AN: Um...typically, a good priest doesn't do whatever I wrote here.

Chapter 6: Father Gideon

Father Gideon was a stout man in his mid-forties, with gray eyes and graying hair. He was a muscular man, with enough strength to lift a side of a Volvo off the ground. This was not something new as he had been a soldier before he turned forty. He was in stellar shape, often seen jogging in the morning and afternoon in one of the nicer neighborhoods.

He had been a priest at Bucharest Catholic for the past five years or so. After a small participation in a minor war that killed a few hundred, he decided that a change in career was in order. He had been a fervent believer since his teenage years, and always felt that his time would be better spent spreading God's word. So he traded in his general issue gear and weapons for a clerical collar and bible.

Today was another typical Friday spent in the confession box. There were about five other priests with Bishop Mark who presided over their district. It was a day of listening to both men and women confess to adultery, as if confession allowed them to sin again. However, today, a particular child had come.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," began Juste. He eyes were downcast, still in his school uniforms. "It has been two weeks since my last confession."

Gideon was familiar with Juste as he came to church often, more so when he was younger. He remembered hearing that Juste moved to Bucharest only a year before himself. Gideon immediately became friends with this boy, finding him sincere and honest. The other priests, though, refused to even come near him. Bishop Mark, the man at Juste's Confirmation, had to take a month of leave after the ceremony then avoided Juste like the plague.

"Our Holy Father is most forgiving," said Gideon, repeating the words he usually used with others.

"I have wrongly frightened Miss Belnades," said Juste, looking rather sullen. "Sometimes, I feel as if I'm not myself."

"You say that often."

"I know," admitted Juste. "I pray that God's love will protect me from the trials ahead, that his right hand will hold me fast."

"God's love is unfailing, never doubt that."

"I..." Juste paused, his hand clutching the edges of the confession bench most tightly. "Mister Gideon, you're the only one who will understand."

That had somewhat surprised the priest. It was well known between the two of them that Juste only confessed to Gideon, but it was never openly admitted by either of them.

"I know that my father is going to call Bishop Mark about my...condition," he said. "They will arrange a meeting together and...can you be there to vouch for me?"

"Now Juste, you don't have a condition."

"I do have a condition," said Juste adamantly. "I see things. I do things that others can't. What if they try exorcism?" He shuddered involuntarily. He had watched "The Exorcist" enough times to be worried. He did not want to end up like the poor girl who started to spit bile, turning her head in a circle. That looked all too painful.

"Juste, they won't try exorcism," reassured Gideon. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"Can you still be there? At least talk to my father before he sees Bishop Mark."

Gideon thought for a moment. Juste had always been the most sensible child. He played soccer, made good grades in school, and was probably one of the few children who even bothered to memorize scripture. Everyone who truly knew him had a lot of hope for him.

"Please? As my friend?"

"Alright Juste, but only this once."

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Mauricio was excited to see the legendary Julius Belmont. He had met him before, but always at a distance where his trainers and instructors would off-handedly point the man out. Even from far away, Mauricio could feel the overpowering aura of the vampire hunter. Julius was fearless, and had many friends in high places. Julius was the man Mauricio had aspired to be since the Oracles, prophets and auguries had pointed to him as the rightful heir to their holy task.

So despite the advice of his mentors, Mauricio hopped on a plane from Madrid to Bucharest. He did not have their phone-number but he did have an address. Besides, he was related to Julius, distantly, but related nonetheless. He wondered what type of man Julius really was. Did he live in some underground secret base with thousands of gadgets to fight against the darkness? Even with Dracula's spirit dormant, there were still many otherworldly evils that infested this plane. For Julius to fight well past his prime, surely he had to be one of the most skilled.

"Well, this is the right place," muttered Mauricio when he pulled up to the house. "666 Saint Andrew Ave."

In the yard out front were two children playing with a basketball. One was a small girl who dribbled the ball with two hands. The other was a boy who was trying to show the little girl how to throw the ball into a basket. Lining the large oak trees and driveways were low-growing wild lilacs and forget-me-nots. The scene sizzled slightly, suggestion a sophisticated type of holograph.

Mauricio nodded approvingly. The scene was perfectly domestic, a flawless disguise for the European Base against Evil.

"Why are you staring at my house?"

Mauricio almost jumped through the ceiling of his rental car. He turned to see a gangly albino teenager wearing full winter school uniform, standing not far from the back of his car.

