There's something decidedly creepy about an empty church, especially one that had been emptied as much as this one had, especially a church with a glaring statue behind the altar who offered nothing but judgement.

Benjamin had texted me to let me know they were twenty minutes away and did I need anything from McDonald's? I had asked for him to grab me some of their seasoned fries. It was one of those limited-time offers that popped up once a year, and I still remembered how awesome the fries had been last year. When I had seen them advertising on the side of a bus, I had sworn that those fries needed to be part of my life as quickly as possible. Damn, I was getting hungry the more I thought about the first time I had tasted them. It was kind of like crack cocaine in the form of fried potatoes.

Beatrice had dropped me off thirty minutes ago after announcing that she was offering the church as a meeting place for the group, oh and by the way she had already texted Benjamin, and the guys and they were on their way over.

I had just rolled with it, not sure how I felt about the whole thing. By the time I had entered the church, I had talked myself into liking the idea.

I wandered around the church, making sure to not stand in front of the statue of the angel. Every time I passed in front of him, it always felt like it would be that one moment where he would suddenly come to life and hurl the blasted spear right through me, probably aiming for the heart. It was pure paranoia, I know, but that was just the general feeling of judgement coming from that one statue. I wondered how the congregation had felt about that one statue judging the fuck out of everyone. Had they wandered away one by one, to escape stony judgement?

Bing! Text message.

Claude: We need to talk.

Well, that was a surprise. I hadn't heard from Claude since our fight. I had no doubt Bettina was working him over, trying to get him to reach out to me, but had she actually been successful? I typed an answer, deleted it, then tried again, thought I had it and then deleted it again.

Me: That's way too dramatic. Can't we just talk now and save me the suspense.

That was good right?

Claude: I'm still pissed at you Bob. I'd prefer to say this to your face.

Me: Bettina, you really need to not send messages from Claude to me. Does he know you have his phone?

I waited, convinced that I was right, just watched the dots of doom on the screen as "Claude" typed a response.

Claude: It's not Bettina. This is really me. Claude.

Me: Really? You haven't even called me dude not once.

Claude: Seriously???

Me. Seriously "dude." We have a code that you can't fake. It's the dude code. You better erase this conversation before Claude sees it.

Bing! A text message from Bettina. Aha! I knew it! Claude has a particular way of talking and texting that Bettina could never fake.

Bettina: Can you blame me for trying? He goes to the bathroom and leaves his phone lying around and I'm not supposed to try?

Me: It was probably a trap to see what you would do. Sucker.

Bettina: Argh! Why can't you two just talk to each other?

Me: We will. It's just something that you can't force. We've been friends for twenty years. That's not something that ends overnight over one stupid fight.

Bettina: Well hurry up and makeup. You guys are more fun together than apart.

I looked up then, and the angel was judging me with furious eyes. Due to my habit of walking while texting, I had ended up in front of the statue again.

"Don't judge me!" I quipped lamely.

The statue suddenly seemed to be judging me even harder than before.

"It's an angel," a woman's voice echoed across the church. "It's kind of their job isn't it? Judging?"

I turned to see a woman standing inside the doorway looking completely lost, at least as far as I could tell. She was a Filipino woman in her thirties, about 5'7" so she was a little on the tall side, and was wearing one of those trendy slightly puffy long winter jackets.

"Oh I'm sorry," I said, "are you looking for someone?"

"I think I was looking for directions," the woman said as she walked closer, her dark brown eyes looking all over the church. It was almost as if she was checking out possible exits. "I've never actually been inside here before. Do you own it?"

"Nah, a friend of mine. My girlfriend."

Whoa. It felt strange to refer to Beatrice as my girlfriend. She had never struck me as the girlfriend type and trying to put her into that mental box was hurting my brain. There was a glint of a smile from the woman as I mentioned the word "girlfriend" though. Maybe it put her more at ease talking to a stranger in an abandoned church; as long as the stranger had a girlfriend, maybe she wasn't about to be brutally murdered.

