by John Saul
Ryan shrugged, but made no reply at all.
“She seems very nice,” Teri said.
“She is.”
“So it’s all going well?” his mom asked.
Ryan shrugged again. “It’s fine,” he said. “I told you it was.” He wasn’t about to tell her about all the strange stuff that seemed to be going on, and at least if he was here he didn’t have to watch Tom Kelly putting moves on his mother.
“We’ll see you this weekend, right?” Teri asked. “I’ll pick you up on Saturday and you’ll stay through Sunday?”
Ryan shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Yeah, I guess.” Another pause, this one even more uncomfortable, and he looked up just in time to see a look pass between his mother and Tom Kelly; the kind of look that told him there was something they weren’t telling him. And something he wasn’t going to like once he did hear it.
“Listen, I’ve got to get to class,” he said, cutting his mother off just as she seemed on the verge of speaking.
She hesitated, then let her breath out like a deflating balloon. “I know, honey,” she said softly. “I won’t keep you—I’ve just been missing you, that’s all.”
“And I miss you, too,” Ryan said. “Look, I’ve really got to go before I get in trouble.”
Once again his mother looked like she wanted to say something, but once again she seemed to change her mind at the last instant. “Okay,” she said, taking a step back, and Ryan was sure she wasn’t just backing away from him, but from what she’d been about to say as well. “It’s been good to see you, even if just for a few minutes.”
“Be good, Sport,” Tom Kelly said, and held out his hand.
“Sport?” What was Tom Kelly doing, calling him “Sport?” Only his father had ever called him that. Ignoring Kelly’s outstretched hand, Ryan kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’ll call you about this weekend.”
“Okay, honey. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” he said. Finally relenting enough to give Tom Kelly a curt nod, he hurried after Melody, hoping she was waiting just around the corner of the administration building.
What was it about Tom Kelly that rubbed him the wrong way? He seemed like a nice guy, and he seemed to make his mom happy.
So what was the problem?
But of course he knew what the problem was: Tom Kelly was not his father, and never would be.
He turned the corner, and sure enough, there was Melody, waiting for him, and suddenly all thoughts of Tom Kelly—and his resentment of the man—vanished.
CHAPTER 31
MELODY CLOSED HER textbook and pushed it to the back of her desk—what was the point of even trying to concentrate on it when she’d just read the same page three times and still didn’t know what it said.
No matter how hard she tried, right now all she could think about was Sofia, who lay motionless on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Exactly as she’d been doing for the last two hours.
But the Sofia that Melody knew hated just sitting around the dorm room in the evenings. She was always the one who’d rush through her homework, and always had a scheme to go do something fun, which always seemed to involve both boys and at least bending—if not outright breaking—the school’s rules.
It had always been Melody herself who had been the quiet, studious, well-behaved one.
Yet now there was this new Sofia, who just lay there, not studying, not even talking. Melody turned her chair around so she was fully facing Sofia. “I’ve got an idea,” she said, leaning eagerly toward Sofia and doing her best to make her voice sound as excited as Sofia’s always did when she was about to set out on some new adventure. “Let’s call Ryan and Darren and see if they want to sneak out for a Coke.”
Instead of instantly seizing on the idea, as she would have on any other day Melody could remember, Sofia only shook her head. “No, thanks.”
Melody let the smile on her face dissolve into the worry that was a genuine reflection of her feelings. “Do you feel all right?”
“I’m fine,” Sofia replied, but with a flatness in her voice that belied the words.
Melody moved from the chair to the edge of her roommate’s bed, but Sofia didn’t even look at her. She just kept staring at the ceiling, though Melody was certain she wasn’t really looking at it any more than herself. She tried again, choosing her words carefully. “If something happened to you last night—I mean, something that your parents or…well, something the police ought to know about—”
Sofia’s eyes flicked away from the ceiling and fastened on Melody for a second, and in the light from the fixture overhead they almost looked like they were glittering like a snake’s. “I told you, I’m fine!” she said, spitting the words hard enough to make Melody flinch.
