I have set foot in thousands of churches. It bothers most vampires, to stroll around God's house like a welcome guest. I've always reveled in it.
        I looked forward to Sundays more than anything, when I was a soulless demon. Even more than I looked forward to Darla dragging home some rich, pretty socialite and feasting like kings. She might have been rich and beautiful and one of the upper-echelons of society, but that wasn't what I craved. I found my pleasures at the church.
        I'd sit outside waiting for the start of the pre-dawn mass and just stare at those pious, untouched nuns clutching their crosses. I could smell the purity of their blood, the richness of it, coursing through their veins. It fed a hunger within me just to be near them. Sometimes I'd pick one off and play with her for a while, drain her of that sacred blood. Sometimes I'd just stare, but I always loved Sundays just the same.
        That's the closest I've been to God since I was reborn a minion of dark.
        Part of me, I think, was seeking redemption even then, craving forgiveness. I will never forget the feeling of scared blood running through me. It was almost like I, too, was one of God's creatures once again when I drained one of those frightened little nuns. In reality, it only served to damn me all the more. But that's not something that vampires worry about.
        Vampires are all about gratification, immediate gratification, and that's what they gave me. Not forgiveness for my sins, not welcoming arms into God's house, they gave me the illusion. When I was soulless, that was all I needed, all I wanted.
        Darla was my temptation back then, my snake leading me to my sins of pleasure. She still is, in some ways. She knows that I still crave it, to feel alive again, to feel like one of God's creatures rather than one of the devil's tools.
        She's right, though. God doesn't want me. She still does. My temptation, my devil, my damnation, she still craves me, haunts me. I'll have no part of it this time. She can't give me what I need anymore.
        My road is long and paved with pain and terror. I walk it alone to find my soul's salvation. I wouldn't share the journey even if I could, it's personal and it's agonizing and I'd never want anyone else to have to know this kind of suffering. But I want it. I want this pain, this punishment. Because, with it, maybe I'll suffer enough that He will see my soul deserves a second chance and wipe it clean of my sins. He's all about second chances after all, right?
        So I stand just outside the property of St. Mary's in downtown LA, unable or unwilling to set foot on pure land, just before the pre-dawn mass.
        And I wait.