Sins of Our Fathers

by A. Rose Mathieu

  Each room was the same as the first, no furnishings but for the two twin beds. The floor held two bathrooms, one on each end, with multiple sinks, toilets, and showers efficiently lined up. As they made their way to the end of the hallway, she turned back to a wooden stairway that stood in the middle, opposite the main exit at the front of the building. They resumed their plan of each taking a side and searched the rooms, finding the second and third floors duplicates of the first.

  The building was now barren, devoid of any indication that life once existed. It almost reminded her of a sunken ship that had been scavenged. There was no treasure here.

  “Well, this is a whole lotta nothing,” she stated as she headed back to the stairway and walked down two steps before stopping. Father Parker remained at the top of the stairs and watched her walk back up. She moved down the hallway and stopped in front of a door with her arms crossed.

  “It’s a door,” he said, stating the obvious.

  “I see that.” She shook her head, “Look.” She shined the light on a brown plastic marker next to the door that displayed a white number with two empty slots below.

  “Yes, the rooms all have that. It’s the room number, and the empty slots next to A and B probably listed the occupants’ names.”

  She gave him a look and then realized she would need to explain. “This is Thirty B, upon level three.”

  He stared at her.

  “The poem,” she blurted out. “Thirty B, upon level three / continued the devil’s iniquity.”

  “You think the devil lived here?” he asked with a straight face.

  “Or someone close to it.”

  Father Parker stayed silent with a serious look.

  “We need to know what happened here.”

  He inspected the sign as she turned and walked back down the steps.

  “What, that’s it?” he called down to her. “You’re not going to break down the wall?”

  “Not today. Didn’t bring the right tools.”

  When they exited the building, Elizabeth closed the side door behind them to make their intrusion less obvious to anyone who might pass by. She moved on to the church that stood at the far end of the property and circled the structure, stopping at the front entrance. Before Father Parker could offer a protest, she snipped the lock off with her cutters, and he let out a groan but otherwise remained silent. She figured the father had given up protesting by now.

  After shouldering her pack, she walked to the front of the church with her flashlight trained straight ahead. A thick layer of dirt blanketed the inside, and with the windows boarded, the room was engulfed in darkness. She banged her knee into the side of a pew and bent to rub it, which caused her light to bounce around the enclosed space as she tended to her leg. When she stood again, she turned to face the pews and shined her light around the church. The walls were a simple white, with a slight texture, and wooden beams ran across the roof and down the side walls in between the windows.

  She shuddered as an uneasy feeling crept through her. “How would you like to do Mass in here, Father?”

  “Probably better than in a prison,” he replied from right behind her, causing her to jump.

  She ignored him and stepped up to the altar as she moved her light across the surface. It was clear that the church had been vacant for a substantial period of time and nothing had been disturbed in the interim. The only thing that remained was the furniture that was attached to the ground, and she wasn’t sure if that was because the archdiocese removed the belongings or the trespassers did it for them.

  The architecture of the chapel was simple. It was a solitary building roughly shaped like a square, unlike most modern Catholic churches that were laid out as a cross. There were no passageways leading off to other rooms outside of the main church. The room seemed large enough to only accommodate Mass for the students at the school. Four sets of doors led out of the church, including a double set of doors at the back of the church from which they entered, two single doors at each side of the church, and a single door at the front near the altar.

  She moved to the door near the altar. “There were only three doors to the outside when we walked around it. Where do you think this door goes?”

  When he didn’t answer, she asked, “Father, are you there?” She turned and shined her light right in his eyes.

  He shielded his face from the glare and responded. “Yep, I’m here.”

  She twisted the handle on the door but found it locked and fumbled with her bag and pulled out what she was looking for.

  “A crowbar? You can’t be serious. What law school did you go to?”

  She only chuckled and wedged the bar between the door where the lock met the frame and heaved, using her body weight. There was a cracking sound, but the door didn’t give way. She continued with no success as Father Parker watched on.

  “A little help here?” she asked.

  “Oh no, not me.”

  “Let’s see, you’ve broken into two buildings, but you draw the line now?” She used all her weight, pushing on the crowbar, making grunting noises with each thrust.

  “Fine,” he said. He took Elizabeth’s position, and with one push, the door frame cracked, and he pulled open the door.

  “Thank you,” she said, removing the crowbar from his hands and redepositing it in her backpack.

  He shined his light inside the open door and down a set of stairs. “It looks like a basement.”

  She joined him, shining her light down, and then descended the stairs as he stood at the top.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any way of talking you out of this?” he called down.

  “You can try.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He released a breath and took careful steps down the wooden stairs.

  Elizabeth stood at the base of the stairs and methodically trailed her light from corner to corner. The room stood vacant but for a harvesting of spider webs and dust. She took a few steps in the room as Father Parker remained on the bottom step. She abruptly stopped and took a few steps back, until she banged into him.

  “What is it?” he asked, alarm in his voice.

  She shined her light on the floor. “Footprints.”

