“My word, you frightened me,” Parenti said, startled. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.
“Napping upstairs?” De Santis said.
Domenika, with Christopher in her arms, immediately began to backpedal away from De Santis but ran out of room when she backed into the refrigerator behind her. She was cornered and had nowhere else to move.
“If you so much as touch this child, Giancarlo, I swear I will—”
“What’s this all about?” Parenti shouted. He took a step backward when he saw the needle in De Santis’s hand.
“Domenika, all I need is a drop or two, I’m sure,” De Santis said. “I need you to work with me.” He began to slowly inch toward her and paused for a moment as Christopher, frightened by the commotion, clung to his mother and began to cry.
When De Santis resumed his march, Domenika stood helpless, trapped with the child and unable to move. She pulled Christopher in tight and shielded his head with the palm of her hand while he sobbed. As De Santis pressed toward her, she watched Parenti step bravely in front of the priest and try his best to shove him away. Aldo, who’d instantly leaped as high as he could in defense of his master, had De Santis by the shirtsleeve with his teeth. De Santis reached down and with one arm flung the little priest aside. Parenti stumbled and struck his head hard against the marble edge of the countertop. De Santis, now only inches from Domenika and the boy, reached out the hand not tethered to the dog, ready to grab for the frightened child.
“Domenika, don’t make me do it this way,” he said.
“Get away from him!” Domenika cried out. She turned her shoulder toward De Santis to further shield the child from the needle held by the oncoming priest.
“Domenika, for God’s sake, I’m dying. Can’t you see that?”
“Stop!” Domenika cried out. She could feel that De Santis had Christopher by the leg and had started to tug on him hard.
“I said I’m dying!” De Santis shouted.
The gunshot was so loud it echoed throughout the house and deafened Domenika. For a moment, she could hear only ringing as she crouched in the corner with the boy. She watched as shards of plaster fell from the ceiling directly above where Parenti had fired the gun. The top of Parenti’s head was completely covered in white plaster dust that had fallen from the gaping hole left in the ceiling.
“You don’t understand me. I said I think I’m going to die!” De Santis screamed as he reached again for the terrified child. He now held Aldo by the scruff of the neck in his hand.
“You touch a hair on that child or my dog, and you’ll die for sure,” Parenti said. He now aimed the .44 Magnum pistol, with a barrel nearly as long as his arm, directly at De Santis’s head.
“You wear the collar, Father,” De Santis said as he turned around. He saw the gun pointed directly at him. “You can’t threaten me.”
“So do you, you devil,” Parenti said. He used both his thumbs to cock the gun’s hammer while he slid his forefinger to the trigger. Then, with his free hand, Parenti reached up, grabbed De Santis by the hair, and squared the barrel of the gun against the priest’s temple.
De Santis, mindful of the barrel, cautiously stood. Tears had begun to stream down his face. He looked at Domenika in desperation but said nothing. She watched as he carefully set Aldo on the floor, struggled to free his hair from Parenti’s grip, and bolted through the kitchen door to escape outside.
Where her once-trusted friend and teacher was headed next, Domenika didn’t know. But as he ran for his life as fast as he could, she thought it might be hell.
Chapter 39
Potomac, Maryland
Father Parenti sat in the alcove next to the bar inside the rustic Old Angler’s Inn and waited for Bondurant. It was twilight outside and dark inside, with only the light of a warm fire to set the room aglow. Several worn armchairs were gathered near the hearth. Bondurant was late. Parenti propped his feet up near the fireplace to warm them during the wait.
The little priest was nervous. He’d promised Bondurant he would come alone. He’d lied. A white lie, Parenti reasoned. He had come alone. He’d just not bothered to tell Bondurant that Domenika would join them at the restaurant as well. But it was the other white lie Parenti had told that had the little priest doubly concerned. Domenika thought she was meeting Parenti alone for dinner, too. It would be a complete surprise to her that Parenti had tracked Bondurant down. But he knew it would be even more shocking for her to see Bondurant in the flesh without warning after their time apart. Parenti was beside himself with excitement over the prospect of the surprise reunion.
