Vicarious

by Jon F. Merz

  Not for a civilian. He felt pretty convinced about that.

  But what about for him – an officer of the law?

  He didn’t know.

  He’d killed before.

  Each time in self-defense. Each time he’d been exonerated. But that didn’t necessarily make it feel all right when he lay awake at night reliving the scenarios over and over again.

  Especially when he woke up bathed in a pool of sweat sucking in lungfuls of oxygen as if he was suffocating.

  He looked back down at the piles before them. It was all there. Each of the victims had all been bad seeds. The worst men and women in their respective cities.

  And each and every one of them had died at the hands of the man Curran knew must now be lurking around Boston.

  But how was Curran going to protect the evil people in this city?

  He frowned. Cripes, did he even want to?

  Instinctively, he reached for the phone. Before he realized it, he had pressed out the numbers and heard the ringing. When the soft voice on the other end of the phone spoke, Curran cleared his throat.

  “I may need your help after all.”

  Chapter Five

  Lauren glanced up at the crucifix hanging on the wall opposite her in the room she sat in. Shelves sprang up around the room, each filled to capacity with thousands of books. Around her, men and women pored over thick books. Each of them a scholar of some sort devoted to the Church. Lauren saw a few other women that were preparing to enter a convent like her.

  She sighed. Since receiving Curran’s call, she’d felt excited at first at the prospect of helping him with the case. Part of her wondered whether she was doing it to make peace with her brother’s death. Even though she’d hated him for most of her life, there was still something about him – about her last remaining family – being killed that angered her.

  Another part of her thought she might have a small crush on the handsome detective. She frowned and pushed that thought out of her mind. Lauren’s romantic experiences could be counted on the fingers of one hand. And besides, she had important work to do for the Church. There was no time, she chided herself, for entertaining such silly notions of lustful dalliances.

  The initial excitement at helping had also begun to wear off. Despite spending almost a full day in the divinity school’s library, Lauren had been unable to find anything that could shed some light on the mysterious deaths that Curran had occupied so much of his life with.

  She shut the book and slid her chair back, its legs squawking against the polished wooden floor. She needed some fresh air to clear her head.

  Outside, November winds blew hard around her, tossing the flaps of her overcoat about in the gray daylight. She shivered instinctively and closed her eyes as a blast of wind sent dirt flying at her face.

  She walked across the campus with its rolling green lawns. Tucked away on the underside of Brighton, a few miles outside of Boston, the school’s buildings sheltered a select group of people who still wished to enter the service of God in an age of sexual abuse scandals and political infighting.

  Even here, she thought, evil could reach in and disrupt the work of God.

  At the administration building, she stopped. A lone beam of sunlight pierced the gray sky and broke over the carved statues of saints on either side of the building. She smiled once. And then climbed the steps toward the front door.

  Inside, the quiet seemed almost overpowering. A door to her left beckoned and she wandered through it.

  The old nun at the front desk looked up and smiled. “Can I help you?”

  “Is Sister McDewey in?”

  “Yes. Do you have an appointment?”

  Lauren stopped. She didn’t. “No. But she was my advisor last year and I was hoping I could get her advice about something.”

  The nun smiled and lifted the phone. “Let me just check, dear. I don’t think there’s any reason why she couldn’t spare a few minutes for you. Sit down if you like.”

  Lauren took off her overcoat and sat on a long wooden bench running along one side of the office. She looked at the pictures of the Pope on one wall. Across from him, a beautiful painting depicting the Last Supper featured prominently. Otherwise, the contents of the office with its desks and stacks of paper and books and reports, looked like most other academic offices she’d been in throughout her life.

  “Sister McDewey will see you, dear.”

  Lauren looked up. “Really? Thanks so much for your help.”

  “Think nothing of it. I know there’s plenty of decisions that need talking over with someone before you can make them right. You have yourself a good talk with her. She’s one sharp nun.”

  Lauren smiled and walked toward the heavy brown oak door with the small brass nameplate on it. She knocked once and heard the invitation to enter come from the other side. She turned the doorknob and walked in.

  Sister McDewey looked about fifty, but Lauren had heard she was actually much older. No one seemed to much about her except that she’d done missionary work all over the world for many years.

  She rose as Lauren came in. “Ms. Fields. How nice to see you.”

  “Sister.”

  The elder nun pointed at a cushioned chair across from her desk. “Sit. Please. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Lauren did and smiled. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “How can I help?”

  “You gave me such great advice over the last few years when I decided to actually enter the service. I thought I might speak with you about a matter that’s come to my attention lately.”

  “Even though I’m no longer your official advisor, I can certainly still counsel you on choices affecting your future, have no fear.”

  “Well, this isn’t exactly an official type of decision. It’s more a matter of acquiring information.”

  “Indeed, go on.”

  Lauren shifted, unsure of how to begin. “My brother was murdered the other night.”

  “Oh my heavens, I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Are you all right?”

