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Incense filled Riley Flynn’s nostrils and the drone of plainchant rumbled through the old cathedral. His shoulders and his burned feet hurt more than they ever did in his life. His life…
A life that ended two days ago when he walked inside Our Lady’s chapel. With the doors open, all night, he often found solace in praying for chastity. Carnal pleasure tempted his soul when he saw Erin’s fruitful belly. Now Littlefoot was gone; Ryan, the intemperated murderer, imagined his life next to Erin and guilt racked him. The loving embrace of the Church was the only harbor his spotted soul merited. His last doleful act was to stare at the blessed Father John Paul, who was made young again by a miracle, kneeling as drops of dark blood poured from the stigmatized arm of the creature.
The last thing he knew in life was an infernal embrace and the feeling of fangs tearing his flesh.
Riley came back to life in the sacristy alone. He ran away, his mind was a boggling mess of images and sensations beyond anything he had experienced in his mortal life. He failed to make his escape silent and Erin stirred from the mass of humanity, abandoning the spot where she waited for the Cathedrals daily charity. She spoke, she scolded, she pleaded, but Riley knew his life had ended.
They were standing by one of the boats the fishermen were to send to the open waters soon. Riley tried to explain, looking down to point at his own blood cacking his crude tunic, when Erin’s screams drowned the whole world around him as he was snatched from the dirt like a hawk plucked a lonely rabbit.
Sun licked Riley’s bare feet, setting them, aflame before the creature dragged him to the cool darkness of the convent. Father John Paul joined them, hurrying with the Viaticum and the chrism. Distress over Riley’s mauled feet was evident on his face.
“Through this holy anointing, may the Lord pardon you whatever faults you have committed by... ”
Riley paid little attention to Father John Paul’s attempts to save his soul. The creature was filling the chalice of the viaticum with his dark blood. The smell was maddening. His body racked with hunger and washed away his pain. The only thing that mattered was that corrupting blood and his need to drink it.
“We’ll heal you, my son,” Father John Paul promised, crossing Riley’s forehead as the creature used his long fingers over his gut. The movement was comforting. “We need you. The pest is coming and soon we’ll have many new catechumens. You’ll help us keep them safe.”
It has been years since Riley’s mouth had tasted the Holy Form; since his car crushed that poor milkmaid. Eucharist was forbidden to unpenitent murderers, yet Father John Paul opened the brass pyx ornate with silver to extract the most precious contents. With his usual devotion, the blessed Father intincted the consecrated host on the creature’s blood. Riley, the drunkard, the killer, the sinner, opened his mouth to receive the tainted Lord’s Supper.
As the blood melted the sacred form on his tongue, Riley accepted the covenant for this Eucharist was more meaningful than any other received in his life.