"Okay, now you're going to tell me he was born in Transylvania and hunts vampires and werewolves?" Stiven said sarcastically.
"No, he was Brazilian, and barely five foot seven, but I've never seen anyone fight like him, or shoot as fast as he did. He wore a leather trench coat and drove a brand-new Chrysler Imperial. I'd kill to have a car like that."
"You said Brazil??" Adam was in disbelief.
"Yes, I said Brazil."
"Well, Volcis's idea was to use Gor against Vitron. According to him, these types of creatures travel in pairs, and I later found out the girl was Vitron's half-sister."
"Half-sister? Didn't you say she was a concubine?"
"I did, and that's the disgusting part. They had some kind of incestuous relationship. Vitron was meticulous, not an idiot like Will. He would come after us, but not in the way we expected. Everything went wrong. The trap Volcis set failed, and in the end, we had to kill Gor. Vitron was badly wounded, as was Volcis. He fled toward the mountains. We thought he wouldn't survive since it was nearly dawn. We searched for the body, found nothing but his blood-soaked clothes. Nothing else. I remember before fleeing, he said something I couldn't understand—it sounded like a Scandinavian language, I don't know—but Volcis said it was their language, the language of vampires, and that he had cursed us and sworn revenge. He said he'd come back and finish us all."
"The marks—the marks on the victims—they... Why didn't you ever tell us this? Jackson, I always trusted you. Why did you hide all of this?" Adam asked.
"Honestly? I don't know. I just thought the past should stay in the past. When I think about what happened back then, it all feels like a dream—a nightmare really—as if it happened in another dimension, not this one."
"Sheriff, what are these things? Didn't Volcis tell you?"
"He told me a lot. Said there were many of them in Brazil, but people there are very superstitious. They dealt with it quickly. I know that when bitten, people turn into zombies—zombies that kill to get blood. And when they receive the creature's blood directly, they become more aware beings, though still dependent on human blood. I don't know who turned Vitron, or his sister, but they seemed different from Chantal. Though the eyes—there's always something about their eyes—you can always tell they're not human."
"And what is it? A symbol or something?" Steven asked.
"No! They're just... different. It's like there's a void in them, something almost fascinating, but no other human has eyes like those. They're animalistic. Not human."
Adam wasn't paying attention to those details anymore. His mind was focused on the Penelope case. It didn't take a genius to know something was very wrong. And Jackson came clean:
"I know what you're thinking, and you're right. There's a huge possibility one of those creatures survived and took Penelope—maybe even Vitron himself. But that's impossible. He couldn't have survived. Regardless, Penelope isn't infected. Kowalski and I made sure of that."
"Oh, you and Kowalski? And when were you going to tell us this? What if she had attacked us?" Adam was getting angry.
"Abrax, trust me—if Penelope were one of them, she would've ripped out our throats a long time ago. And besides, didn't you see her walking in broad daylight? None of those creatures—not even Vitron—could do that."
The priest stood up and, in a sudden outburst, said:
"We'll burn Dahlia's body now! Then we need to talk more. There's something I must tell you. If there's even the slightest chance she could return from the dead—however it might happen—we must end that possibility."
So, Kowalski, Adam, Steven, the priest, and the sheriff went to the crematorium, where they burned Dahlia's rotting corpse.
Even under those conditions, the priest prayed over the body and placed a crucifix on it. He understood that Dahlia hadn't killed herself—she had sacrificed herself so she wouldn't become the monster everyone feared she would.
"I'll hold a mass for her. A short ceremony. If everything the sheriff said is true, I believe I have something to add."
"Unfortunately, it is true... I wish it weren't," Jackson said, his voice tired.
The fire consumed Dahlia's corpse quickly and completely. Jackson had forgotten—but Kowalski hadn't—just how badly those creatures reeked when burned. It was a stench so strong, it stuck in your nose for weeks.
"¹ Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, 'I find no pleasure in them';
² before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars grow dark, and the clouds return after the rain…"
That's how Father Benson began, and he finished with:
"May you, Dahlia, find in God's kingdom the peace and love you never found here on Earth."
It was obvious to Jackson and the others that Mack Del Rio knew something—otherwise, he wouldn't have had a gun loaded with silver bullets.
It also became clear that he wasn't the heartless pimp they had imagined. After all, his cries echoed from the cell where he was being held.
Steven and Adam were in shock, each in their own way. While Stiven imagined how he would protect himself from a monster attack, Abrax pondered why Jack hadn't told him any of this before.
Adam's trust in Jack was like that of a son for a father—and now it was shaken. Adam didn't know what to believe anymore. Whatever Jackson said, he'd doubt—even if it was the truth.
"Don't be like that, man. He must've had his reasons for not saying anything sooner…" Steven tried to lift his friend's spirits.
"Okay, but this was the beginning of everything. I mean, we thought the problem was one thing, and now we find out it's something bigger, worse—and mystical! Unless it's all just some big lie—I don't know. I don't know what to believe anymore."
"Have you ever thought that maybe not even he knows how to deal with this? I mean, imagine the kinds of demons Jack faced—the burden he carried going through something like that alone."
"Steven, you talk as if he was right to hide something this serious."
"Adam, that's your problem. Always looking for right and wrong in a fucked-up world where things don't work like that. What are you? A saint with no sins or past?"
Abrax didn't respond. Steven might not have been the smartest man in the world, but he was undoubtedly the truest friend anyone could have.
Mack Del Rio cried like a child for the death of his friend—even though he had killed her for the second time.
After speaking with Father Benson, Jackson carried out a practical but almost sensitive interrogation:
"Del Rio, I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you better answer with the truth, because I'll know if you're lying—and things will get very ugly for you."
Mack looked at him and nodded. He wasn't so much afraid of Jackson, but of what might come next.
"Tell me, Mr. Mack, what really happened—and I'll decide whether to believe you or not. And I want to know—why was your gun full of silver bullets?"
And that's how Jackson discovered that the loose ends from twenty years ago were now tightening into a noose around his neck.
Then came Father Benson's turn. He didn't have much to say, but it was enough to confirm that Mack Del Rio was telling the truth. And that, too, was bad—because the truth was worse than they had imagined.