"Such a powerful statue," she said. "That's what a soldier in God's army should look like anyway. People all have this idea that angels are nice and helpful. It's more comforting to think of guardian angels, you know? But they forget that angels were soldiers first. They take their orders directly from God himself, and there is no disobeying Him."

I looked up at the statue again with a fresh pair of eyes and only saw judgement. I looked back at the woman who seemed to have eyes only for the sculpture, looking at it in wonder. One of her eyes twitched, and there was a split second of confusion, but then she was turning to look at me.

"So," I said lamely, "since I'm the least qualified to talk about angels and religion and stuff, which I know is ironic, since I'm here standing in the middle of a church, was there someplace you were trying to go to?"

The woman smiled, but there was a lost quality to it, the smile never reached her eyes.

"I think I'm exactly where I was supposed to be," she said. "I was looking for— fuck!" I froze as she broke off, turning her head and closing her eyes as if she was in pain.

"Hey, are you okay?"

She most definitely was not okay. She squeezed her eyes shut as she responded.

"Sorry, I get these headaches sometimes. Just give me a moment."

Ever get that feeling when you're one hundred percent sure you're in the presence of someone who might be completely out of their mind? Miss-I-Just-Get-These-Headaches-Sometimes, or Crazy Mary for short, was definitely on the very short list of crazy people with whom I did not want to share a room. There's a definite unease that falls on you like a lead balloon, every instinct telling you to run, to move, to do something, but for some reason, you stand there like a damn idiot trying to convince yourself that everything is wonderful, everything is normal, and this is not happening.

Crazy Mary opened her eyes again, calm, collected, all together.

"She wants to know if you are a bad man or a good man?"

I glanced at the statue and back at the woman, unsure of if she was talking to me or Ol' Judgey the Angel.

"Lady—"

"The first sacrifices were of blood. Did you know that? The greatest sacrifice was that of life because life was hard. Life was sacred, and the offering of blood was real. These days it's all symbols and rituals that lack that crucial blood. It's all just words in the void and not even the angels are listening anymore. The only way to get their attention is to offer blood."

"I think one of us needs to leave now," I said. "I nominate you."

"Would you drink my blood?" She whispered, and her eyes were pure madness. "If I offered it, would you accept my sacrifice?"

Crazy Mary bent her head to the side then, baring her neck as if inviting me to bite her. I had the insane thought that she knew, somehow knew that I was a vampire, but that was utterly impossible. I had never seen this woman before in my life, and from the way she spoke, it was extremely likely that I would have gone out of my way to avoid ever having to meet her. What's the one thing that Sammy always said? Oh right: "Don't stick your dick in crazy."

I think I realized then that had only ever taken blood from women. I had never even thought about drinking blood from a dude. Almost every time I had taken blood, it had been during sex. For me, the act of taking blood had become deeply connected to sex, and I definitely did not want to have sex with Crazy Mary.

But seriously though: what the fuck was going on?

I looked deep in her eyes and focused all of my mental strength on her. All at once there was a connection, and I could feel her mind, scared and panicking and trying hard not to scream—

I glammered her.

"You need to leave," I whispered.

"Okay," the woman immediately said. She abruptly turned and drunkenly walked toward the door. She paused, her head making small jerking movements as if she was trying to get rid of a particularly pesky fly.

"It's just going to end in bloodshed you know," she said. "Eventually, it comes down to blood. The question is if it's going to be yours spilled on the ground." She paused, unsure of herself. "Someone wanted me to tell you that."

And then she was gone out the door into the waiting night.

I stared at the closed doors, my heart pounding, and then I started to laugh. Not because it was even remotely funny, but for some reason, that interaction had terrified the shit out of me, and I had no idea how to react.

"What the fuck was that?" I asked myself. I turned to the statue of the angel and asked him instead. "What the actual fuck was that?"

The angel, of course, had no answers. Just silent judgement.