by Mark Tufo
There are things that I see here, though, that have me wary. I am torn between my duties between being an angel and being the watcher. As an angel, I feel the desire to protect my charge but the Lord has made it clear I’m to record, and nothing more. It has only been a few times that I’ve met Father Raphael and yet, he seems familiar. How could that be? His darkness makes my human flesh crawl. Something about him is infinitely evil.
The more time I spent with Isabel and her small circle of what she would call her family, the more I enjoyed my time here. It was a great honor to be asked to record a mortal. It usually meant they were destined for greatness. Some though, would fall into infamy. I wondered idly and with great anticipation, which side of the pendulum my charge would land.
We — the angels I mean, were always curious as to what struck God so much about this particular mortal but we did not question. NEVER did we question his motives. It was an unspeakable act that we learned from when our brother, Lucifer, was cast out of Heaven.
I came to admire Isabel in the short time I was here. I remember looking up from an old man who was just about to pass the threshold of this world to Heaven, lying in the monastery’s hospice room bed and seeing Isabel already there. She knelt beside him, unafraid of the leprosy, and she took his hand in hers and smiled. Silently, she prayed for him, which I heard from her heart. She would laugh and chat with the man so that he was not afraid of being alone.
The frail man stared up into that youthful face of hers which had a natural glow to her skin and eyes. That was something rare in these times. Her dark brown hair was often tied back and her white sleeves rolled up as if she were always ready to work, which she was. She laughed easily, allowing the small crinkles of her eyes to deepen and enhance her dark brown irises.
I always thought she was beautiful. There was nothing substantial about her, but there was every reason to stare at her long enough for her to catch you. She was gentle and natural. She was motherly, in a way that made her heart strong and convicted to her mission. She had been known to skip larger portions so that there was always enough for the elderly and sick to eat. I had even seen her take some of her personal blankets down to the children’s rooms so that they would be warm while she bundled up in more layers of clothing.
From a very young age this mortal had a love for God and a duty in her soul to serve him. She revealed her intentions to do so, despite the eagerness of the Emperor to have his son marry her. On her own behalf she spoke to Pope Innocent IV and convinced him that her call was to a different life; that of virginity and servitude to the Lord.
Isabel’s mother, Blanche of Castile, was known for her powerful influence as a woman of her time and it was clear that her influence rubbed off on both Isabel and her brother. Her death left the siblings in a state of mourning for years, but as a result, the two vowed to stay close and uphold the Queen’s pious upbringing.
Even when Isabel was tempted with the hedonistic influences of the court, she remained focused on her calling. She turned down every offer of marriage, even at the urgings of the Pope who also admired and encouraged her vow of purity and servitude to God.
I watched now from my vantage point as Father Dulante gazed across the courtyard at Isabel. She was in the company of the other nuns, smiling at something they were talking about amongst themselves. Dropping his gaze, the priest stared at the words on the pages of his small bible but did not actually read them. His thoughts were elsewhere, thinking about Isabel. She was as beautiful now as she was when he’d known her as a child. His features darkened even as the thought had crossed his mind. This priest prayed nightly to remove her from his heart but now that he found himself the same abbey, called to serve by Father Raphael personally, he questioned how he could ever heal from the boyhood love he felt for her.
As a child, Father Dulante would visit his Aunt Rebecca at Isabel’s home because his mother was often ill. Isabel’s family graciously took him into their service, allowing him to stay for long periods of time. The two children would play and run out by the stables where Father Dulante would care for the royal equines. Isabel’s horse was a blonde mare named Marigold, given to her when she was old enough to ride alone. He made sure she was groomed daily, fed, and that she was taken care of above all the others.
Once or twice he’d received a good thrashing for doing so because he’d left the other horses unprepared for Louis and his father’s early morning hunt. To him, it was worth it. The look of pleasure on Isabel’s face when Marigold pranced before her brought light to his life despite the sun.