"Oh, excuse me," recovered Mauricio quickly. He did a quick assessment of the teenager. He seemed perfectly harmless, another child pressured into studying all day and night. "How long have you been there?"

"Since you drove up."

"Jus!!!" cried the two who were in the driveway.

Mauricio's eyes went wide as the two children, not holograms, ran up to the teenager. Did he really come to Julius's house?

"Where did you go? We didn't see you after school," said Zach. "Sister Helen walked us home and we had to pass by that zombie lady's house. We were scared."

"Sorry. I needed reconciliation," said Juste.

The two younger children both muttered, "Oh" as if that explained it all.

"Well, excuse me," interrupted Mauricio, feeling a bit out of place. "But I'm looking for a Julius Belmont. I was told that this is his house."

Juste gazed at him for a moment. "You must be Mauricio. Our father has spoken about you."

Mauricio swallowed. So his own identity was no secret? Worse. Big bad Vampire Hunter, a loving parental figure? How come no one ever bother telling him important information like this. "Father?"

"Yes. Julius Belmont is our father. This is Erin and Zach. I'm Juste. Would you like to come in?"

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After some more introductions, Mauricio was led into the house. He sat on the black leather couch, staring at the silk imitation geraniums placed in a chrome vase in the corner. A yellow pot of lilacs fresh from the garden sat in the middle of a glass coffee table. The house was modern, with automatic blinds, a plasma flat-screen TV that took up the entire wall, and self-activated vacuum cleaner. Soft blue velvet cushions were at each available seat as well as cuddly white warming blankets.

So much for a bastian against the Darkness.

After he entered the house, the two younger children went upstairs for homework, leaving the eldest child to attend to guest.

"Would you like some dessert cookies and tea?" asked Juste, hefting a silver tray of delectables. "Cream and sugar?"

Mauricio nodded.

Moving like one of the busboys at a ritzy restaurant, Juste placed a cup of tea along with tiny pots of cream and sugar. "Here you go."

Mauricio silently sipped his tea. He was apprehensive for a while, dark eyes darting to Juste the entire time, looking for any sign of mischief. He felt even more suspicious as Juste drank his tea without comment. It was hard to believe that they were somehow related. Mauricio was tanned, with curly black hair and chocolate eyesa stark contrast to Juste, who was as white as a sheet with light brown eyes.

"So boy," began Mauricio. "Where are your parents?"

"Mum is at work. Pops is probably trying to get Bishop Mark to talk."

"Bishop Mark?"

"He's the bishop for the Bucharest diocese."

"Churchgoers, huh?" Faith seemed to play a role in their profession, although Mauricio never knew how much. One thing he knew for certain was that prayer truly calmed the nerves before attempting any ordeal. With that in mind, Mauricio changed the topic. "You don't look much like your siblings, or your father," he commented bluntly.

Juste shrugged. "They tell me that albinoism crops up in the family every once in a while. Aunt Gizelle said that I am one of those "once in a whiles.""

"And not something else?"

Juste tilted his head. "What are you trying to get at?"

Mauricio scrutinized Juste's face for a good while. The child looked rather deceptive when still in the gangly years of growth. But Mauricio had studied the history of vampire hunting enough to realize whom this boy was named for. "Do you know in the 18th century, there was a Juste Belmont?"

The boy nodded.

That was some big surprise. Not. "Well, if you ever get a chance to see your ancestral collections, you happen to look a lot alike the original Juste."

"Figures," said the present Juste, rolling his eyes. "Why can't they name me John or Michael? At least that would show some creativity."

At that response, Mauricio laughed. He liked the humor of this distant relative. But his laughter was short-lived as he noticed how Juste was sitting very still.

"Hey, What's..."

"Don't...move," said Juste, his lips barely moving. His eyes were focused on something past Mauricio. "Be strong and of a good courage," Juste muttered like a prayer, though he was visibly shaking. "be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest."

Mauricio raised an eyebrow. "What the hell..."

"DUCK!"

A knife flew from behind, whizzing past Mauricio's cheek, drawing blood. It flew toward Juste and his hand moved just in time to prevent a knife into his heart.