  Lauren shrugged. “We weren’t really on the best terms. Still, his death was a bit of a shock to me. He was the last family I had.”

  “And you’re troubled by this naturally.”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. I’m most troubled by the way in which he died.”

  “How did he die?’

  Lauren hesitated. How was she going to phrase this? “There were no apparent causes for his death. He simply…died.”

  “How peculiar. And the authorities? What have they told you?”

  “That’s why I’m here actually. The lead detective on the case has seen this type of death before. When he worked for the FBI, he investigated several episodes of this throughout the entire country. He shared some information with me and I told him it sounded almost as though someone had performed some type of reverse laying of hands on the victims.”

  “Laying of hands?”

  “Yes, the old stories of those with the ability to heal by touch.”

  “I’m well aware of the stories, Lauren.” Sister McDewey frowned. “Unfortunately, that’s all there is to them. They’re simply stories.”

  “There’s nothing legitimate about them?” Lauren found that hard to believe.

  Sister McDewey smiled. “Let me tell you something. As you might know, I worked a long time doing work overseas. In the service of the Church we are sometimes sent to the most inhospitable places on earth to do His bidding. Obviously we go to do the goodness that needs doing. I’ve seen an awful lot in my years abroad. And I’ve been to countless tiny villages where someone was reputed to have the gift of healing.”

  “What happened?”

  Sister McDewey shrugged. “What generally happens in cases like those: it turns out to be some sort of charlatan at work whose only motive is to gain some type of control over the local populace. Sometimes it’s for money, other times not. But never – not once –
have I seen any real evidence of the ability.”

  “But don’t you think it might be true?”

  “Even if it was, this thing you’re speaking of – a reversal? It’s never even been documented. Not that I’m aware of.”

  “I did research in the school’s library and couldn’t find anything. I thought I’d come to you and see if you knew where there might be additional information.”

  “And how would I know about that?”

  Lauren raised her eyebrows. She was about to skirt dangerous ground. “I’ve heard rumors of another library here in Boston. One that has certain types of information on arcane subjects.”

  Sister McDewey laughed. “I see that rumor still lives, huh? Well, you can put it right out of your mind. There’s no such place around here. I’d certainly like to think I’d know about it if there was. Although I need hardly remind you that even if it did exist, you wouldn’t be granted access to it unless you were a fully ordained nun. You understand that such a place wouldn’t be open to the public.”

  “So, it doesn’t exist.”

  “No.”

  Lauren stood. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

  Sister McDewey smiled. “No waste at all, Lauren. I’m glad to see you again. How are your preparations coming for entering the service?”

  “Well enough I suppose.” Lauren tried to smile. “I should be going. Thank you so much for your help.”

  “Any time.”

  Lauren turned and walked out. In the outer office, the older nun was nowhere to be seen. Lauren shrugged her coat on and walked out of the administration building, back into the November cold.

  Was Sister McDewey lying about the secret library? Probably. Lauren had heard the rumors long enough to suspect that there was some measure of truth to there. It was simply a matter of finding out its location.

  The worst part, she decided, was having to tell Steve that she hadn’t been able to find anything out. She felt guilty, like she’d lied about being able to help him. Why did I tell him I could find something out? Why did I do that?

  She turned up a side walkway and headed toward Commonwealth Avenue where she could catch the Green Line train that would take her into Boston. Better to tell Steve face-to-face than by telephone.

  I owe him that much at least, she thought.

  “I hope you didn’t believe her.”

  Lauren jumped. She turned. The old nun from the administration building stood in the recessed shadows of the nearby building. A thin trail of smoke encircled her head, coming from the cigarette in her mouth. Lauren thought the picture looked a bit silly. An old nun in a habit hanging out with a cigarette in her mouth.

  “Don’t mind the cig, it’s the only vice I’m sure I’ve got.” The old nun smiled and dropped the cigarette, grinding it underfoot with her black shoe. She looked at Lauren. “Walk with me.”

  She led Lauren down another side pathway, away from the buildings. The wind blew strong in the confined space. When they’d gone a few hundred feet, the old nun dropped onto a bench and smoothed her coat and leaned back.

  Lauren sat next to her and waited.

  “It’s not really a rumor.”

  Lauren raised her eyebrows. How had she heard?

  “Don’t seem so shocked. There’s an intercom system that I can use to listen in one what happens in every office there. Yes, I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve always been interested in keeping abreast of what goes on.”

  “Okay.”

  “She told you it was a rumor. It’s not.”

  “The library?”

  “Most rumors have some measure of truth to them, dear. The trick is figuring out which part is truth and which part is a load of hooey.” She smiled. “Sister McDewey is a fine woman, but it’s her duty to keep the young and inquisitive –“ She smiled at Lauren. “- that’s you, dear – focused on their studies.”

  “So, in this case, which is the truth?”

  “The truth is that there is indeed a building containing research material on the strange and bizarre. The Church has been engaged in missionary work for so many years that our people in the field have run into almost every known and unknown thing out there. It had to be catalogued somewhere.”

