St. Paul’s Cathedral, St. Paul, Minnesota. Yesterday.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been one month since my last confession and I accuse myself of the following sins. I have taken the Lord’s name in vain numerous times.

I’ve been drinking again, more than I should. Several times a week. Sometimes at work…”

The corner of University and 2nd, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Three nights ago.

The truck slid to a semi-controlled stop against the curb. One of the three women huddled in a nearby doorway gingerly stepped over the snow piled high against the sidewalk to approach the passenger’s side. Her breath was thick and visible. Her clothing not so much.

The other two could not make out the driver beyond that he was male and of an average size. The street-lamps in this part of town weren’t good and his dome light never came on when she opened the door and climbed in. The truck drove off slowly, crunching snow as it drove two blocks before turning out of sight.

“God hears your confession and he will forgive you your past sins. But addiction is a cycle and if you don’t begin to take steps to break it, contrition alone will not be enough. You need to take action against you sin. Can you do that?”

The truck turned the corner and pulled into a narrow space between two brick buildings. He killed the engine and what little heat was leaking from the vents. He stared forward, hands gripping the wheel. He had said nothing since she got in.

She was not afraid. He looked nervous. He was kind of cute for a black guy- just need to shave those huge sideburns; cleaner clothes, a little better hygiene and he could be downright handsome. She waited a few awkward beats before suggesting they complete the transaction. She still had a long night ahead.

“You can control your sin and addiction. You just have chosen not to do. That has what has kept you in this state and that is why you and I have this conversation every month or so.”

“Yes Father I know. I will try.”

The truck rocked as he lunged across the bench seat. He was fast but she knew enough to keep her muscles tensed and ready. Her left hand shot out, missing his eyes but clawing deeply at his forehead. Her right hand went for the door, knuckles scraping against where the handle was not. She glanced down in a panic- just bare metal and empty screw holes. It was enough for him to press the advantage, throwing his weight upon her, pushing her down in the seat. She tried to scream, but a calloused hand clamped down over her mouth as he started biting.

“Sigh- alright let us pray.
O my God, I am heartily sorry
for having offended Thee,
and I detest all my sins,
because I dread the loss of Heaven
and the pains of Hell,
but most of all because they offend Thee, my God,
who are all-good and deserving of all my love.
I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace
to confess my sins,
to do penance and to amend my life. Amen”

The truck continued between the buildings, turned a quick right and onto the plowed freeway ramp. He had tried to wedge her body down below the windows and dashboard, but she was a bigger girl and the best he could do was throw a blanket over the visible hump. He kept it at two miles under the limit, a reasonable speed for the icy roads. The blanket was dark, so the blood soaking through did not show in the dim light. His jaw was sore and his stomach was nauseous from the bloating, but he barely noticed; the waves of warm euphoria snaked their way through every muscle in his body. He would sleep satisfied and deeply tonight.

A soft, tortured gurgle slipped from under the blanket. That would have to be taken care of before bed.

“Amen. Thank you Father.”

*****

Unit 6, Hennepin Ave, SE Minneapolis. Today

It’s been like this since I was thirteen. I eat. I work. I sleep. I piss and shit, get tired, and catch colds. I worry about money. I’m lonely. I wish I had someone to spend my nights with. I’m horny as hell, but I have trouble with women. I’m not good looking enough to compensate for being broke, unsuccessful or interesting. I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried. I don’t even really have friends. I move too much, and I never seem to have anything in common with the people I meet.

But still, I’m as normal as you and everyone else you see every day. Except for these urges…

And the fangs.

I’ve tried everything I can think of to keep them at bay. Drugs, sex, meditation, skydiving. They always come back, just as strong, just as demanding. I like to think of myself as strong-willed, but in the end I can only fight for so long. It wears you down. At first it can be managed- just a matter of stringing together minutes of control. Those minutes stretch into hours, the hours into days. After a few of those, it starts to seem like maybe it’s finally been beaten. But it’s always there, and it’s draining to have to spend every moment focused to holding on. Eventually my grip slips. Gravity is inevitable and unrelenting.

Alcohol does work somewhat. On it’s own or with a little blood mixed in. Helps me to stay relaxed and calm. Not a substitute for blood, just a placeholder, a delay. But that means I’m drunk almost every day. Otherwise the urges get away from me. And then the really bad things happen.

I never chose to be like this. No sane person would. The fear, the isolation, never knowing when someone might discover. Everyday I am on edge, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, thinking and rethinking about each lie and all the possible angles that could cause everything unravel. I do sweat more than most people- I think from the stress. I don’t usually sleep well either. I’m always tired.