When Marco was thirteen, his mother died in childbirth from an unexpected pregnancy. His father was unable to care for him any longer and requested that his aunt Rebecca keep him permanently. Rebecca was all too happy to have him. Marco’s presence reminded her of her late sister and his work was good enough to keep the stable master content. By permission of Isabel’s parents, he was allowed to stay and live with Rebecca, her husband, and her son Edward. It seemed to be the perfect situation to everyone except Edward who was four years older than Marco.
The difference between the two boys was night and day. Marco was even tempered and outgoing where Edward was dark and brooding, even cruel. Where Marco took care of the animals in the stable, Edward joined in the hunting party and took great interest in the skinning and collecting of the kills. On more than one occasion, Marco would wake in the middle of the night to find grimly posed, preserved animals staring at him by candlelight. When Edward was angry with him, the animals were more “fresh” and left in his bed with him.
Even now as the memories came flooding back, Father Dulante’s hands began to tremble. One morning, Edward waited for Marco to show up for his chores, hiding in the dark shadows of the stable. When Marco opened the stable door, he noticed that the rope he used to lead Marigold out was missing. Before he was able to turn completely, he felt the rough fibers wrap around his neck and squeeze against his Adam’s apple. He tried to scream but the noise was choked off along with most of his air supply in a strict warning. Trembling then, like now, he felt Edward’s breath against his ear in a malicious whisper, “Sick little whelp.”
Edward hissed and drew the rope tighter until his lips pressed into the soft flesh behind the trapped boy’s ear. Marco could feel the danger of consciousness slipping away from him. His teeth began to chatter. Inside his head it was so loud he wondered if they would crack.
“Who invited you here, anyway?” Edward’s words were emphasized with a sudden jerk upward and back of the rope. The motion stole Marco’s balance and he fell to the stable floor but Edward did not allow any give in the rope. In a panic, the smaller boy rolled and twisted, trying to regain his footing but his assailant was already dragging him further into the dark stable like an animal being led to slaughter.
“No!” Marco tried to scream but it was nothing more than a hoarse whisper.
He tried to dig his heels down into the wooden floor and grab for anything to use as a weapon, but taking his hand away from the rope only allowed Edward to pull tighter. Each precious gulp of air was crucial to his survival. So was keeping his wits about him. He was smarter than Edward but Edward was wicked and unstable. Marco had no idea what kind of outcome a match of this kind would bring.
When Edward finally stopped, Marco lay still, trying to control his heart and mind. Edward’s twisted features appeared above him, wielding a rusted blade and waved it back and forth in front of his eyes.
“I’m going to gut you like a dirty pig and hang you to bleed out.” Edward’s voice was cool and even as he spoke the words that rattled Marco’s spine.
Marco’s effort to control his heart rate failed, immediately. The muscle was now pounding so hard he thought his ribs would crack open, allowing it to leap outside his body and leave him to his demise. Without shame, he began to cry and struggle harder, but he was no match for Edward.
Every time Marco managed to make it to his feet, Edward would slam a fist against the side of his
head and throw him down to the earth, again. The struggle caused the horses to stir and stomp their hooves against the dense floor. They were throwing their heads back and snorting in agitation. The violence of Marco’s beating made the air thick and heavy with sweat and blood and the animals could taste it.
Marco tried to stand again but his vision was blurry and his eyes were swelling shut. He could see Edward smiling though, and enjoying the infliction of pain. The older boy wanted him to keep fighting. The more Marco fought the more pain Edward would inflict until finally, all his fight would dwindle.
Lying on the dirt floor among the hay, Marco sobbed, knowing he was about to die. Edward began wrapping the rope around his ankles in a silent deliberate way, then moved into his victim’s line of vision again. Throwing the other end of the rope up into the rafters, he began to hoist the younger boy’s body up until his head swung over the floor by about three feet. Marco’s eyes closed when Edward growled, rearing back with his blade. This is it, He thought. Edward was about to thrust his blade into the soft part of his younger cousin’s belly when Isabel ran from out of nowhere, her arm swung out, and through his impaired vision, Marco watched the older boy’s eyes widen before dimming as the light was put out from within.
