Kathleen pushed herself up to a kneeling position. Sharp stones stuck into her hands. She brushed off her crushed, stained gown, once so beautiful.
Then a terrible blow from behind came crashing down on her skull.
It had to be Jamie. He’d hit her incredibly hard.
She was falling, falling, falling into darkness. Where was she?
“She’s coming to,” she heard. It was Chris Raleigh. He was crouched over her. They all were.
Peter Thompson was running his hands roughly over her breasts. Then he slid both breasts out of her dress. His hands were freezing cold.
“No, please,” she whispered. “Please don’t touch me. Please.”
Through haze and fog Kathleen saw Jamie’s face looming above her. He was holding something in his hand. His face was red; he was blowing with exertion.
Something white spurted from his hand!
Kathleen knew what it was. She saw his swollen penis. Jamie Jordan was ejaculating all over her. It was so horrible, unspeakable, unbelievable to feel his warm sperm raining down on her.
“Push,” she heard. “You have to push, Kathy!”
Kathleen screamed. She wasn’t in Newport! She realized she was in the delivery room in Rome. White masks leaned in closer. Doctors and nurses. Hovering over her.
“It’s all right, Kathleen. Just push again. Push.”
What was happening? She was going back and forth between two realities — the hospital in Rome and the beach outside Newport. She had no control over the sequence of the scenes.
“Get off me! Get off me! Get away with that thing!” she screamed.
Her panties were pulled down around her knees. Jamie was rubbing his cum between her legs. She was all sticky and wet down there.
Jamie! Jamie had done it. Now she knew. She finally remembered! She remembered everything as if it had just happened. Jamie had gotten her pregnant at the beach that night.
She was a virgin, but the birth of her child couldn’t be divine. Could it? Jamie Jordan had gotten her pregnant. She was absolutely sure of it.
There was a cry!
Whose cry was it?
Where was she?
Kathleen’s eyes suddenly opened wide. Of course. She was in the hospital in Rome. Her body felt a rude shock, a jolting sensation like a punch. Her pelvis tightened. She was as exhausted as she had ever been in her life.
She saw blazing kettledrum lights whirling over her head. Then the swarming doctors and nurses, and Anne standing right beside the delivery table.
In the mirror she saw the baby’s head emerging. She saw a face, and Kathleen Beavier fainted.
Chapter 102
COLLEEN GALAHER SOBBED LOUDLY as she watched sharp sewing scissors floating over her quivering stomach.
What were the two priests doing to her now? She watched as the umbilical cord was carefully tied by Father O’Carroll. Then the exhausted, sweating priest cut the cord. Father Rosetti held her baby.
The young girl felt vindicated. She was a true virgin, and here was the child. Now what would happen to them?
The infant was being held up high like a beautiful little lamb, like a chalice at the Celebration of the Holy Eucharist, in the priest’s strong hands.
She wanted to see his face. She smiled at the thought of it.
She reached out her arms and saw that they were shaking badly. She was incredibly weak; she’d never felt like this before. Of course not; she had never been a mother before.
“Please, Father, let me see?”
Colleen thought that the light slanting in the bedroom window was making a golden robe around the child’s shoulders.
Tears were in her eyes. I am a mother.
“I want to see. My baby? May I?”
“In a minute, Colleen.”
Father Rosetti began to rub the baby’s throat in an upward motion with his thumb. He then wiped away mucus with a swab of disinfected linen. He gently flicked the sole of the baby’s foot, to ensure it was breathing.
“He’s alive, healthy,” he said softly to the young girl. “He’s just fine.”
“Let me see him,” she pleaded again. “I want to hold my baby.”
But Father Rosetti carried the child out of the bedroom. He didn’t let the mother touch the infant. He never allowed Colleen Galaher to see her little son’s face.
He left Colleen crying, still not understanding any of what had happened to her.
“Please, my baby. Why won’t you let me see my baby?”
Chapter 103
THE TWO PRIESTS HURRIED from the lonely cottage to their car. We must look like kidnappers, Justin thought. Perhaps they were.