If there are more like me out there I haven’t found them. They certainly aren’t online. Nothing there but sad teenagers and deviants. There isn’t even any useful information to help explain this. Encylcowiki.com has nothing but myth, fairy-tells and anonymous “experts” who say I’m suffering from porphyria or oral sadism.

I may very well be the only one. This cross is mine alone to bear. But God has a purpose for me. As hard as it was to understand, I eventually realized that this was not a curse but a blessing.

I am as The Lord made me and I’m doing my best to follow his plan.

There is great evil in the world, on both a large and small scale. I am not in a place to do much about genocide or biological warfare or the moral decay of this country. But on a local level, I can enforce the law of God. There is immorality in just about every crevice of any street in pick your city.

I see it. I see it because God wants me to see it. This condition forces me to see it. As a practical manner, if you are enforcing God’s will by killing the wicked, you need to seek out the dregs, the ones who won’t be missed. A banker, who robs billions in a ponzi scheme, cannot disappear unnoticed. A pimp, selling 14 year olds out of the back of a gas station, nobody minds, mourns, or feels outrage. Police don’t ask questions, networks don’t create fancy graphic packages to announce the latest update coming in. They just vanish, slip quietly into the ether.

God has given me this condition so that I am compelled to seek them out and destroy them. To protect and punish the deserving in my own small way. These urges, they compel me, against my own will at times, to continue his work. It is difficult but I take strength from his will and comfort in his unceasing love. My path is hard but righteous. I am his instrument, his weapon with which to strike down the wicked and vile.

Take this fat fuck lying in front of me. He is not my usual diet of street rats. More upscale, suburban. Doesn’t even have poverty as an excuse for his sin.

I had over fished my pond. The slingers and whores were scattering. They knew vengeance was in their midst. I had to get creative, find new ways to attract the vermin. I got an idea from watching cable news.

Teen Chat (6) Private Room: MNDAWG69: u alone?
Ajhead2323: not rite now
MNDAWG69: u r very cute wha ti syour name?
MNDAWG69: I like your pic
Ajhead2323: Gavin
Ajhead2323: What urs?
MNDAWG69: Allen
Ajhead2323: R u good lookin?
MNDAWG69: no complaints
Ajhead2323: lol
MNDAWG69: I could send u sum pics but they are xxx and u r 2 young
Ajhead2323: o ok
MNDAWG69: have u ever been nakd with a boy?
Ajhead2323: no
MNDawg69: I would luv to c ur cock

I told him to meet in the parking lot of an abandoned gas station that night. At first I could not decide if it was funny or pathetic that he thought this was legitimate. When the van pulled in and he tumbled out, the pint of vodka I asked him to bring tucked into his sweat pants waistband, I settled on funny.

He told “Gavin” he was 29 and looked like Matt Damon.

Guess that made both of us liars.

Now moving a dead or unconscious body around in a two-door flat bed truck with expired tags to a burned out shack in the middle of a corn field at the edge of the exurbs is a lot more difficult than you think. And it’s even tougher to find quiet spots out there to do my work. And even when I find a place I can’t stay for long. Bodies pile up quickly. Someone eventually notices the lights on in the old Peterson place at 3 a.m. as they drive by.

The human body contains roughly 5 pints of blood. If I’m careful and have the proper time and equipment, I can harvest about three and a half to four liters for storage. I don’t get the chance often so I have to really be methodical when I do it. Over the years I’ve managed to cobble together a pretty efficient system of tubes, jugs and a small vacuum if needed, but nothing pushes the blood out faster than their own dying heart. Having the bastard alive and the heart pumping makes things easier. I let his muscles do the work. Allen here has about 2-3 minutes before he quits on me. Then I have to try and massage the rest out of his fat folds. When I’ve gotten every drop I can and sipped enough to take the edge off, I bury the body, load up the truck and head home for my 3 hours of sleep before beginning my crappy day loading boxes onto a brown delivery van.

My job pays shit, but between that and the money I get off perverts like this, it’s enough to keep me going.

Besides, I don’t need much and the gracious Lord provides.

*****

St. Paul’s Cathedral, St. Paul, Minnesota. Tomorrow

“… and when we see suffering in places like Darfur, we are confused. How can God love us so and yet allow this to pass? Job asks this very question, 7 vs. 1. ‘Do not human beings have a hard service on Earth and are not their days like the days of the laborer?’