Domenika showed up early. When she came through the front door, Bondurant had not yet arrived. Parenti rushed to greet her and asked the maître d’ to seat the two of them immediately. She took them through the rustic main dining area to a smaller, quaint room that held just a few tables. It had a lovely view of the inn’s outdoor courtyard, where the glow of tiny lanterns in the trees swayed and twinkled in the early-evening light. When Domenika was settled, she turned to Parenti and looked at him as though there was something she needed to get off her mind.
“I’m moving back to Rome,” she declared. “I’ve found an apartment. And I’ve sent a deposit of three months’ rent.”
Parenti cringed. How could she so overreact? Then he craned his neck as best he could around the corner. He had his eye on the larger dining room in search of Bondurant.
“Moving to where?”
“Rome. You’ve heard of it,” she said. “I believe it was your home for many years.”
“You can’t do that!” the priest exclaimed. “It’s no place for a single mother. It isn’t. And besides—”
“He isn’t coming back. He isn’t. I dreamed about it,” Domenika said. Parenti hadn’t heard her this upset over their situation in days. “And honestly,” she continued, “I don’t want him back now. I’m sorry for what I did. But all this waiting. Waiting for what?”
“Domenika—”
“It’s strange. I love him. I do. But he’s not here for us. I also think I’ve started to resent him too—really resent him, you know, for what his plans are for Chris.”
Parenti stood abruptly at their table. “I’m sorry, but I have to use the restroom. Will you excuse me?”
“Of course,” Domenika said. She looked disappointed. “But I want you to know I’m quite serious. Jon’s acting like a child, and our goals for Christopher are entirely different.”
Parenti rolled his eyes as he turned away from the table. He hoped her mood was just a temporary lapse. He presumed that by now Bondurant would have found his way inside. As the priest scurried his way through the main dining room toward the inn’s entrance, he couldn’t believe his eyes. There sat Bondurant, already seated at his own table for two near the front. He looked worn, even several years older. Bondurant stood up at the sight of the priest, and Parenti, who had sorely missed his dear friend, embraced him in a warm hug. Tears began to well in Parenti’s eyes. After they exchanged pleasantries, it was clear Bondurant wanted to get right to the point.
“I knew somehow I would have no trouble eventually seeing you again, Father,” Bondurant said. “It’s so good to see you. I just want you to know right off that I’ve thought a lot about it, and I can’t say the same is true of my feelings for Domenika.”
“What do you mean?” Parenti asked.
“I love her. Absolutely. But I don’t think it can work between us,” Bondurant said.
“May I just say—”
“I miss her so much. But she lied to me.”
“Would you excuse me for just a moment?” Parenti asked. “I think I’m in need of the restroom.”
“Of course, Father. I’ll just look over the menu.”
Parenti turned on his heels and rushed as quickly as he could back toward the room where Domenika sat. When he reached their table, he sat down, slightly short of breath.
“Is everything all right?” Domenika asked. It had been more than ten minutes.
“Are you ill, Father?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said. She handed him a menu, but Parenti, exasperated, tossed it aside.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you hungry?” Domenika asked. “I thought we were having dinner.”
“Of course we are,” Parenti said. He tapped his foot and stared out the window.
“As I was saying,” Domenika said, “deep down inside, it’s really abandonment I feel. Abandonment of me, Christopher, you, his family. I’ve searched my soul for how someone could be so cold that he’s able to walk away and abandon those he once professed to love. And I hate to say this, but it’s only someone like Jon who’s capable of desertion.”
“Desertion?” Parenti said. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on him?” He tapped his fork on his water glass loudly enough to summon the waitress, who he hoped could help change the subject.
“He knows where to find us,” Domenika said. “He could have come back if he wanted to, and he hasn’t. So I’m moving on.”
Domenika had a helpless look on her face, and Parenti could tell she was as upset as he’d ever seen her.
