Alain was the first to step onto the porch of the farmhouse, flanked by Father Corrin. Corrin went to step in front of him, only for Alain to stop him.

"Wait," Alain said. "If this guy really is working for the cult like you seem to think he is, then I doubt the first person he's going to want to see would be a priest. I think it'd be best if you were to hang back for a bit."

"Respectfully, this is our investigation first," Father Corrin pointed out. "We brought you along as a show of good faith-"

"And I appreciate that, but at the very least, I should be able to get him talking before you make yourself known to him. If nothing else, it'd probably help with putting him at-ease a bit."

Father Corrin hesitated, considering Alain's words for a second, before he gave him a slow nod. "Alright. I'll be on the side of the house, just out of view. If you need anything, call for me, I'll come running."

Alain gave him a nod of appreciation, then watched as Father Corrin stepped off the porch and moved around to the side of the house. Once he was out of sight, Alain took a breath, then knocked on the front door of the farmhouse.

A few seconds passed with no indication that his knocking had been heard by anyone. Alain tilted his head slightly, confused. Part of him wondered if the owner of the home wasn't there, in which case, Father Corrin would almost certainly want to check around the property regardless, just to be sure.

Just as Alain was beginning to consider the spiritual ramifications of a priest committing burglary, the door opened. He turned, and just about jumped out of his skin when he saw an old man with a double-barrel shotgun slung over his shoulder standing there, the stub of a cigarette clenched between his teeth.

"What do you want?" the old man asked, his voice thick with a southern accent.

Alain blinked, surprised that the man had actually opened the door, but he was quick to snap out of it with a shake of his head. "Just had some questions for you, about suspicious activity around the area."

The old man exhaled, blowing a ring of smoke up into the air. "We don't got no suspicious activity 'round these parts, stranger. Most suspicious thing to happen in the last few weeks is you showing up."

"You sure about that? Because I've heard reports of some white-hooded figures prowling around your property."

The old man paused, his eyes widening. "...You sayin' the Klan's settin' up shop in my fields?"

"It's either them or something far worse," Alain informed him. "Now, I understand that you're suspicious of a random stranger showing up on your porch and telling you this, but-"

The man eyed him up and down, blowing another ring of smoke as he did so. "...You look like someone who knows a thing or two 'bout runnin' a ranch, yourself," he said. "I 'spose that makes you trustworthy enough to listen to. Alright, then – come inside, I want to hear more about this."

With that, the old man beckoned Alain inside; Alain, for his part, was suspicious at first, until he set the double-barrel aside and continued to walk on. Alain weighed his options for a moment – if he went inside the house with the old man, then his friends and the priests wouldn't be able to cover him. But at the same time, he didn't want to risk losing a possible lead to his own paranoia. He wasn't about to underestimate someone like the old farmer, though – experience had taught him that the deadliest enemies often looked the most unassuming.

Elder Owen had looked like a walking corpse more than a supremely-powerful vampire, and yet he'd been the one responsible for the loss of New Orleans and the death of one of Alain's friends just a few months ago.

Alain grit his teeth as those memories came bubbling up to the surface once again, and was quick to push them away. Losing New Orleans and his friend Felix had been tragic, not to mention the loss of the sister of another of his friends, but dwelling on them would do no good, not when there was a job to do.

Without wasting any more time, Alain stepped into the house, though he was careful to leave the door open behind him.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Hey," he said, walking through the first floor of the farmhouse. It was cramped inside; clearly, the house had once been designed on a budget, though apparently, the owner had recently come into some serious money. Expensive-looking furniture was scattered haphazardly throughout the first floor, lining the path towards what looked to be a very rudimentary kitchen. Alain took a few steps towards the kitchen, though there was no sign of the old man; slowly, his hand began to drift to his holstered revolver.

"What did you want to discuss-"

And just like that, there was a sudden loud shout from inside the kitchen, and the old man came barreling out, a meat cleaver held in his hands. Alain ripped his gun from its holster and thumbed back the hammer, intending to fire off a shot at him, but the farmer got to him first, pressing the cleaver against Alain's throat just as his finger finished pulling the trigger of his weapon. A round discharged into the floor, and Alain winced, his ears ringing from the sound of the gunshot in such an enclosed area, though the old man seemed completely unperturbed, instead continuing to press the edge of the meat cleaver against Alain's throat.

"Drop the gun," he said. "Now."

Alain hesitated, but ultimately obliged, his Colt Single Action Army clattering to the ground. The farmer gave him a manic grin.

"Good," he said. "Now, you're going to tell me-"

That was as far as he got before Father Corrin came barreling into the farmhouse, his own revolver held tightly in his hands. He came to a stop in the middle of the threshold, leveling the barrel of his gun at the old man; immediately, the farmer spun around, placing Alain between the two of them, the blade still at his throat.