Flinch, but not give up. “If you’re so fine, then tell me what’s going on with you!” she demanded. “First you didn’t sit with us at lunch, which was good considering what you did with your food. Then you didn’t sit with us in the chapel, either. You sat in back like you were afraid of the place. But after the service you went up to Kip’s body, and did that weird thing.”
Now Sofia’s eyes locked onto Melody’s. “What weird thing?” she demanded.
“T-Talking to him,” Melody stammered. Sofia’s eyes were boring into her so hard she could actually feel them, but she didn’t stop. “And not just talking to him. You were touching him. Touching his dead body! It creeped me out—it creeped everybody out.”
Sofia’s gaze never wavered, and her eyes seemed to be glowing with a light from within, like those of an animal stalking its prey in the dark of the night.
Melody shrank away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. You’re—You’re just so different, and I’m scared.”
In a flash, Sofia’s eyes dilated until the irises vanished and Melody had the feeling she was staring into a vast dark emptiness. “Just leave me alone,” Sofia said, her voice little more than a rasp.
“No!” Melody shot back, even though her heart was suddenly pounding with a strange panic. “You’re my best friend, and if you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to call Brother Francis, and then I’m going to call Father Laughlin, and if I have to I’ll even call your parents. Something’s wrong with you!”
Sofia rose up on the bed, and as her face drew closer to Melody’s, her eyes glittered and her features seemed to warp and twist, her lips curling back from sharply pointed teeth. Melody recoiled from the hideous visage, springing from the bed and backing away a step or two. But as quickly as it had come, the evil mask was gone and Sofia looked once more as she always had.
And now she was smiling. “I keep telling you, I’m fine. Nothing happened to me, and nothing is wrong.” She flopped down onto the bed, and sighed heavily. “Actually, I feel really, really good!”
Melody, heart pounding, stared at Sofia. What had she just seen? But even as the memory of Sofia’s contorted face rose in her mind, she wondered if she’d actually seen it at all. It had all happened so quickly—maybe it was just a trick of the light. Or maybe she’d only imagined the whole thing.
“All right,” she said softly. “If you’re okay, you’re okay. I was just worried about you, that’s all.”
But as she went back to her desk and tried yet again to focus on the textbook she’d cast aside, she wondered if she’d ever be able to sleep in the same room with Sofia again.
Sister Mary David had put her ear to Sofia Capelli’s dorm room door just in time to hear her final words: I’m fine. Nothing happened to me, and nothing is wrong…actually, I feel really, really good!
The old nun crossed herself, and silently offered a prayer of thanks to the Holy Mother for Sofia’s salvation.
All day, she’d been watching Sofia, and all day she’d been worried about the girl.
But now, reassured by the voice of Sofia herself, Sister Mary David knew everything would be all right.
Lifting her habit so its hem wouldn’t drag
on the floor, Sister Mary David walked as lightly down the long dormitory hallway as she had almost fifty years ago, when she herself had lived in this dormitory. Until this evening, she had been feeling the weight of that half century, especially this year. After the loss of Jeffrey Holmes and the terrible death of Kip Adamson, she had actually been feeling old.
But tonight, after hearing Sofia Capelli’s words, Sister Mary David felt much better.
Tonight, she would be able to sleep undisturbed.
Things, she was sure, were getting back to normal.
CHAPTER 32
FATHER SEBASTIAN DISCREETLY held Father Laughlin’s arm to steady him as the old priest eased himself down into the only padded chair in Archbishop Rand’s austere office, then took his own seat at the same time the Archbishop squeaked into the chair behind his desk.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Rand began.
“Is this about my report?” Laughlin asked, his rheumy eyes sparkling uncharacteristically in his eagerness to hear what the Vatican might have said. Father Sebastian felt certain that there must have been a time when the old priest had been a man whose bearing befitted his height. But his mind seemed to have shrunk as much as his body, and now there was an oddly childlike quality to him. Perhaps the Archbishop would see that it was time for Laughlin to be retired, from the school at least, if not the priesthood itself.