“If you’ll excuse me for just one more moment, I think I have to return to the restroom,” Parenti said.
“But you’ve only just been there,” Domenika said. “Are you not feeling well? Let’s just call it a night. We’ll find another time.” She reached for her purse, prepared to leave.
“No, no,” Parenti said. “This will be quick.”
“Fine, then,” Domenika said.
As soon as Parenti turned the corner and was out of her sight, he dashed all the way toward the other end of the dining room to Bondurant. Parenti’s tiny legs had carried him so fast that he gasped for breath when he sat.
“I hope you’re all right, Father,” Bondurant said.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” the priest replied as he panted for air. “Now, where were we?”
“I’ve thought about it, and I can’t love someone I can’t trust,” Bondurant said. “How would you feel if Domenika had lied to you from the first day you met, and that her every kindness toward you was probably driven out of pity rather than respect? How would that make you feel?”
“Pity?”
“It’s obvious,” Bondurant said. “She spent the better part of her career at the Vatican having to deal with the Church’s sins against children, and then I turn up as what? One of her victims, that’s what. She felt sorry for me ever since. True love is not born from pity. She felt sorry for me, that’s all.”
At this point, Parenti had completely lost any appetite he’d brought with him. He felt as though his task of reuniting his two dear friends was as useless as trying to mate a cat and a dog. He sat quietly for a moment and stared at his old friend.
“What is it, Father?” Bondurant asked.
Parenti had heard enough. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to excuse me again for just another moment.”
“The bathroom? Again?” Bondurant said.
“Yes, the bathroom. Before I return, I just want you to think on this, you stubborn mule.” Parenti raised his voice loud enough for those at the tables nearby to hear. “Every night that’s gone by since you walked out has left Domenika terribly alone. She pines for you. Nearly every waking hour has found her in tears that you might never return. She loves you with every fiber of her being and has vowed to search the world for you. Every breath she takes is just another sigh calling out your name.”
Parenti looked down at Bondurant before he turned to flee to the other side of the restaurant again. He could see he had stunned his friend into silence. As he turned and ran as fast as he could back to Domenika’s table, he cringed at how he’d embellished a bit, particularly the part about the sighs. It was a ridiculous exaggeration, to be sure. For the sake of the couple he loved, he hoped his words had their intended effect.
Parenti silently sat back down. He had never felt more forlorn, and he knew he looked it.
“Why the sad face?” Domenika said.
“Porco diavolo!” Parenti said. He threw his napkin onto the table in disgust. His plans had completely fallen apart. Then he got up from his seat and wagged his finger at her. “I’ve thought this over too. Bondurant hasn’t abandoned you. He’s the one all alone. You’re abandoning him. He’s hurt, he’s ashamed, and he’s hiding. Now he needs your help. You’re the only woman he’s ever loved, and the only one who can ever bring him back to love. He’s saved your life more than once, and now you need to save his. I know you’ll never find a more decent man as long as you live.”
Parenti, his speech complete, turned to march out of the room.
Domenika, dumbfounded, posed a simple question as he walked away. “Where are you going?” she asked. “Back to the restroom again?”
“I don’t know,” Parenti said. He felt helpless. “I don’t know.”
And he didn’t. He’d said all he needed to say. But he was convinced, given the distance that had grown between the couple he loved, that his words were not nearly enough to save them.
When Parenti reached the middle of the dining room with his head hung low, he heard a commotion toward the front of the restaurant and looked up. Bondurant had left his table and made his way deliberately toward him. The little priest cowered as if he were about to be tackled to the ground, presumably for the tongue-lashing he’d given his friend. Then he heard the voice of a woman right behind him. He turned to see Domenika rush toward him from the opposite direction with equal and deliberate intent.
Parenti looked briefly toward the ceiling with thanks, as though the heavens above were prepared to smile after all on the once-doomed reunion of those he loved most. Then he stepped aside in anticipation of the long-awaited hug between his dearest friends.
