Author: James Whitmore

"...and to each of you, I say: Judge not what you see of God's plan, for there is infinitely more than that which meets your gaze, and He has nothing less than our Salvation in store for us, if we will only listen to His Call..."

-Misplaced quote, Book of Matthew, New Testament

James shook his head slowly, shifting on the hard oak chair, "No Cardinal, you do not understand. Your diocese has a very real threat to it here. Your own staff has two compromised..."

"Enough!", snapped Cardinal Ferlinza, "Whitmore, you were a very promising Seminary student, and your father and I both had hoped you would have joined the clergy or maybe become a missionary. Lord knows we need more of them. But instead you chose to pursue this rediculously insane idea of vampires, werewolves, and manifested demons lurking in the night. These are not the middle ages, James. The church does not need to use stories of goblins and ghosts to warn the world of Satan's evil."

"But you still stoop to selling indulgences, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your besainted patron, Arnold Nedderman. Donated almost a million dollars to your diocese? In last week's paper, didn't you call him a 'sainted example the rest of us could look up to'? The one that just got _arrested_ for incest??"

"Nonsense. We had no idea..."

"The hell you didn't! Everyone in Boston knew he and his daughter had a shameful relationship-you turned a blind eye because you wouldn't be getting a million dollars otherwise!"

The Cardinal stiffened. /So much for subtlety, Whitmore/, he thought to himself. James shook his head, "Thank you for the tea, Cardinal, but I think I have overstayed my welcome." With that, he turned and slipped out the open front door.

James allowed himself a moment of frustrated fury, casting his gaze to the sky as he stepped outside the cathedral, /Why? How could one so tainted have risen so far?/ he sighed and headed out to the street. A cup of coffee would be good to help him decide what to do. He reached the corner and waited for the light, glancing across the intersection to the familiar coffee house, before a twinge of something caught his attention. Something was very wrong...and about to get worse.

James blinked in surprise, but looked around sharply. It was two in the afternoon, and noone within sight was smoking or spouting flame, so that meant something a little bit less blatant. Cars waiting for the light on the left, nothing there. An older lady being helped across the street by what must be her granddaughter on his right, again nothing there. So what...?

Before he could even finish his own question, the danger became apparent. From the far end of the intersection, through the red light, came careening a small blue sportscar. Probably only doing 30-40mph, >from a standstill it appeared to be giving the USS Enterprise a run for its money.

And it was making that run straight at the old lady and the little girl.

James only thought for a second to consider the fact that the women were not moving fast enough to make it before leaping out into the crosswalk. Too big to grab both of them, there really was only one way to handle this...

Whether it was the adrenalin forcing his mind to think faster, or perhaps the grace of someone upstairs, the chain of events seemed to slow down an incredible amount. The thudding of his heavy footsteps across the asphalt boomed hollowly in his ears, adding to the shrill scream of a woman on the corner, apparently only a second or two behind James in realizing what was about to happen. He lowered his shoulders in a charge that would have made a football player proud and thought to himself, /Sorry ladies, but this is going to hurt a little.../, then shoved both women the last remaining five feet to the curb as hard as he could. There was just enough time for James to look at the onrushing car and strangely smile at the one detail he caught before the car hit him--The numbers on the license plate read, '666'.

Only a blindingly sharp pain, the squeal of tires, and a loud crack reached his ears before his mind succumbed to the blackness.

The dulled light of the sun blinded him for a moment as he struggled to consciousness. It felt like every single muscle and joint in his body throbbed with dull pain, and it was all being focused on his brain at once. He uttered a moan of pain and tried to sit up, to be sharply reminded by his nerves that he should lay back down and behave. A lady a few feet away gasped and started crying, and the paramedic looming over him tapped his cheek carefully, "Sir? Mr. Whitmore? Can you hear me?" There was an incredulous tone to the young man's voice that implied he didn't think there was going to be an answer.

James' barely muttered "Uh huh..." was enough to send the young EMT into action. There was a burst of yelling, then the sounds of the ambulance backing up. James realized with a rather alarming start that body bag that had been slipped over his feet was being removed, then felt himself loaded onto a stretcher and rolled inside the back of the ambulance. He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him as the vehicle sped off, the siren a distant echo in his ears.

He finally came to what felt like hours later and took a moment to check his surroundings. A hospital room, just the one bed...and he wasn't alone. Two chairs had been moved over by the door, both now occupied by two men he immediately recognized. He slowly propped himself up to a sitting position, "Stephens? Darwin? What are you doing here?"

Both men perked up and looked over, before getting out of their chairs and heading over to James' bed. The taller of the two, Stephens, was the first to speak, "Whitmore! Christ Almighty, we thought we had lost you this time...I keep telling you you aren't Superman."

James managed a small smile, "I know, I know...still haven't stopped the speeding locomotive-just a Miata. Why are you both here? Sign my cast?"

Darwin shook his head and spoke up, "No, you basket case...watching the door. You've been out for two days now, and we all know how popular you are with the night life. Would be a perfect time to take you out. As for your cast, looks like you have something to add to your prayers this Sunday--you didn't break anything."

James thought for a moment, "I didn't? I don't feel anything now, but I just assumed it was the painkillers..."

"You aren't on any", cut in Stephens, "The doctor is having a small fit outside, saying something about a miracle. I think its getting written off to the Kevlar coat you were wearing, or there'd be the Pope waiting outside. James, look, hunting the Undead is one thing, halleluiah and hip hip for that, but this...this is suicidal. The car was doing a clean 30..."

"...40...", added Darwin, "You should see the dent you left--looks like it hit a pole."

"Okay, 40", conceded Stephens, "And you dove right in front of it! James, we need you alive! The information in your journals is keeping Inquisitors alive--we might even be able to make real progress for once, and you're here throwing your life away..."

James frowned and shook his head, "No, I'm not. I was there for a reason, and that was to save those two lives--that's why I'm still here instead of so much goo on the street. He wants me to keep working. I only wish I knew why he allowed people like Ferlinza keep working."

Darwin shifted, "Well...actually he isn't. Ferlinza had a change of heart after your accident. He retired. So maybe you did a little more good than you thought, hmm?"

James raised a brow, "Really? And to think people say He doesn't answer your questions...maybe you just have to scream them at Him the right way." He paused a moment to smile just a bit, "Alright...has the Order set up everything I asked for yet?"

Darwin nodded, "Your supplies are already being sent to a rectory in Manchester that is sympathetic, but the Deacon we use as a contact says you missed the show already. About two years ago there was a major fight in vampire society...apparently involving a large amount of your personal favorite--high density explosives. They're still working on repairing the sewer system and a couple bridges. Your plane tickets and car reservations are in your coat."

James nodded and leaned back, "Alright...well, I suppose Ill leave tomorrow...I have a feeling I'm going to need it for Manchester. McClintoch can only run so far..."