  “In the library.”

  “Well, that’s the false part of the rumor. It’s not a library. Not in the traditional sense of the word anyway.” The old nun’s eyes took on a faraway look and almost seemed to mist over. She sighed. “Are you familiar with the Back Bay?”

  “Pretty well.”

  “There are brownstones along Marlborough Street that the Church owns. In fact, there are several all in a row that we control. You wouldn’t find a record of the property holding anywhere since private citizens who do favors for the Church conceal it. But we own it.

  “And this…material is kept there?”

  “Yep.” The old nun frowned. “Is it true what you told Sister McDewey? About the death, I mean.”

  “Yes.”

  The old nun looked away. “Then you’ll need to go there.”

  Lauren eyed her. “Sister, have you heard of this thing before?”

  “Which thing?”

  “The deaths. The mysterious deaths.”

  The old nun lit a fresh cigarette and inhaled deeply. After a moment, she let the stream out in a sudden rush. “No.”

  Lauren frowned. She was lying. But before she could press the issue, the old nun turned to her.

  “It’s better that you explore this for yourself. There are reasons why. They’ll become obvious when you find what you need.”

  “How do I get in to the library?”

  “You simply walk in. If you know how to get there, it’s assumed you belong there.” The old nun smiled at her. “You’re a fair one at making people think you’re something you’re not, I can see that in you.”

  Lauren nodded. “I suppose so.”

  “Then use that confidence and you’ll be fine.” The old nun stood. “Good luck on your search.” She pressed a piece of paper in her hand. “The address is on that.”

  Lauren put her hand in her pocket and stood. “Thank you.”

  The old nun’s eyes seemed sad. “Don’t thank me. I fear that what you’re looking for maybe the last thing you wish to find.” She started to walk away.

  “You know about this, don’t you?”

  The old nun stopped. Lauren could still see the smoke encircling her from the new cigarette. Finally, she turned and walked back toward Lauren. She held out her hand.

  Lauren held out her own. The old nun pressed something short and cold into Lauren’s palm. The her withered hand closed over Lauren’s. She looked up into her eyes.

  “Just remember that evil cannot exist without good.”

  She turned and hurried away before Lauren could call after her.

  Lauren opened her hand and stared. There, against her warm skin, lay a small tarnished key, of the kind that might open a very old lock.

  I wonder what this is for?

  And part of her shuddered to think of what it might open.

  Chapter Six

  She found the library easily enough, exactly where the old nun had told her it would be. From the outside, it looked like any other brownstone on the tree-lined street, with its old-style iron fence and gate leading up to granite steps offset by twin columns. Ivy grew on the bricks, spreading its long dark green tendrils all over the masonry.

  The front door was unlocked.

  Lauren pushed in and at once found herself in a large hallway complete with a white marble floor and a vaulted ceiling painted in antique white that contrasted with the rich chestnut brown of the wooden walls. The entrance seemed to radiate a certain coolness about it. Almost as if God himself had laid a hand across this place.

  A single door led out of the main hall. But right before the door, just off to its left, sat an old woman in regular clothes at a small oak desk. She had a book open in front of
her and didn’t appear to take much interest in Lauren.

  Should I say hello? Lauren frowned. Or would that mark her as an intruder?

  She walked closer. The old woman turned the page of her book and kept reading. Lauren’s heart hammered in her chest.

  Any minute now she’ll look up and demand to know who I am…

  Lauren reached for the doorknob.

  Turned it.

  Heard the click and the door swung back on well-oiled hinges.

  Lauren walked through.

  She exhaled in a rush, relieved to be past the front door.

  As soon as she stepped across the threshold, stacks of books seemed to sprout up everywhere. Books lined every wall. Doorways branched off of this room, each leading to a new room containing more books.

  And what books they were! As she walked through the stacks she could make out hand-bound journals of priests and missionaries several hundred years old. Faded limited editions of varying translations of the bible. Historical accounts of the Church not ordinarily released to the public. And so much more.

  As Lauren walked through the rooms, she saw only one other person: an elderly nun with her head bent deep into a thick book.

  Lauren kept walking. She had no idea where to start.

  She frowned. Better to wander around and see what I can discover on my own before I risk asking for help. Besides, she thought, the key the old nun gave me has to open something. Maybe it will be obvious.

  It took her thirty minutes to make a pass at all the rooms. As she walked, her footsteps echoed off the floors. At any moment she expected to see people running for her, shouting about trespassing.

  But no one came.

  Gradually, her heartbeat calmed down and Lauren set about trying to find the locked room she knew she’d have to locate.

  It was on the third time through each of the rooms that she saw the small door at the rear of one of them. It seemed to be disguised to look more like a painting than a door. Lauren wasn’t even sure it was one until she got close enough to run her hands along the edges and felt the lip of wood jutting out of it. Peering closer, she saw the lock.