As she looked, she could have sworn she saw movement at the far end of the room.

The pounding grew more intense, and the door began to shake. Caitlin burst into action, running down the aisle, towards the altar. As she reached it, she saw she had been right: there was someone there.

Kneeling quietly, with his back to her, was a priest.

Caitlin wondered how he could ignore all this, ignore her presence, how he could be so deeply immersed in prayer in a time like this. She hoped he wouldn’t turn her over to her mob.

“Hello?” Caitlin said.

He didn’t turn.

Caitlin hurried over to the other side, facing him. He was an older man, with white hair, clean shaven, and light blue eyes that seem to stare into space as he knelt in prayer. He didn’t bother looking up at her. There was something else, too, that she sensed about him. Even in her current state, she could tell that there was something different about him. She knew that he was of her kind.

A vampire.

The pounding grew louder, and one of the hinges broke, and Caitlin looked back in fear. This mob seemed determined, and she didn’t know where else to go.

“Help me, please!” Caitlin urged.

He continued his prayer for several moments. Finally, without looking at her, he said: “How can they kill what’s already dead?”

There was a splintering of wood.

“Please,” she urged. “Don’t turn me over to them.”

He rose slowly, quiet and composed, and pointed to the altar. “In there,” he said. “Behind the curtain. There’s a trap door. Go!”

She followed his finger, but saw only a large podium, covered in a satin cloth. She ran over to it, pulled back the cloth, and saw the trap door. She opened it, and squeezed her body into the small space.