Turned By Him

Chapter 5

Eliza hastily left the apartment building. She felt powerful and unafraid and absolutely helpless in the wake of her recent tragedies. With every step, she felt a strength she never had before. Her footfalls were light and each stride was an effortless glide over snow, ice and dirty pavement. Though heartbroken, though all seemed hopeless, Eliza felt strong. She felt helpless and yet far from powerless. The fresh memories of the nearly org*smic experience of drinking in her first kill brought vivid sensations to her lips and tongue. As she moved, flashes of memories she knew were not her own interrupted her concentration. She saw Heather’s body on the morgue table. Her friends beautiful skin made pale by death and the cooler she was kept in. She saw her cold lifeless body lying modestly concealed by a white towel. She also felt the memories. With every tear, swollen throat and ache of the heart George was with her.

The sun, while still far too bright, was bearable. She trucked down the city streets until she found herself in midtown. Eliza needed to see Tom. It wasn’t just because he was a vampire and now she was willing to admit she was as well. Eliza needed to see his comforting eyes. She needed to beg him to conceal her pain, if only for a few moments. She felt ashamed of her fear of feeling. Eliza knew of no other option however, as the world she knew only became more and more empty. An orphan, twice over, Eliza simply wanted to sleep. She wanted to close her eyes and die. Eliza, more than anything, wanted to die. She was ashamed that she had chosen to live. It seemed to her that Tom would understand such a sentiment.

It took Eliza less than an hour to traverse the 100 blocks to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The stone icon of architecture was one of the most popular places of worship. It could not be missed to any native New Yorker. When she crossed the threshold of the holy place, Eliza knew that she was truly beginning a new chapter in life, or death, whatever. Eliza could feel the tension in her body relax. Something about the thick stone walls muffling the sound from the chaotic streets brought a genuine comfort to her. Moving between rows of wooden pews, Eliza couldn’t help but feel out of place. She had never been religious. She saw the door along the far wall which led down into the Novum Sanguinem but she elected to sit in the pews for a while.

Eliza stared up at the wooden carving of Jesus of Nazareth, whom all which patronized the church believed was there savior. She stared helplessly at the icon of a deity in whom she had never believed. She considered praying. There were others in the church aisles that were praying. An old woman at the front of the church was lighting a candle. The woman’s face was wrinkled, by age or intense stress Eliza could not tell. Yet all the ceremony and architecture would not renew, or inspire any hope or faith in Eliza. She felt as cold and dead inside as the corpse she had just created. Memories of blood cooling as it spilled from George into her mouth jarred her.

The small old woman who had been lighting candles now waited beside the small wooden confession booth. Apparently there was someone else inside. After a few moments, someone left the wooden cubicle and the old woman entered. Eliza considered all the things the old woman could be confessing. The woman clearly believed enough to go to church on a day other than Sunday. The old woman clearly felt guilty enough to confess her sins on a weekday. For all things the woman probably felt bad or guilty about, she wasn’t likely confessing to murder. Eliza considered that while the woman was gone behind the wooden door. When the old woman emerged, her face seemed less solemn.

Once the woman had left, Eliza decided she would take her shot at confession. She didn’t believe there was anything or anyone who could absolve her of her guilt. A strange fear which budded inside her however, caused her to rise from her uneasy seat before the replica of a god and seek shelter before a holy man. She knocked on the wooden confessional door. Eliza had no clue the etiquette of faith. To her relief, a voice from inside the confessional said, “come in.”

Eliza sat down on the wooden bench. A thin wicker screen separated her from her confessor. She had seen enough movies to know how to begin. “Forgive me father for I have sinned.”

The man from the other side of the wicker mesh said “As do we all.”

Eliza felt a bit uncomfortable. She wasn’t really sure where to begin. She began to speak her thoughts aloud in the hopes that some of her jumbled ideas would translate into forgivable confessions. “I don’t even know where to begin. I am a sinner because,” Eliza hesitated. “I am a killer.” No response came from the other side. “I am a sinner because I’ve never gone to church. I am a sinner because I failed as a daughter and as a friend.” A ball of tension and sadness swelled in her throat. “I am a sinner,” she said through stuttered words, “because I let my best friend die.” She could not front composure any longer. Eliza broke down in the confined wooden space. “Don’t forgive me,” she pleaded, “please just – just…” Eliza had no words for what she wanted. Eliza had no more words for confession. She flailed her arms. Eliza beat her fists wildly against the wooden booth. Her punches made short work of the thin wood. “Bring them back. Kill me. Fu*king just kill me,” she pleaded. She struck out at the air screaming swears to the image of God carved into the stone around her before burying her face in her hands.

There was a rustling and a soft thud. There was a knocked at the confessional door. Face still buried in her hands, Eliza wordlessly refused to open it. “Eliza,” a familiar voice said. “Eliza.” It was Tom. Eliza opened the door to reveal his soulful eyes beneath a tangled mat of dark hair. He was wearing a priest’s collar. A small bandage was stretched over the bridge of his crooked nose. Tom turned his hands over to expose his palms to the ceiling. He was reaching out for her hands. Eliza took his coarse hands and squeezed them tightly. Still sobbing, Eliza leaned in and initiated a firm hug. He held her for a long time. Eliza’s sobs echoed loudly in the stone sanctuary. Tom didn’t move save to give Eliza the occasional squeeze to comfort her out of control crying. Eventually Tom said, “Come with me Eliza. Your days have been full of death. It is time for me to show you your new life.”