“Father, wait,” he called ahead. “What about the girl? Poor Colleen?”
But Rosetti was already running with the child wrapped in his arms. He hurried into the backseat of the car.
“You drive, Father. Woodbine Seminary. Just go straight.”
“The girl? Colleen?” Justin insisted.
“We’ll get help for her at Woodbine. Drive! Do as I tell you.”
The car accelerated down the rocky dirt road twisting away from the forlorn cottage. It carried Father Justin O’Carroll; it carried the chief investigator for the Congregation of Sacred Rites, who was gently cradling the infant.
Justin was seething with questions. He had the feeling that this was so wrong. What were they to do with the child? What plan did Father Rosetti have?
What was the whole truth about Colleen Galaher’s baby? And Kathleen’s in Rome? He had a bad feeling about this, a terrible feeling.
Justin drove the car in stunned silence. He felt numb. He was living a nightmare that wouldn’t end. Why was he here in this car? Why him? He was kidnapping a young girl’s baby. He had left the poor girl alone moments after she gave birth.
“Father Rosetti! I can’t do this.”
“Drive, damn you! You are under orders from the Holy Father in Rome. Obey them. Obey me. Drive!”
They rode past eerie, broken-down farms on the road toward Costelloe. Past vast stubbled fields of barley and potatoes. Past a clique of frowning redheaded men in a crippled donkey cart and a young woman in a mackintosh and plastic bonnet — a girl who reminded Justin of poor Colleen.
He turned toward the backseat. “Father?” he asked again. “What about the poor girl?”
Rosetti refused to answer. He was off in his own world, and he wouldn’t take his eyes off the face of the baby.
They rose up a curving road onto a wild moor that was parched and dry. Smoking fog began to curl from the ground, shredding as the speeding car blew through it. The sky was dark and threatening.
Terrible fear crowded in on Justin. He couldn’t catch his breath. He turned, trying to peek inside the blanket at the same time. He saw nothing except the baby’s dark curls.
“Where exactly is this Woodbine Seminary that we’re headed to?” Justin asked.
“Straight ahead. Close. I told you. Drive, and please shut up.”
Just then the road turned in toward the Irish Sea and past a small wooden sign: woodbine 7 km.
“Woodbine,” he said, relieved that there was such a place.
As Justin nervously steered the sedan along limestone cliffs over the sea, he clearly heard Rosetti praying in Latin. “Requiem aeternam dona eis.”
Justin’s hands locked tightly on the steering wheel.
He froze. The hairs on his neck stood.
He recognized the holy prayers of the Anointing of the Sick.
The Roman Catholic prayers for the seriously ill or just deceased.
Prayers for those in danger of death.
Justin stepped down hard on the brakes.
The small gray car fishtailed to the left with grand plowing slowness. The front grille effortlessly sheared away a row of baby scrub pines. The tires screamed like banshees.
The car continued its full 360-degree turn, rolling over gnarled bushes and rocks, finally smacking hard into a full-grown fir tree.
/> Justin’s forehead smashed against the windshield. His head rolled to one side and then slumped down onto his chest.
Out of the corner of a bloodied eye, Justin saw a quick, bounding movement.
Rosetti was plunging out of the car’s back door. A small bundle of pink blanket was clutched in one of his arms. The baby was wailing and Justin had to save it.
Chapter 104
JUSTIN REELED FROM THE car and stumbled after Rosetti and Colleen Galaher’s baby. The whipping cold sea air slapped harshly at his body and his face. The sky was getting darker and darker. The wind made a shrill, high-pitched wail. “Father! Father, please stop! Where are you going? Father Rosetti!” Justin screamed. “Stop, you son of a bitch. You murderer!”
He ran forward, straining his muscles and clutching his burning chest. Up ahead, the baby continued to cry.
The Irish Sea came into view as he made it to the top of a bare promontory, a pointing finger of black rocks and boulders. The height and the sheerness of the dark cliff took Justin’s breath away.
