Chapter Thirty-Two
The pain woke Elena. She had been on the floor for too many hours and the numbness had become an ache and she tried to roll over onto her back to relive it, but the radiator prevented much movement. She had wet herself while she was out and it was cold down there against her body, where her underwear stuck to her. She was horrified at the thought of soiling herself which she knew would happen unless she used a toilet soon. She was strangely lucid and understood that she had been kidnapped by the man who gave her water and that he was insane. She did not know where she was nor did she know the time of day, or even what day it was. She knew that she must remain calm and not cause him to drug her again. She had a headache and assumed it was from the drugs. She concentrated on her breathing, slowing her breaths and taking in as much air as possible through the blanket, then slowly exhaling, trying to control her heartbeat. It was easier to breathe because she was not fighting for the air. She had taken a yoga class in New York and applied the breathing technique she had learned. Slowly, breathe in. Slowly, breathe out. Focus the mind.
Father Darius was on the floor next to her, studying her breathing in the weak light offered by the lone lamp that was on in the living room. He felt stronger as he watched her, believing her to be the Virgin, allowing a wave of love to wash over him. He was groggy and his back ached, but his mission had become clear again. He must deliver Her to her rightful place in Heaven, and so must gather his strength. He would wait until he felt strong enough to do what must be done. In the meantime, he would do what he could for Her.
“Do you need anything?” His hand lightly brushed against the blanket covering her face.
She nodded but kept silent. “Would you like me to open the blanket?” Again, she nodded and tried to keep her breathing under control, but her heart was racing. “Okay. That will be okay. We can talk then.” He again had difficulty untying the rope around her head and she thought she would panic as she waited to see again. He was sitting up looking at her face when he pulled the blanket back and she blinked as she looked into his teary eyes. He had the look of a man who was seeing a vision. “Mater Dei.” Mother of God. He believed that Latin was a holy language and was the only way to truly speak the divine. He got up on his knees and wrapped a Rosary around his fingers. “Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem…” I believe in God, the Father Almighty…
She watched him pray and it occurred to her that he was praying to her. He believed her to be holy in some way. He called her Mater Dei, Mother of God. Mary? Did he think she was Mary? If so, what did he have in mind for her? She had no doubt that this was the man who had been murdering priests in a grisly, bloody manner, but what did the Virgin Mary have to do with it? Was he acting on her behalf? Was he just crazy? She watched him pray, working his way around the beads on the Rosary. At some point he began to touch himself and weep in anguished wails, bashing his fist against his forehead. His release came as he ended his prayers and she had trouble controlling her building hysteria. What sort of monster is he? she wondered. He collapsed against her and begged for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I am not worthy to be your servant.”
“You must untie me,” she whispered.
He sat up and composed himself. His face was hard. “Are you Catholic?” He again saw her as Elena, not the Virgin.
“Why do you ask?”
“Are you familiar with the Holy Trinity; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit?”
“Of course.” She wondered where this was going.
“Not that I am comparing you to the Holy Trinity, but my point is that it is possible to be more than one being at the same time. You, for instance, are two beings at this moment but soon you shall be only one.” He took on the attitude of the priests she had feared as a girl, the attitude of righteousness and absolute knowledge. “Inside you is the spirit of the Mother of God, the Virgin Mary, She who contains no sin, no taint of human weakness, no degrading desires. Her spirit is trapped in the body I see before me, the consort of the reporter Dave Haggard, with whom I know you have soiled your soul in desires of the flesh. Your body is no longer a holy temple, it has become a repository of filth from which She, the Virgin, must be freed. Do you understand?” His face was severe and his tears had dried. His weak, mad appearance had been replaced by something else, something stronger.
“No, I don’t understand. Tell me.” She was trembling and her breathing was quick.
“You and She must be separated. Her spirit must be allowed to return to its heavenly home.”
“Why doesn’t she just leave me?”
He looked at her with pity. “That is the task for which I have been chosen. It is the culmination of my work on earth. It is I who was given the honor of preparing Her way, of sending before her those whose holiness was sufficient to welcome her home. I was given the honor of freeing the souls of the special priests who were worthy to sit at her side. They are there now, waiting. You should feel blessed and eternally grateful that you are the chosen vessel of her spirit, if only for this brief moment.”