Rand peered over the top of his half-glasses, his gaze no less sharp for his slight loss of ocular focus. Unlike Laughlin’s, the Archbishop’s mind was easily outpacing his body. “Your report has certainly generated interest from the Vatican,” he said carefully.
While Sloane clearly understood the Archbishop’s guarded tone, Father Laughlin fairly beamed. “I knew it!” he said. “I knew they’d be impressed!”
“They were,” Rand agreed. “And there is something else.”
“Else?” Laughlin echoed, his eyes blinking nervously. “What else?”
Father Sebastian straightened slightly, hearing something in the Archbishop’s voice that told him to make absolutely certain he understood every nuance of whatever he was about to say.
“There is a possibility—and I stress that this is only a possibility—that our new Pope may visit Boston.”
Laughlin’s mouth dropped open in stunned amazement. “Here? Really?”
“Again,” the Archbishop reiterated, “it is only a possibility, and as his North American tour begins in less than two weeks, I would submit that the possibility is a slim one. A very, very slim one.”
“Still,” Laughlin said, clutching at the idea of a papal visit like a child clinging to a bag of candy. “This is remarkable news!”
The Archbishop tipped his head a fraction of an inch. “Your report, it seems, has intrigued His Holiness. As I’m sure you’re both aware, the Archdiocese has asked repeatedly for a papal visit, but until now it has been consistently refused.” His gaze moved from Laughlin to Sebastian Sloane. “For obvious reasons, given the problems we’ve had in Boston. But apparently your work at St. Isaac’s has made a difference in Rome.” The Archbishop paused while Father Laughlin took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the perspiration that had broken out on his forehead. Only when he was certain the old priest wasn’t going to actually faint from excitement did he finally continue, this time addressing himself to Laughlin. “Let me remind you, Ernest, that nothing is confirmed. For now, this information needs to remain strictly within the confines of this office, except for the very highest ranking members of your staff.”
“My staff?” Laughlin echoed.
The Archbishop nodded. “Yes, Ernest, your staff. After all, if he comes to Boston, it is St. Isaac’s that His Holiness will want to visit, and it must be ready.”
“And what can we do to convince the Pope that he must come to Boston?” Father Sebastian asked.
Archbishop Rand leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers thoughtfully, his eyes fixing on Sloane. “In the end, the Pope will of course do whatever God tells him to do, but it has been suggested that another success—another documented success—in your work could perhaps weigh in the decision.”
Father Sebastian’s heart began to beat a little faster. Like Laughlin, meeting the Pope had been a lifelong dream, and when Rand spoke again, his own excitement grew.
“The Pope, like you, has a very strong background in the ancient rites of the Church, and my sources at the Vatican say he was quite taken with what you’re doing.”
Sebastian took a deep breath, already anticipating what was coming. “I see,” he said softly.
“I hope you do,” Rand replied. “We all want a papal visit, Father Sebastian. We need one. And we are counting on you.” He rose from his chair, Father Sebastian immediately following his lead, then helping Father Laughlin to his feet. As he came around the desk to see his visitors out, he spoke once more, and Father Sebastian knew his entire future rested on his ability to comply with the Archbishop’s order.
They were barely down the steps of the rectory and onto the sidewalk before Father Laughlin had his cell phone in hand, dialing Sister Margaret.
Father Sebastian hailed a cab, then held the car door open for him, but instead of getting into the cab, the elder priest spoke excitedly to his secretary. “Schedule a staff meeting immediately, Sister. We have wonderful news!” Father Sebastian shot him a warning look. “It’s the Pope,” Laughlin exulted far too loudly. “The Pope is coming to Boston!”
