His car stopped in the middle of the street when he was a few blocks from home. Michael saw no apparent reason for it. The tank was full. He hadn't hit anything on the way... he was confused.
He found himself in front of the Catholic church in his small town, in the town square. It was late at night, no one was around and the silence was sinister. He found himself looking at the old building and wondering if the priest was in his quarters.
Then he suddenly felt cold. A cold that came from within. A moment ago the air had been cool but pleasant, and Michael felt no chill in the air. Nevertheless, he was cold.
He turned around. Someone was staring at him. A man. Hidden in the shade of the trees.
Michael was immediately alert. He could go into the car and lock the doors or run away, but at the same time he didn't want to look like a coward. What if the man was someone he knew?
His head was full of scenarios.
"Hello..." the man said calmly. "What are you doing out in the middle of the street so late at night?"
"My car's broken down." Michael regretted telling the truth. He should have come up with a lie.
"Oh. That's bad."
"Do I know you? You're in the dark, so I can't really tell."
"I'm just passing through. I don't live here. I thought this was a very nice church. Are you Catholic?"
"Through and through."
"How old are you?"
"32."
"Hmm. Anyway... can I come closer?"
Deep down, Michael knew that the whole interaction was strange, almost unreal, as if he were walking in a dream and being guided by this stranger with the gruff voice.
"Sure," Michael said. "You can come closer."
When he did, Michael was shocked by him.
He was angelic. Tall, long blond hair, white clothes covering an obviously muscular body. He had a hooked nose, which seemed to be the only feature that screamed masculinity in his round face.
He smelled of roses and fire.
He came, towering over Michael, touching his face and lifting it so that they stared at each other. The touch was gentle, intimate.
Michael became inexplicably aroused.
"I can't stay long, Catholic boy. This town is guarded by a legend, so I will escape, but first I will turn you. Your life will be different from now on."
Their lips touched gently. Everything went dark.
--
He felt a pain at the back of his head. He realized he was being carried. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the tall blond stranger. But it wasn't him. The priest was carrying him. Father Randall.
"Father?" he said.
"Yes, Michael. I'll take you inside. You were lying on the floor next to your car."
"Did you see anyone else?"
"No. Just you."
The priest was very strong. He walked up the many steps to the church. Michael felt weightless in his arms.
He carried Michael to his quarters and then laid him on a bed and covered him with two layers.
Michael felt like a child, even though he was a 32-year-old man. But he didn't complain.
"My head hurts," he said sleepily.
"I'll get you an aspirin." The priest left the room. He wasn't wearing his robe, Michael realized. He looked like a normal man, the same age as him. He came back with the aspirin and a cup of water, which he put in Michael's mouth.
"Thanks, Father."
"You should go to sleep now."
He slept.
When he woke up, he was confused. He was in a small sunlit room. He was in the priest's quarters, probably in a guest room. Slowly, he began to remember the events of the previous night.
He was startled by the priest's sudden entrance into the room. This time he was wearing his robe, a long black one.
"I'm sorry," said the priest, Father Randall. But he entered the room with confidence and determination. "How do you feel?"
Michael was fine, although his head still hurt, but much less than yesterday. He knew Father Randall was curious about what had happened the day before, but he didn't know where to start.
"You asked me yesterday if I'd seen anyone else besides you. Who were you referring to?" His voice was demanding. He wouldn't take no for an answer.
"To be honest, I'm still trying to understand what happened yesterday."
He hesitated, because the longer he thought about it, the stranger last night seemed to him. The man, the figure, was a blur in his mind, but one thing was clear, Michael had been aroused by him, aroused to be touched and kissed. That was hardly something you wanted to admit to your priest.
"Michael," Father Randall said. He looked serious. He had very dark eyes, almost black. "Something is different about you. Something has changed. I have my suspicions, but you have to tell me." Again his voice demanded an answer, and Michael nodded.
He told him everything. The car breakdown, the man in the shadows, the angelic apparition, the touch on his chin... his words.
"He said he couldn't stay because the city was protected by a legend. But he would turn me. Then I fainted. He was crazy, I think. Maybe he hit me afterwards and I don't remember. That would explain why my head hurts so much."
"No, he didn't hit you." The priest bowed his head.
He sighed, and Michael could see that he was worried. The profile of his face gave the impression of a hardened soul filled with worry.
"What's wrong?" Michael asked, intrigued.
"I'm sorry this happened to you, Michael. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you. But your life has changed forever."
"Huh?"
"Your reaction is understandable. But you'll soon realise it. It's my duty to show you."
The priest stood up and began to remove his robe.
Up to this point, Michael had been slightly perturbed by his tone, and he was mesmerized by a small, pulsating attraction to the serious demeanor, the confidence of experience, and the paternal protective figure before him.
But now he was faced with a half-naked Catholic priest who seemed to have a very active routine to keep his body strong and healthy.