Unfortunately, both Bondurant and Domenika stopped short of the hoped-for embrace. They were engaged in more of a shoving match in the center of the aisle.
“You’re acting like a child, Jon,” Domenika said. “Adults talk these things out. They don’t run away from home. It’s just like you to abuse Father Parenti with a stunt like this.”
“Abusing Father Parenti?” Bondurant said. “Talk about abuse—what kind of home is it when it’s a house full of secrets and there’s no one to trust?”
“Trust? Who are you to talk about trust?” Domenika cried out. “One day we’re a family, with a child and responsibilities, rent and report cards, and the next day we’re nothing? Abandoned! Deserted! And why? Because of hurt feelings? This is a sick joke, right?”
“Tell me, Domenika,” Bondurant shouted, “how many more in your damned Church hold records on me? How many others can recite my past from memos you wrote? Is it common practice to publish the sexual exploits of priests when children are involved? Is that what the whole Shroud project was about? A way to deflect attention from what’s really going on inside the Church? That’s the joke. It’s just disgusting.”
Before Parenti knew it, both Bondurant and Domenika had ended their shouting match and made their way out through separate exits. Every dinner guest within earshot sat stunned. Parenti lost any notion that he might ever reconcile the two. What a disaster, he thought. He’d had another premonition, one he’d confided to no one. Reuniting the couple to prepare their son was now an emergency, as the world was about to be threatened once more.
Chapter 40
Geneva
Meyer stared at the note in his hand, which bore the red wax of the distinct papal seal. The message stated that a Father Giancarlo De Santis was number 2,327 in line. His request was to move to the front of the queue for a private meeting with the supreme elder. Meyer quickly snapped his fingers and waved to get the attention of Galerkin, who stood at the other end of the cavernous room.
Galerkin at least made a decent bodyguard. Meyer’s only expectation of the Russian oaf was that he take a bullet for him or Hans Jr. if ever the need arose. He was paid a monthly retainer and attached to Meyer’s growing personal security unit. It
had been years since Galerkin had developed a lead worth pursuing on the couple. Meyer, preoccupied with his gigantic and still-growing church but still supportive of their elimination, was resigned to finding another way.
Once Galerkin ambled over, Meyer leaned in to whisper instructions. Then he handed Galerkin the note he’d received. After Galerkin read it slowly several times, the Russian made his way out of the room.
Meyer assumed De Santis was ill. Unless the priest was on some sort of highly unusual mission for Meyer’s archenemy, Pope Augustine, there was no other reason for him to join a line of thousands that stretched around the block. They formed a large ring that surrounded the modern, newly christened Demanian Convention Center just outside Geneva. All those in the queue who’d camped outside for days to reserve their places in line were younger than eighty, deathly ill, and planning to convert. These were the criteria for their admittance. Each was prepared to pay the steep price of conversion for a miraculous healing of some kind.
Today the cutoff for the end of the line was two thousand. Those farther back were out of luck. It was a sizable number of people, enough that it would force Hans Jr. to stand or sit in one place for ten hours to heal the afflicted who desired to be saved by his extraordinary gift. All the converts would, as required by Demanian Church law, first renounce their present faith in front of two familiar witnesses, sign contracts to tithe away a negotiated percentage of their earnings and estates, and submit to cheek swabs to produce the requisite DNA sample for church storage. Every convert was required to bring along a female of childbearing age who had to secure an appointment for a future egg donation.
Once processed, the ill could receive the child’s healing touch and be cured, usually within a few weeks’ time. Five worldwide healing tours had been conducted, and to date, more than fifty thousand people had been cured of chronic ailments, mental illnesses, or terminal diseases through the boy’s miraculous touch. Almost fifty million more people had converted to Demanianism from other faiths in the past few years. Most of them were in good health but in want of an insurance policy of sorts in the event they ever required Hans Jr.’s touch. Most had been lured to the prospect of everlasting life the “Demanian Way.”
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