It came to him one night during his prayers. A message, beckoning him to come before it was too late. He shouldn’t. There was no telling what eyes might be watching and waiting, and he could hear Mary’s warnings of the strict rules of the Night echo through his mind. But if what he saw was as he perceived it, then the latter wouldn’t be a problem for long. As for the former problem, he’d just be careful. Quiet. In and out without a trace. Perhaps it wouldn’t be easy but it was a risk he was wiling to take. He felt he owed the man that much at least.
It took Damien the better part of the night to gather his things and drive back to his home town, deciding it best to find a cheap motel room he could blackout in which to rest for the day before the difficult task of the night after. It didn’t take him long to find the place. And just like the dream had told him, he proceeded as stealthily and cautiously as he could to house number 6. The name on the mailbox read F. A. Thomas.
He went to knock on the door only to notice it was unlocked. Damien immediately grew concerned, worried that someone - or something - might have beaten him there. But not even his Auspex could detect any threat in the dark house, the only trace of life a dim beam of light from down the corridor. He followed it to find the source was a bedside lamp, and lying in the bed next to it asleep was his old mentor. Though he had aged since he’d last seen him before that fateful night, there was little change in his features, except perhaps a heavy sense of loss. A twang of guilt curdled in the younger priest’s stomach knowing he had brought him such pain. Without much thought, he gently removed the book resting on the man’s chest and tucked him in, about to turn the light off and leave when a hand tugged at his sleeve,
“Damien?”
If he had still used his lungs for air, his breath would have hitched upon hearing that gentle voice after so long. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and felt the same sensation of safety he’d always felt when Father Thomas smiled at him like that.
“God bless, it is you. You look just as you did 30 odd years ago.”
Of course he did; it was the curse of what he’d become. What his foolish mistakes had allowed him to become: a creature of the damned who abandoned his loved ones in a fit of selfish fear and shame. The guilt in his stomach surged.
“Father Thomas-”
“Please, my dear friend, there is no need for such tedious formalities. I am far too old for such nonsense.”
“...Frederick. I... I’m so sorry. For everything. I failed you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I screwed up. I’m so, so...”
He felt the first tear drip on to his cheek and quickly wiped it away with a sleeve to avoid it staining the bedsheets. He couldn’t even apologise without being a monster.
Father Thomas sighed and placed a reassuring hand on the other man’s knee. “Oh, child. You did not fail me. What happened was unfortunate but not at all your fault. You saved many lives by ridding this earth of that terrible creature, and that’s what matters.”
“And yet, my soul is damned for eternity, with no way to repent.”
“Not at all,” he chuckled, much to Damien’s confusion. “You were always so harsh on yourself even in life, but if you remember my teachings you would know you are wrong.”
When Damien offered nothing but remorseful puzzlement, Father Thomas continued.
“People fear the supernatural because they do not understand it. But just because we do not understand it doesn’t mean we should rid ourselves of it. One thing we do know about the supernatural is that much of it is based off humanity, and much like humans, each individual is made up of their own choices. It is you who decides whether you are a monster or a person.”
His hand left the younger man’s knee and instead took his hand, gently squeezing it. “God has given you a second chance to help people in ways no mortal ever could. It may come with its own struggles but it is just another of His tests. Be kind to yourself. I trust you will make the right choices.”
Damien began to cry, this time not out of guilt or shame, but out of hope. A strong, solid hope he hadn’t felt since... well, since before he’d died. He finally started to believe that perhaps his soul was not lost after all.
“Thank you, Father.”
Father Thomas didn’t bother to correct him, just continued to hold his hand in comforting silence as the younger man let it all out.
When he finally regained his composure, Damien left to wash his face and grab a cloth to wipe up any stray drops of blood that might have dripped on to the floor. As he cleaned up the mess, Father Thomas spoke.
“Oh, how long I hoped to see you once more. Every night I prayed: ‘Please Lord, let him walk through those doors. Let me see that he is okay.’ Though you never came I did not lose faith. The child you saved, Lisa - she told me what you had accomplished that night. She told me of the dreadful monster that tried to kill you and of a strange woman who healed you and took you away. I knew you would come back when you were ready. And now here you are, and I am ever grateful. But I’m afraid I have one last task to ask of you.”
Blood all gone, Damien stood up, immediately concerned. “What is it?”
“I’m an old man, Damien. I do not have much time left if any at all. I am simply counting down the days now till I finally slip away. I know it’s a lot to ask, and I understand if you feel uncomfortable doing so, but there is nothing else I would like more than for you to be the one who performs my last rites.”
Though it was hard for him to hear it, Damien was well aware of the inevitable. Perhaps part of him had hoped that if neither of them mentioned it than it wouldn’t happen. But it didn’t work like that.
“Of course, Frederick. It would be an honour.”
The next night, Damien visited the church they had once officiated together and walked up to the small memorial he knew would be there. Just as he’d been told in the dream, a small piece of text informed him that Father Thomas had passed peacefully in his sleep. He wondered if perhaps he’d been holding on, waiting till he could say goodbye to his old friend, or if the timing had been coincidental. Suppose no one would truly know except Father Thomas himself.
Maybe Damien could ask him when he finally met his end, and his soul ascended to heaven.