But God has an answer for Job as well as for us. ‘Where were you when I laid the foundation of the Earth? Tell me if you have understanding.”

Marcy Playground, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Three nights later.

The falling snow was beginning to seep through his jeans. He looked at his watch again, third time in less than a minute. His eyes returned to the park. The lights from the city bouncing between the fresh snow and low clouds made it unnaturally bright for 1 in the morning, bright enough to read by.

‘Not good’ he thought. ‘Too visible.’ He checked the pipe concealed beneath his jacket for another unnecessary time.

‘Stupid, stupid’. He had let his target pick the time, the location, control the entire meeting last night in the chat room. Had he known the layout would be like this, he would have never agreed to this. But the urge was too great now. It would have to do.

“The Lord has a plan. He knows the score. We are small creatures on this planet for a fraction of time. We cannot begin to comprehend the vastness of the Lord’s plan for this world. We can only focus on ourselves and our commitment to Jesus Christ. So that me may find our small part of his greater plan. Do as God told Job “Will you ever put me in the wrong? Will you condemn me that you may be justified? Have you an arm like God and can you thunder with a voice like his? Deck yourself with majesty and dignity; clothe yourself with glory and splendor.”

He saw movement several yards away. A well-dressed man in an expensive overcoat weaved slowly through a grove of trees. His face was severe and polished. He looked around then casually pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He turned his back as he exhaled. He seemed not to notice or care that he was not alone in the park.

‘That can’t be Photog27414 can it? He’s too well dressed- Internet guys don’t look like that. But why would a guy like that be out here? At this time?’

He could feel the pounding in his temples and the rawness in his throat. It didn’t matter if that man had come looking for a 14 year old girl or not, he would have to do. He stood up from his position behind the tree and drew the pipe out of his jacket. He started to circle around, staying in the shadows as best he could.

“Pour out the overflowing of your anger and look on all who are proud and abase them. Look on all who are proud and bring them low. Tread down the wicked where they stand. Hide them all in the dust together; bind their faces in the world below.”

He was half a step away when the man turned, cigarette dangling loosely from the lower lip. The pipe came down on his forehead in a hard, practiced swing. The man crumpled and blood drops rained down on the snow around his head.

He looked around, peering between the trees to see if anyone had heard the crack. Satisfied they were undiscovered he turned back to the body.

The well-dressed man was standing erect, blood running down his face and smeared across a manic grin.

Silently the man lunged forward, a knife slipping from underneath the cuff of his jacket into his left hand. He felt a hot pain course through his side as the knife slid in between ribs. He staggered back, grabbing at his side, fumbling to keep his traction in the snow. His eyes so filled with tears he couldn’t see the man spin around and deliver a round house kick to his chest that knocked him stupid. He flew for several beats before his back crashed into a tree, sending him sprawling into the snow and mud. He tried to get up, but his arms refused to bear any weight. He got his head up enough to see the man advancing, the blood on his knife black in the light.

The man picked him up by the throat, effortlessly raising him high into the air with one hand. ‘This is how I die’ he thought. The man brought him in close, stabbing him in the gut, twisting the blade. There was almost no pain, just a numbness spreading throughout his body. He opened his eyes and saw that the man’s neck was exposed and within reach. Mustering what little effort was left, he grabbed at the jacket collar, pulled himself in closer and bit at the neck as hard as he could.

“Then I will acknowledge to you that your right hand can give you victory.” (Job 40:7-14)

They fell to the ground in a heap. Blood was gushing in his mouth as the man thrashed beneath him trying to disengage. It was over in a matter of moments, and the man stopped moving. He stood up on unsure legs, blood seeping through the wounds on his stomach and dripping off his face. The pain and fatigue were gone, replaced by the familiar rush. His could feel strength slowly returning to his limbs. He looked down trying to examine his wounds through the blood and torn fabric. The rush was still building steam, working it’s way through his head, sparking across his vision and bouncing around the back of his skull.

‘This is… something’s wrong’ he thought. He began to lose balance. The rush was overwhelming. He could feel nothing; the pain, the ankle deep snow, his own tongue. There was no more up or down, no sounds, no taste. All he could experience was the white-hot electricity assaulting what felt like every cell in his body. He fell back into the snow but did not notice. He lost all sense of time and space as the rush began to saturate even his thoughts.

‘What is…’ and then the world went white. He lie there a foot away from the well-dressed man, both of them crumpled in the mud, blood, and dirt as the snow continued to fall…