  “How? The doors were chained shut.”

  She moved the light around the room until it landed on a set of cement steps leading to a cellar door. She crossed to it and pushed up on the rusted metal doors, and they gave way, exposing her to the night air. The cellar doors on the outside were camouflaged by brush strategically placed around the entrance.

  “They got in through here. It looks like it had been pried open.”

  “Probably someone looking for a warm place to sleep,” the father reasoned.

  Elizabeth circled the room until she came to a concrete door. “What do you suppose is in here?”

  Father Parker remained perched on the last step as she turned the handle and pushed. She struggled with the door and pushed with her shoulder, putting her body weight into it. “It’s heavy,” she grunted.

  He came to help just as she got the door open, and she shined her light in first and inspected the room, finding wall-to-wall concrete. Confident that the room was empty, she stepped down a small flight of cement steps and stood in the center. The father joined her and added his light for a better view. Thick metal clasps drilled into the wall and floor were evenly spaced on one side of the room. She would have questioned the purpose, but the same clasps were affixed to the ceiling near the center of the room and floor below with heavy chains attached.

  “What the hell is this place? Looks like the Spanish Inquisition.”

  The father didn’t respond but instead sat in a solitary chair that stood next to a small wooden table. Elizabeth crossed to a metal shelving unit that was bolted to the wall and pulled down a cardboard box containing cleaning solvents and supplies. She pulled down the second box with the same contents.

  “I just don’t get it.” She cocked her head as she spoke, noticing a secon
d concrete door near the table where the father sat. It nearly blended in with the cement wall. He followed her gaze. “This just keeps going on,” she stated as she moved to it.

  She pulled hard on the door until it gave and released a squeak as the hinges moved. The noise caused Father Parker to jump, and he muttered just loud enough for her hear, “Why did I agree to this?” He rose and dutifully followed her, but stopped in the doorway. “Ugghh, not the rat tunnel,” he groaned.

  “This is the door we saw the first time, see?” She pointed, trying to contain her excitement. She pulled the door halfway closed, forcing the father to hop into the tunnel and out of the way, and shined the light on the backside of the door. “Why do they need a secret passageway? This just gets curiouser and curiouser.”

  She started down the tunnel toward the chamber they previously discovered. “Elizabeth, I don’t think this is a good idea,” the father said. She didn’t answer, and he moved to the middle of the tunnel, away from the sides. From the corner of her eye, she saw his light move around his feet looking for rats. A large bang echoed through the passageway, causing small rocks to fall from the ceiling.

  She ran back to him, breathing heavy. “What was that?”

  “The door. It closed,” he responded.

  She went to the door, and it was sealed shut. “What did you do?”

  “Do? I didn’t do anything. I was standing right here.” Father Parker took a deep breath and collected himself, and she waited patiently, realizing he was truly spooked. He looked directly at her. “It could have closed by itself.”

  “We should go back.”

  The father turned toward the entrance of the tunnel, and she followed directly behind him. He breathed an audible sigh when they came to the metal grate, and he pulled it away from the wall, holding it open for her. She tossed her backpack through first and followed it, then held the grate so Father Parker could pass. She opened the wooden door that shielded the tunnel from the outside world, and a burst of cold air hit her face. She relished it, breathing it in deep. She could hear the father do the same as he closed the door behind them.

  “Never thought I would be so happy to be in the middle of the woods,” he said.

  Elizabeth stepped through the dead foliage, making her way back to the school. After a few moments, Father Parker put his hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch.

  “I think we need to go that way.” He pointed to the right.

  “No, I’m pretty sure it’s this way.” She shined her light straight in front of her.

  “For once, how about you follow me?”

  She conceded and stepped behind the father, letting him lead the way. After several minutes of wandering, she finally spoke up, “I think we need to go back that way.” She pointed to the direction she was originally heading. “We should have come up to the school by now.”

  He turned to face her and caught his foot in the underbrush, causing him to drop his light. He reached out to Elizabeth for balance, and she grabbed a hold of his arm and helped steady him.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. I just got caught up.” He kicked at some low brush as he spoke.

  She bent and picked up his light and handed it to him, but pulled it back just as he reached for it. She shined both lights on a tree behind him and moved to it, keeping the lights trained on the tree.

  “Uh, a little light here, please.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She turned and handed him back his flashlight.

  “Buried beneath the lovers’ tree / lies the secret of Infinity,” she recited.

  He scrunched up his nose. “What?”

  “The poem, remember? It said, ‘Buried beneath the lovers’ tree / lies the secret of Infinity.’”

  “Okay,” he drew out.

  She realized that he didn’t see it and shined her light close to the tree trunk. Two sets of initials surrounded by a heart were carved into the tree. “It’s a lovers’ tree.”

  The father stepped close and shined his light. “But it could be any tree.”

  “Perhaps,” she responded. “Or perhaps it’s this tree, behind the school, outside the secret tunnel.” She gestured with her hands to emphasize her point, and he shrugged, unconvinced.