Mauricio turned just in time to see the transparent figure of a half torn child. It wore a blood-stained funeral smock, its eyeless face mutilated beyond recognition. Its emaciated body was full of healed burn scars, like a skeleton lathered in mud. Mauricio jumped up, pulled out the practice whip his parents had given him, and expertly swung the whip in the child's direction.

The child laughed as the whip went through its form, tearing away bits of flesh, into the bones. Before Mauricio could utter a word though, the child disappeared, leaving only its crimson footprints and echoes of laughter.

Juste was still shaking but he steadied his hand before long. He gently placed the knife down on the coffee table. It was a stainless steel knife, serrated for chopping vegetables. "Well, that hasn't happened in a while," he said, taking a deep breath and swallowing.

"What in the name of Jesus Christ is that!?" demanded Mauricio. He had met with zombies, reanimated cadavers, skeletons, but never a ghost child.

"This house is haunted," explained Juste evenly while whispering well-known verse in between. "Normally they don't come downstairs when adults are around. I guess today is just the exception." Juste rubbed his temples, as if suddenly feeling a bad headache. "You should leave now."

"Who…no what are you really?" Mauricio held up his weapon. He was glad that he brought along a cross and a rosario.

"Those things don't work here," came another voice from the stairs. It was Zach, the younger brother, holding his younger sister Erin tight. "We've tried." Erin, he noticed, had her eyes shut tight. Behind him, crouching upside down on the walls like spiders were two children. One was faceless, the other so adorable that it was frightening.

"GO!" said Juste. "Before they lock the doors."

Mauricio had half a mind to reject, but he decided at the last minute to get out while he could. He ran to the door, only to hear the dead-bolt turn on its own.

One of the children, the adorable one, was behind him now. It looked at him with sightless eyes, blood flowing down its cheeks. Then it smiled, revealing how its mouth was cut from ear to ear. In one hand was a poker, a dull-looking thing from the fire place. It opened its mouth.

"Would you like a smile like mine too? Hehe?"

Mauricio could not escape until two hours later.

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Yvette drove home in her economical little hybrid corvette. The cool evening wind felt good in her hair. Next to her, on the passenger seat, was take-home Chinese dinner. She frowned upon the new tire-streak marks on the road in front of her drive way. Must be the neighbor's teenage son trying to learn how to drive, emphasis on the word "trying." Too bad they did not have her son; he could do almost anything perfectly the first time around.

"Kids, I'm home," called out Yvette as she entered the house and removed her three-inch heels. Today was another long and good day at work, but her toes were rather painful from the amount of standing she had to endure.

"Mommy is home!" screamed Erin from upstairs. She thundered down, and gave her mother a tight hug.

Yvett kissed her daughter's cheek. "Hey sweetie. How was school?"

"It was good. We drew pictures but Sister Helen didn't like my pictures. Oh! Sister Helen also taught us how to make baskets!"

Yvette frowned upon that. She didn't send her children to private school to learn basket weaving. "I see."

Erin kept on talking about the things that happened at school while Yvette carried the take-out Chinese to the table. She raised an eyebrow as she saw Zach and Juste on their knees with rags in the kitchen; they were mopping up something red with skin-colored flakes.

"What happened here?" Yvette asked.

"I spilled a can of tomato soup," explained Juste blandly as he stood up. His face was flushed a deep-red as if he was sunburned. And he had trouble keeping his eyes open. "I wasn't feeling well and we were out of chicken noodle soup."

"Oh dear," sighed Yvette. She stepped over the spill and placed a hand on Juste's forehead. "Baby! You're burning up!"

Juste gave his mother a rueful smile. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Well, go take some medicine and have a bit of dinner, then go to bed. I'll fix up some REAL chicken noodle soup. You too Zach, Erin."

At her orders, the children dispersed around the take-out Chinese food. They did not necessarily like Chinese food, but it was almost nine at night and they were not prone to complaining.

Yvette picked up the rags and proceeded to wipe up the mess. This was some truly thick tomato soup. And she came to a really odd flat piece of noodle and had to look at it for a long time. It was a noodle with curly nappy hairs though it. Yvette imagined some factory worker's arm-pit hair falling into the big vat of preserved soup. The grossness of it made her want to hurl.

"Grrr. Stupid American brand processed food. I will never buy Campbell soup again!"

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AN: You know how you're supposed to stock up on canned food in case some natural disaster came roaring through your state, taking out the power for a week and ruining your beer stash? Well, I found something really weird in my canned food!