"Don't fucking move!" the farmer shouted. "I'll kill him, I swear I will!"

Father Corrin seemed unfazed, instead thumbing back the hammer of his gun. The dull click of the hammer settling into position and the cylinder rotating into place echoed through the ground floor of the house like a gunshot. And through it all, Father Corrin remained completely stone-faced.

"Drop the knife," he commanded.

"You'll kill me if I do," the farmer growled.

"You have my word as a man of God that I will not."

"A man of God…? What kind of priest carries a gun?"

"The kind who's been ordained specifically to fight creatures of darkness."

"And I'm expected to believe that you're harmless, then?" the old man insisted.

Father Corrin shook his head. "A shepherd must tend to his flock, even if that includes keeping the wolves at bay. And yet, I can look at you and tell that you are no wolf."

"What makes you say that?"

"You're sweating, for one."

The old man blinked, then raised his free hand to his forehead. His eyes widened when it came back slick with sweat.

"You've never actually killed anyone before, have you?" Father Corrin asked. "I can see it on your face – you're not sure if what you're doing is the correct thing."

"It doesn't matter if it's correct or not," the old man replied. "It's what I have to do to keep myself safe."

"Safe from who? Me?" Father Corrin shook his head. "I just told you that I will not kill you."

"Then put the gun down."

"I will, on one condition – you tell me your name first."

The man hesitated. "...Patrick. My name is Patrick Clay."

Without hesitation, Father Corrin thumbed the hammer of his revolver back down, then holstered it. Once it was holstered, he raised his hands in surrender to show he was now unarmed.

"Talk to me, Patrick," Corrin said, lowering his arms a second later. "What will you do now? I'm unarmed, and my companion there is at your mercy. Are you going to kill us anyway?"

Patrick hesitated. "...I… I don't-"

"No, of course not; you're no killer. You just got drawn into a bad situation, didn't you? Someone offered you a lot of money to look the other way while they used your land for something, and you agreed, because you needed the cash. Is that about right?"

Again, Patrick hesitated. "...I couldn't say no," he muttered. "I knew it was wrong, but the money was too good… and I just knew that if I refused, they'd kill me…"

"You had to do what was best for yourself," Father Corrin said with a nod. "Well, I've got news for you, Patrick – you haven't crossed any lines just yet; you can still be redeemed for what you've done. All you need to do is let go of my companion there and speak to me a little bit more. Think you can do that for me?"

Immediately, Patrick tensed. "They'll come back and kill me-"

"They won't," Father Corrin promised him. "We'll get you out of town for a bit, send you somewhere they won't be able to get to you. I swear it as a man of God."

Patrick continued to stare at Father Corrin for a moment, but then gave a reluctant sigh. Alain felt Patrick's grip on him loosen and the cleaver be pulled away from his throat, and didn't hesitate to break free from Patrick's grasp. Part of him was screaming that he needed to draw his gun and end it permanently, but a look from Father Corrin held him back. Instead, Alain simply retrieved his dropped Colt and holstered it, then gave Corrin a nod.

"I'll be outside," he said.

Corrin offered no response, instead stepping over to Patrick and taking the knife out of his grasp. Alain cast a glance over his shoulder as he headed back outside.

The last thing he saw before closing the front door was the two men standing together, their heads bowed and their hands clasped together.

XXX

"Alain!"

He wasn't surprised to find Sable there waiting for him. She came running up, Az and Danielle in tow, and immediately began looking him over.

"Sable, I'm fine," Alain insisted.

She glared at him. "I'll be the judge of that," she declared, right before going back to patting him down.

"We heard a gunshot and came running," Az said. "What happened?"

Alain let out an annoyed huff. "Let my guard down for just a moment and the old man got the drop on me."

"Then I take it he's dead?" Danielle asked.

"He wasn't when I last saw him. From what I saw, he was with Father Corrin."

Sable paused. "Really?" she asked. "What were they-"

The door to the house suddenly opened, and Father Corrin came striding out, looking no worse for wear in the slightest.

"He told me to check the back end of the wheat fields to the south," Corrin informed them as he walked past their group of four.

Alain was surprised. "That easily…? What did you do to him, exactly?"

"My job."

Father Corrin offered no further explanation, instead continuing on his way. Alain shared a glance with his friends, then ventured towards a nearby window so he could look inside the house. To his surprise, Patrick was still alive inside, and of all things, he was knelt in prayer, his head bowed and tears streaming down his face as he clutched at a small crucifix and muttered something under his breath.

"Alright," Sable said from her spot beside Alain. "Remind me not to mess with the holy rollers. Whatever he just did to this guy, it must have been serious for him to turn to God so suddenly." She shuddered. "This is weird…"

Somehow, Alain was inclined to agree, even as they peeled themselves away from the windows and followed after Father Corrin, heading for the wheat fields.