It was at least three hundred feet straight down to where great rollers were thundering over jagged rocks that looked like tombstones.
There were birds all over the sea, thousands of birds screeching louder than he’d ever heard.
“Dear God!” he shouted. “What is happening here?”
Justin tottered across a foot-wide ledge to the next plateau of rock that was spotted with lichens. The harsh winds sliced right through his clothes. He painfully hoisted himself over a loose molar of shale slanting into the cliffs at a 60-degree angle.
A sheen of cold sweat coated his forehead. He felt as if his lungs were going to burst. God, make me strong.
Thirty feet above him, the black-clad figure of Rosetti stood perched on another weathered rock face. High over his head the sky was filled with birds. Everything was becoming dark beneath them. It was like night, but it was the middle of the day.
Justin saw a flash of the pink blanket. The child. The poor baby continued to cry.
“Father, please, stop — please. You can’t be sure. Are you sure?”
“You don’t believe anymore.” Rosetti’s powerful voice echoed down the steep cliffside. “None of you believe! Not in Our Lord! Not in Satan! Not in anything that matters!”
Rosetti was holding the child loosely in one powerful arm. They were both hanging out over the edge of the rocks.
Justin had a blinding thought. It made him ill. Rosetti could be Satan himself. How do I know otherwise? Satan could right now be holding the Savior of mankind.
He had to see the child’s face for himself. That was his mission. It was why he was here, wasn’t it?
Horrified, he saw Rosetti lift the infant high in the air with both huge hands. The priest’s eyes were like empty black holes as he stared down on Justin.
Above the cliff, the birds were swooping in. Thousands of birds were flying wildly in every direction. The noise of their screeches and calls was deafening. The winds were nearly as loud.
Justin was so afraid that he could scarcely breathe. Something unearthly was happening. His ears were ringing and starting to ache.
Nicholas Rosetti’s voice was harsh and barely recognizable.
“This is the Beast! Have no doubt of it, Justin. All the signs in the prediction of Fatima have been met. The Virgin has guided me to this very spot, with this child. This is the Beast! Satan is so wise, so clever, the girl herself never knew. Do you find that so difficult to believe? Is it not possible for you to believe anything on faith? Do you believe in your God, Father? Only your faith will save you now, for you are in grave danger. All of these foul, black birds — they are devils. Fallen angels. The child commands them. The child has called them here.”
Justin couldn’t take his eyes away from the poor helpless infant. He couldn’t just believe. He had to see.
“Who are you?” he shouted at Rosetti.
“Suppose I told you I was Michael the Archangel? Would that satisfy you? Fine then, I’m Michael! I am Michael. Believe it if you must.”
“Let me see the child. You said you trusted me. Let me see, Father.”
Above them, the mountainside rose another two hundred feet. The uppermost rocks seemed to pierce the clouds. More black birds slowly circled, screeching angrily. Screaming down at Rosetti. Were they the legions? Was Rosetti telling the truth about the devils? And the child who commanded them?
Justin shielded his eyes and called up to Rosetti again. “How can you be sure? How do you know that you aren’t holding an innocent baby? Father? I see no sign.”
“You are like doubting Thomas. Must you always see to believe? How can you be sure that Jesus Christ became man?” Rosetti’s voice rang out angrily. “How can you be sure that Jesus has redeemed our souls from the eternal fires of Hell?”
“Has he?” Justin called back. “Has he redeemed us from Hell? It seems that the gates of Hell are wide open right now.”
“It’s their time, their turn. Unless we stop them. They don’t have power on Earth yet. They can act only through humans. This child is human.”
The idea was monstrous, and it was consistent with everything Justin had ever read about the fallen angels.
He was seized with vertigo. Great waves of nausea washed over him. Was he engaged in a dialogue with the Devil? Or was he siding with Satan against everything good and holy in the world? What did Father Rosetti know? What had he seen? What was he holding in his arms?
He knew he couldn’t look down at the spinning vortex tempting him, trying to pull him off the cliffs.