  Elizabeth turned back to the tree and dropped the pack off her back. He pointed to the backpack and replied, “Oh no, don’t tell me you have a shovel in that thing too?”

  “Nope, no shovel. Didn’t think of it. Next time.” She circled the tree slowly, shining her light around the trunk and the ground. She widened her circle, scouring the ground and kicking at the leaves that cracked as they moved.

  “Shhh,” the father said. “You’re too loud.”

  “Afraid I’ll wake the bear?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you’ll wake whoever it was that closed the door.”

  “Good point.” She assumed that the door closure was simply a result of a draft or gravity pulling on the door, but she knew they couldn’t be too cautious in case the father’s paranoia turned out to be right. She slowed her movements and then crouched to the ground for a closer inspection, and after several minutes of searching, gave up. “We need to come back in the light.” She moved her light up the tree as she stood and arched her back for a stretch, causing the light to bounce randomly. She then stood still, grasping the light in both hands, and moved it slowly over a low-hanging branch. The light glinted off an object dangling, nearly concealed by leaves, and she moved to it and stretched up, but couldn’t reach.

  “What is it?” asked Father Parker.

  “I don’t know. Can you reach it?”

  He reached up and pulled the object down, bringing a small part of the branch with it. He gave it to Elizabeth, and she turned it over hands.

  “It looks like a name tag. The kind you see in the military. I can’t tell what it says. It’s too dirty.”

  “Let’s find our way back, and we can look at it when we get out of here.”

  “Okay, hold on a sec.” She reached for her backpack and dropped the necklace in a side pouch and then pulled out the crowbar.

  “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Mark the trees so we can find our way back here. Follow me.”

  She held the light in one hand and the crowbar in the other and etched a mark into each tree as she passed. She moved in the direction that they were originally heading before Father Parker had changed their course. After a brief walk, the clearing came into view, and Elizabeth held back an “I told you so.”

  Without a word, they walked to the parking lot, scanning the property as they moved, and she clutched the crowbar in her hands in a defensive manner. When they reached the Roadster, he let out a breath. “Made it. Never thought I’d be so happy to get in your car.”

  She gave him a weary smile as she opened her trunk and dropped the backpack inside. After closing the trunk, she spat out, “God damn it.”

  The father turned in alarm, not even fazed by her language at this point. “What?”

  She kicked the tire that was flat and circled the car, kicking each tire as she went. “They’re all flat. Someone slashed my tires.”

  Father Parker leaned against the car and put his head in hands. “This night will never end.”

  Elizabeth pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called roadside assistance.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Bishop Pallone knocked on the ornately carved door, and a thin, frail man with white hair who had Pallone beat by at least twenty years in age pulled it open. Pallone entered and crossed the room. “Your Eminence.”

  “We can dispense with the formalities. Please have a seat and join me,” said Cardinal Ryan. The cardinal sat savoring his tea from a delicate floral-patterned cup, his beloved morning routine, as he basked in the warmth radiating from a fireplace at his side. Pallone took a seat in an antique floral-patterned chair opposite the cardinal. He pondered whether the teacups and the chairs were meant to match. A sil
ver tea set sat on the table between them, and the white-haired man stood beside Pallone and wordlessly bent to pour him some tea.

  “Thank you.” Pallone accepted the cup, trying to keep a neutral expression. He detested tea but couldn’t refuse the cardinal’s invitation to partake in his favorite ritual.

  “Thank you, Edmund. That will be all,” Cardinal Ryan said to the man.

  With a slight bow, the man slowly but steadily moved to the door and securely closed it behind him. The cardinal waited until he left before he spoke. “So tell me, have you spoken to the police?”

  “Yes, I have a meeting arranged for Friday and have put the necessary documents in order.”

  “Excellent. I know you don’t agree, but it’s the best thing. We should have done this thirty years ago. We must accept our responsibly in all of this.”

  Pallone offered an insincere smile and then released a violent cough, spilling some tea on his lap. He leaned forward and set the cup on the table.

  “Are you all right?” the cardinal asked with concern.

  Pallone waived his hand in embarrassment. “Yes, I’m fine,” he choked out and felt his face flush. “I seem to have swallowed wrong.” He relaxed back into his chair and calmed his breathing.

  “Let me get something to help clean you up,” the cardinal offered.

  Cardinal Ryan rose and crossed the room to a side door and disappeared. Pallone took advantage of the cardinal’s departure and removed a small glass vial from the folds of his robe. He poured a generous amount of its contents into the cardinal’s cup and a fraction of the amount into his own. He threw the empty container into the fireplace, shattering the glass against the back wall. He watched as the flames momentarily flared, licking at the shards of glass, devouring the chemical traces.

  “Here you go,” Cardinal Ryan said as he reentered the room with a small white towel dangling from his hand. Pallone graciously accepted it and wiped at his lap. After he reseated himself, the cardinal picked up his cup and resumed their conversation. Pallone followed and lifted his cup, taking small sips.