I would have a companion. I rejoiced in having created life for the first time in my too-long existence. It was dark in the church now. The candle had gone out at some point, but moonlight was entering through the stained glass windows, making the room beautiful.

But then...a sharp pain. It reverberated through my entire body, it was lightning running down my veins. It hurt, it burned, it froze, it tormented me. I cried out in pain and was flung to my back in a sudden spasm. Angela’s body had not taken enough of my blood and fell also, quite lifeless. I writhed, curling in on myself, not able to think of anything but the knives digging into my skull and the dragon tearing its way out of my chest.

The pain subsided eventually. It took longer to go away this time than it usually did, but then, I had gotten further with the transformation this time as well. I was bitterly disappointed. I knelt over Angela’s body and sobbed, able to even create tears since I had just fed. All the previous failures danced before my eyes as well, all the others I’d tried and failed to bring into eternity with me.

I am destined to walk alone throughout time. I am sterile, a mutant vampire. As if being a vampire weren’t enough, I am different even from others of my kind. I am only able to take life, never create it. I suspect it is because I was created in a nontraditional way myself. But that story will never be told.

I defy destiny. If in order to see the end of time I must be alone, I choose not to see the end of time. The sunrise will begin soon. It should be beautiful from the church steeple.