His stomach dropping at the words, Father Sebastian quickly scanned the crowded sidewalk, praying that the words had gone unheard. But already at least a dozen people had stopped and turned to stare at the old priest.
Sloane unceremoniously hustled Father Laughlin into the cab, then pushed in behind him. But it was too late.
By the time the cab pulled away from the curb, several passersby were already dialing their cell phones and starting to talk.
CHAPTER 33
FATHER LAUGHLIN LEANED back against his desk and listened to the excited buzz from his staff as they whispered among themselves about the possibility of a visit from Pope Innocent XIV.
Sister Margaret had taken more notes than he would have thought possible during the meeting, and had enough suggestions from the staff to keep everyone busy for far more than the two weeks they had: the hallways should be painted, the roses trimmed, the landscaping in front of the main entrance needed to be completely replanted.
The stained glass in the chapel must be cleaned, and every cobweb in the rafters made to vanish.
Now, as Brother Donovan’s voice rose above the others demanding a new floor in the dining room, Father Laughlin held up his hand and cleared his throat.
Remarkably, they all fell instantly silent.
“Unfortunately, even the prospect of welcoming the Pope to our school doesn’t change our budget.”
“But it will,” Sister Cecelia said. “When we tell our parents’ group about it, surely—”
Father Laughlin silenced her with a look. Though everybody hoped that the Pope’s visit to Boston would rejuvenate the parochial schools—or at least St. Isaac’s—no magic money tap was about to be opened. “We shall do what we can,” he said. “But let us keep in mind that our priority remains with the children. Needless to say, a papal visit would be one of the most important things ever to happen in our lives, but we must not lose sight of our priorities.” He nodded toward Brother Francis. “I am asking the dormitory supervisors to keep an especially close eye on the children. We certainly do not want anything to jeopardize the arrival of—” Dare he even mention His Holiness again, or would that jinx it. Instantly chiding himself for falling into superstition, he nevertheless hewed to its strictures. “—of our guest,” he went on, stressing the single word just enough to let everyone know exactly what he meant. “If any of our charges show any signs of—” He paused again, then found exactly the right word. “—of trouble, I shall expect you to bring it to my attention immediately.”
> Father Sebastian rose from his seat at the back of the crowded room. “And please, do not forget that this visit is not yet confirmed. It is imperative that we keep this news to ourselves until we know for certain.”
“Are there any questions?” Father Laughlin asked in a tone that told his staff he wasn’t about to answer any.
As he had intended, no one raised their hand.
“Then thank you,” Father Laughlin said in dismissal. “Go with God.”
The buzz began again as everyone filed out of the small office, but Sister Mary David stayed in her seat until everyone had left, only approaching Father Laughlin when they were alone. “May I have a word, Father?”
“Of course,” Laughlin said, as he sank back into his chair.
“Sofia Capelli seems to be doing very well,” the nun began. “But since the incident with Kip Adamson, I’ve heard the students talking about Jeffrey Holmes again. Is there anything I should be telling them?”
Laughlin tented his fingers in unconscious imitation of Archbishop Rand. “Tell them the truth, exactly as we’ve always told them,” he replied. “Jeffrey is no longer with us, and we don’t know exactly what happened to him.”
“But it’s such a sensitive time,” Sister Mary David fretted, “I just wish there were something more—”
“There is nothing more, Sister Mary David.”
Sister Mary David fingered the large silver cross that hung from her belt. “I suppose not,” she said with a sigh. “I only wish there was something we could do.”
“We are trying,” Father Laughlin said. “As you know. We are doing our best.”
Sister Mary David gave an unconvinced nod, then put on a smile. “Thank you, Father. And congratulations on the wonderful news about the Holy—” she cut her words off abruptly as the old priest held up a hand to silence her.
“Good night, Sister.”
“Good night, Father.”
Sister Mary David scurried out, closing the office door behind her, and Father Laughlin ran his hands over his tired face. It had been a long day, and now Jeffrey Holmes was again at the top of his priority list.