Edward fell straight to his knees, still holding Marco’s gaze before slowly pitching forward and falling to the ground. The hammer was still in Isabel’s hand as she stood there, shaking like a leaf. She was staring in disbelief at what she’d done to Edward when Marco’s voice finally reached her ears, urging her back to the scene, “Isabel?”
She was still far away but her eyes shifted to his and showed signs of recognition. She had lost all the color in her face. The two were shivering, uncontrollably.
“Please,” he said, softly. “Help me down.”
Isabel looked around for a way to cut the rope before gazing down with trepidation at Edward’s body. He still had the blade clutched within his blood-stained fingers. Her eyes met with Marco’s again, and she nearly fell apart knowing she would have to touch the fallen boy to retrieve it but her friend’s pleading eyes gave her the strength she’d need. Nodding slowly, Isabel sank to her knees and crawled toward Edward’s prone body.
The silence that surrounded them caused every noise she made to be amplified, and any sudden sound provoked them to jump. It seemed that she took an eternity to reach him, and when she did she extended her hand even more slowly toward the blade. Her fingers finally made contact and she let out a breath of relief, then looked up at Marco with a reassuring smile before tugging on it. Confusion set in and her smile faded into terror when she realized that Edward was staring right at her.
“Run Isabel!” Marco screamed.
Isabel scrambled to her feet just as Edward did and both moved to the right, then to the left. Edward’s smile was sick and maniacal as he toyed with her. Frantically, Isabel spun and ran back toward the stable door, turning her back on Edward. He used this to his advantage and darted to the other side of the stable out of their line of sight.
The horses were in a fully agitated state, kicking the walls and stomping the floor. Some used their bodies to bump the doors holding them within their stalls. Marco was starting to get lightheaded as the blood continued to rush to his head but he refused to give up. Twisting his body to look any way to get out of this, or see where Edward was, he caught sight of a pair of budnippers on the wall. If he swung hard enough, he might be able to reach them and use them to cut himself down.
It was a slow start but he began. The momentum shifted the world, left then right, and eventually his body was swaying to and fro. His frustration was mounting as he’d come so close to the nippers, his fingertips grazing them before his body would fall away again. He took slow, deep breaths. He needed to relax. He needed to be calm.
In the distance he could still hear the sound of the horses and the scuffling of Isabel and Edward.
“Please God, keep her safe!” he thought. “Just a few more swings.”
Isabel rounded one of the stalls and tried to still her breathing. The horse beside her got spooked and jerked away, letting out a small whine. Grimacing, she tried to calm it with her hands but the animal threw its head aside and backed up, throwing her roughly against the wall. Pain sent a spark of white light through the back of Isabel’s eyes and she bit her lip to keep from making any noise. She tried to sneak out of the stall and past the horse but Edward was there, waiting for her.
“You’re an even better prize than the little pig.” He growled.
His hands suddenly gripped her arms like a vice and he drug her to the center of the stable, back toward Marco. Isabel went into a full blown panic, letting out a scream before trying to break free of his grip. Edward’s icy smile faded and his features smeared into rage. He raised his hand and sent it crashing down without mercy against her cheekbone. The blow sent the small girl reeling into a spin before she fell to the ground, barely conscious.
“Now, you will pay dearly. I’m going to give you many reasons to squeal.” He said, now wrapping her hair around his hand and dragging her through the stable again toward a work table near the back.
Isabel could barely see or walk straight so he shoved her where he wanted her to go. She saw the table and let out a sob. Her futile attempt to push back only made him angrier and he shoved her roughly on top of it, pinning her belly against its surface.