Once again he hollered above the crashing sea, above the piercing cries of gulls and crows and gannets clouding over the cliffside. He screamed above the cries of the devils, “We can go to the Woodbine Seminary! We can perform an exorcism. Father! We can talk. You know what I’m saying is best!”
As Justin gazed skyward, he saw Rosetti’s broad shoulders sag forward. The priest carefully moved a step back, away from the edge of the rocks. Dark yellow bile began dripping from the corners of his mouth. Blood ran from his nose. Was he dying?
“Come up here, Father,” the Vatican priest said in an oddly quiet voice. “If you must, come to me. Come see the child for yourself.”
Justin took a single step forward on the loose, shifting rocks. The sea winds flogged his face. Something warned him not to go any higher. No closer to Rosetti and the child. No higher on the dark, slippery rocks.
But he took step after step on the steep rocks. His arms felt like blocks of stone. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to hold the baby if he reached Rosetti. He was afraid that he was about to die, not ever knowing the truth of the virgin births.
Justin’s leaden feet moved upward, as if against his will.
When he finally looked up again, he was staring into the burning eyes of Nicholas Rosetti.
“You want to see? Then look, Justin O’Carroll. Feast your eyes. Look at the child! Look! Look!”
Chapter 105
KATHLEEN UTTERED THE WORDS in a soft, barely audible whisper. “My baby’s all right? Is my baby all right? Doctor?”
It was the voice of a frightened and very emotional sixteen-year-old girl. The voice of a new mother.
Kathleen stared up at the dark and shriveled child. The doctor was holding the baby at the far end of the birthing table. She strained to see its face.
“Is anything the matter?” I asked Dr. Annunziata in a low whisper that Kathleen couldn’t hear.
“No, no. Of course not,” he muttered, but I wasn’t sure whether to believe him. He was behaving oddly.
Meanwhile, the other doctors and nurses from Salvatore Mundi were watching the mother and child in awed, almost reverent silence. The Swiss Guards were watching, and waiting.
The guards still seemed tense. What had they been expecting? What were their orders? I couldn’t help noticing that they were armed. Were they present to protect Kathleen and the child? Or was there another reason why they were her
e?
The chief obstetrician lightly slapped the baby’s bottom. The tiny infant obligingly began to scream, an unmistakable, anguished, and perturbed human sound.
Dr. Annunziata finally smiled. The roomful of medical and Church people smiled at the naturalness of the child’s response. Even some of the Swiss Guards loosened up and grinned.
I tried to think positively as well. The baby was like us. The baby was human. The baby was beautiful and good. A new life had come into the world, and that was always a miracle.
But was this birth a sign as well? Had it been promised more than eighty years before at Fatima?
I moved closer to Dr. Annunziata. “Is there a problem, Doctor?”
He looked at me. “No, not really a problem. But there is a . . . a situation.”
Chapter 106
NICHOLAS ROSETTI FELT A sudden calm and he wondered if it was another trick being played on him. Soon he would be relieved of his great burden for the first time since his meeting with Pope Pius. He had done his job, his investigation. He believed he had found out the truth.
“I need to know.” Justin O’Carroll was calling above the howling winds and the eerie cries of the seabirds. “I’m coming up there with you, Father.”
Only love and pity made Rosetti address the young priest. “If you have no faith, then believe this,” he said. “Believe medicine. Believe science. Listen to me. Colleen Galaher was christened Colin Galaher. The child was born with two sets of sexual organs. Her doctor in town did what he could.”
“I don’t understand,” Justin said, waving his hand toward the child. “What are you saying?”
“Colleen Galaher has no ovaries,” Rosetti said hoarsely. “They were removed.”
Rosetti held the baby aloft. He spoke in an agonized voice, nearly incomprehensible. “This baby is the Devil’s own. This baby will change the world.”
A muffled cry rose out of the pink blanket, startling Justin. A baby’s cry.
Doubt flooded his mind. Who could he believe now? The Devil was clever, and he was everywhere.
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