“You must untie me. I need to go to the bathroom. I will soil myself if you do not do as I say.” She took a severe tone with him, more like a mother than a hostage. “Do it now!”
He was taken aback by her order and sat in silence as he pondered her words. He stood up with some difficulty and looked down at her. “If you try to escape I will kill you right here and you will not have the benefit of the blessings of the Shrine. For that you will pay for all eternity.”
She had no idea what he was talking about but she agreed by nodding her head as she watched his face. The knife appeared in a flash, as though it was part of a magic trick, and the ropes were cut. He helped her out of the blanket and stood back as she struggled to her feet, which were numb and unresponsive. Her clothes reeked of urine and were still wet in places and her private area was chafed and sore. “I will need some privacy.”
“I will not leave you alone under any circumstances but rest assured that I have no interest in your physical self. Do what you must do but only under my eyes.”
She suffered the humiliation of his presence as she relieved herself, avoiding his stares by looking at the floor. Once finished, she cleaned herself and stood up, removing all of her clothing. “I need clean clothes. You cannot believe that the Mother of God finds it acceptable to occupy a body wrapped in filthy clothing. Bring me clean garments.” She stood naked, glaring at him.
He could not help himself. He stared at her in horror and shame. He ran from the bathroom and stood in the small hallway, breathing hard and banging his head against the wall. “No! No!” He rushed into his bedroom and rummaged through his small suitcase for a pair of pants and a shirt, which he threw at her. “Here. Put these on now.” He stood near the door until she came out in the clothes, leaving her soiled items on the floor.
“Now what?” she asked. She was much shorter than he and her head only reached his shoulder, but to him she seemed larger and more powerful. He struggled to remain in control.
“We have to go somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I must take you to the Shrine.”
“Is that where you will do it?”
“Yes, it is where my mission will be accomplished.”
“Will you die there?”
“I will go with her, yes.” That seemed to strengthen him.
Elena walked to the sofa and sat down. “Let’s talk.” She wanted to slow down any plans he had. Father Darius complied like a schoolboy, coming over to her and sitting next to her on the sofa, a meek expression on his face. The only troubling aspect to this moment was the butterfly knife he kept open in his left hand, the hand farthest from Elena. She glanced at it and then at his face, which was having a neutral moment. “Tell me about yourself,” she said in the manner of a school teacher interviewing a new pupil.
He displayed a shy smile. “I’m a priest. I was a parish priest for awhile in a place where most of the people were wealthy, or at least financial
ly comfortable. I didn’t like it very much. The parishioners were not faithful to the church nor were they faithful to Our Lady. I prayed for them. I really did. But the Father had decided that they were too far gone and he had other plans for me.” He looked at her with pride.
“How long have been on your mission?”
“For about a year, in one way or another. It was not easy, I can tell you that. I was first led to others like myself, those who venerated Her, then one thing followed another and I am nearly at the moment of my salvation.” He looked concerned. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes, I am very hungry. Do you have food here?”
“No, but we can order something and have it delivered.” He looked like a child who had come up with a great idea. “There are all kinds of really good places around here. Do you like sushi?”
She laughed out loud at the idea that this madman would order a sushi delivery before he drove her to the Shrine and killed her in what he believed to be an act of faith. He was upset at her laughter so she stifled it. “Sushi sounds wonderful. Do you have a menu?”
He opened a drawer on an end table and removed a stack of door hanger menus that had been left by canvassers. There was pizza, Chinese, Thai, Salvadoran, Mexican, subs, and, near the bottom, menus for two sushi places that offered delivery. “Here we are,” he said. “Sushi Hot and Cold.”
“I thought all sushi was cold,” Elena said, catching herself in what was fast becoming a normal conversation.
“They’re talking about spicy.” He seemed almost charming and normal and she knew that this was a sign of a sociopath and that he could turn on her with a murderous intent in an instant.
“I’d like the spicy tuna and crispy chips,” she said, glancing at him. “What will you have?”
He face turned dark and the smile was gone. “I won’t be eating. I have no further need of nourishment.” He stood up, opened his cell phone, and placed the order for Elena’s food. “Twenty minutes,” he said, closing the phone. “They always say that.”
Butterfly Knife Page 32