Adrenaline was all the strength that Isabel had left and she tried to fend his attack off as best she could to no avail. Another slap and she watched the blood from her split lip splatter across the wooden table. The sound of metal equipment scraping together behind her made her cry out again. Edward stuffed a dirty rag into her mouth, fingers digging deeply, shoving it into the back of her throat, making the act of breathing nearly impossible. She could feel herself starting to gag as he spun her around, forcing her chin upward so he could stare down at her. She and Marco were the same age, thirteen this year and only months apart. Edward’s age and height put him a full foot taller.
“Look at this dirty whore.” He leaned down to whisper, allowing his tongue snake along her tear-stained cheek.
Isabel tried to pull back but Edward had her pinned with himself between her legs. He was like an un-moving stone with Hell in his eyes full of malicious intent.
“I see how he looks at you. That little pig. Too bad he’ll never get to see you again.” Edward shoved against her again in a lewd way, and then brought his blade upward, trailing it along her thigh. She could feel the precision of the tip tearing tiny fissures in her skin as it made its trail.
Isabel instinctively jerked back but Edward was unrelenting. He leaned in further, sniffing at her hair until she shook from head to toe and began sobbing through the rag. His hand found home on her breast and squeezed into a claw, his unkempt nails scraped into her skin and drew blood to the surface. Isabel screamed past the restricting cloth and Edward’s fury consumed him. His lips curled back over his teeth and he pinned her to the table by her throat, strangling her. Isabel’s feet kicked at the air and her fists beat at Edward’s arms to no avail. Her eyes were growing darker and darker with each moment of her losing battle when she caught sight of her salvation. Marco!
From a far corner, Marco came running and behind him, Isabel saw HIM. The man with wings. It all happened like a dream. Edward flew back with a look of surprise and air returned to her lungs. It was a slow return due to the rag being lodged in her throat which she quickly began pulling out of her mouth, but it was enough. Isabel rolled onto her rear and she fell to the floor scooting to a wall as fast as she could while trying to process what she witnessed. Marco was now standing over Edward’s body with the shovel still hovering over his head. She could see the inner battle painted on his face. None of it made sense to him. Dropping his weapon, he looked at Isabel who was still staring up at him, but seeing something past him. He turned quickly but saw nothing.
“W-what?! What is it?” He cried out, spinning back to face her.
>
Isabel just shook her head quickly, and said nothing.
Marco fell to the ground and Isabel scooted back against the wall even further as if she could go right into it. The angel stepped back slowly, pressing his fingers to his lips motioning for silence, and then disappeared. I’m going mad, she thought. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut it all out but the light from outside followed by the nursemaid’s screams drug her right back into the nightmare.
When Anne couldn’t find her this morning, she went searching in the usual places. Isabel was always in the stables with Marigold. What Anne stumbled upon this morning was the horrific aftermath of what these two had just endured. Isabel’s entire house was there in a matter of seconds and her father quickly swept her up and out of the mess, carrying her to her room. When Marco’s aunt came, he sobbed and reached out for her but she brushed past him, falling to her knees beside Edward. Rebecca’s husband and the stable master stood off to the side, exchanging glances.
“What have you done?!” Rebecca spun, laying accusing eyes on Marco.
“He tried to kill me!” Marco cried out. He extended his arms to show the damage that he had suffered at Edward’s hands but she did not see.
Rebecca threw herself over Edward, rocking his limp body as she sobbed. Her husband gently pulled at Marco’s elbow, “Come on, son. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Marco’s face was full of confusion and his eyes were soaked in tears. “Uncle? What did I do?”
“Hush, Marco. Come with me.” He said, and pulled him again. His eyes told him not to argue and do as he was told.
Even though Isabel had collaborated Marco’s story, his aunt was distraught over the death of her only son. The two were questioned for hours well into the night before finally being allowed to clean up and get ready for bed. Marco’s body ached from top to bottom and he could barely move as he walked down the hallway to his room. There were whispers from the staff that Edward was “touched by evil” but none would ever speak the words. Saying such things to his mother would cause certain termination of one’s job. In her eyes, Edward could do no wrong.
