Echoes Through the Vatican: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 2) (20 page)

Terrance Cardinal Patrick Manning said, “I’ll think of something.” The Consul looked at his reflection once more, then said, “Shall we go?”

“Have you decided where?” Clarke asked.

“I think we’ll hide in plain sight. Our group always has,” the older man said and chuckled with a slight shrug.

Both men descended the stairs, and entered a waiting limousine.

A leery and ferret eyed Joselina Conaletti entered the room hesitantly and approached Julian.

“How can I help you, signora?” Ailís asked. Joselina shot the doctor a sharp look and Ailís immediately bristled, but let the woman approach Julian.

“My business is with the wizard,” the madam said without ever taking her eyes off of Julian’s face.

She addressed him softly. “I heard what happened. I hear everything of course. I came as soon as I could.

“You and the Ghost asked me to keep this safe and return it if anything, well, you know.” She reached into her voluminous handbag and withdrew the Jesuit Book. She placed it gently in Julian’s hands. He felt the cool, smooth leather under his fingers, but only closed his eyes in response.

The madam touched Julian’s face and smiled. “Come and stay with us anytime,” the older woman said before the thought came through to her quietly. “
Joselina, thank you. You are a good person and I thank you for keeping my book safe. You deserve better boarders them I have been
,” Julian thought.

The madam snorted. “As long as you pay in cash you’re welcome at my house.” She winked and turned to leave. Before she reached the door, she twisted back and looked at Ailís. “Dottoressa,” Joselina said. “bring him back. It will be good for you both next time. I promise.” The older woman smiled warmly. “Maybe we can teach you not to hang around with wizards.” The older woman smiled. “We’ll find you a nice Italian boy, no?” The door closed silently behind her.

***

Ailís tried to get Julian to lie down, but he wouldn’t move. She sat in a chair in front of him and held his hand in hers. His eyes, once so clear and intense, were now a dull cloudy gray and as cold as his hands.

The door opened slowly. Enrico Marino entered quietly. He flipped his police identification card at Ailís, who stood as he approached.

“Officer, I am afraid Mr. Blessing is in no condition to talk,” she said.

“Dottoressa, this is official police business. He doesn’t need to speak. I will talk and he will listen. I require nothing else,” the sergeant said. Ailís nodded and moved into the shadows near the door.

The big man sat in Ailís’ chair. Julian’s eyes only moved from the Jesuit Book to take in Enrico’s face etched deeply with misery. Julian could feel only a part of the man’s grief. The pain was excruciating and Julian welcomed it. He wanted to burn away his guilt, double his own suffering.

“She was why I couldn’t sense you,”
Julian thought and Enrico looked puzzled and then smiled slightly.

“You gave yourself completely to her. You lived your life for her, for your Bella. But there is more. You never told her,”
Julian thought and hung his head feeling the man’s agony, touching an immeasurable well of misery.

Enrico slowly reached into his outside coat pocket. He withdrew a small satin bag and shook it’s contents into his large palm. He held it out to Julian. Enrico had no more tears but Julian had a vast reserve of them. His shoulders shook as he wept in silence. Ailís lurched, hesitated and left the room instead.

Enrico said kindly, quietly, “I have carried it for many years. I was going to give it to her tomorrow. It took me all this time to build up the courage.”

He smiled a painful smile. “Now, for me, there is no tomorrow. There is only this day for the rest of my life.” He put the ring back in its bag, sighed heavily and said, “I was sent here to take a statement from you. Instead I will give you your statement.” The big man knew it by heart and delivered it without emotion.

Enrico took on his official police voice. “‘Braving a fierce and deadly attack by Antonio Cardinal Archbishop Luciano on her partner, Fr. Marek Soski and me, Ispettore Belladonna Saviano was forced to shoot and kill the cardinal.

“’Before dying of his wounds, the cardinal killed Ispettore Saviano. She selflessly sacrificed herself in the defense of others. She died a hero and an inspiration.’ I will make up the other details later.” Enrico looked closely into Julian eyes and said with kindness, “Hai capito?”

Julian blinked back his tears.
“
Sì, capisco
. Yes, I understand. Your Bella was a hero. As are you. I am more sorry for your loss than you will ever know. I am sorry I wasn’t better, stronger. I am sorry for us all. Her death, all of the deaths,” Julian paused. “I am responsible.”

Enrico nodded his acknowledgement of Julian’s thoughts and feelings. He stood and walked toward the door. With his hand on the door pull and without turning around, he said, “Wizard, you did not cause this. You are not to blame. Two men brought this to our door. Both the Russian and the cardinal are dead. They left us no choice so we did what needed doing. Learn to forgive yourself, sí, amico mio?” The sergeant was in the hallway approaching Ailís when he felt Julian’s words.

“Amico mio,”
Julian thought. My friend.

Enrico smiled slightly and nodded to the doctor as he left.

***

They were side by side on a bed in the second floor bedroom of a stately home in Old Rome.

Both men were naturally posed. One, a butler in the very recent past, looked regal in the crimson cassock of a Roman Catholic cardinal. A man of peace at peace.

The other, a young man in a plain black cassock was as neatly arranged, but the look of frozen terror on the face of Fr. Dominic Giglio was anything but serene.

Both men lay still.

Dead still.

***

A mile away, a limousine proceeded at a leisurely speed through the outskirts of Old Rome.

John Clarke turned in his seat and looked out the back window as a fireball erupted, throwing bricks and mortar hundreds of feet up and out. Exquisite furnishings were turned to deadly shrapnel instantaneously. The explosion shattered glass in nearby homes and scythed mature maple trees in half. A sedate neighborhood was turned into a battlefield in a matter of seconds.

“I think I shall miss that place,” Clarke said.

***

Ailís led Julian down the companionway and away from the arrival gate at Dublin’s international airport. His pace was slow, and painful to watch. His eyes were fixed on a point in the distance, a point, a horizon only he could see. He held a leather bound book tightly in his hand.

A serious Sean Maher, in his Garda Síochána uniform, met them and expedited their passage through customs and immigration.

Sean looked at his friend and ached with the changes he saw. Gone were the easy stride and the ready smile. Vanished, the mischief in Julian’s eyes and the kindness that had been his hallmark from the time they first met in Cappel Vale on the rugged Irish coast.

At the far end of the terminal stood Moira Hagan looking stern and Bridget Bragonier looking kind. Julian’s teacher and his mentor.

Bridget reached into her purse, took out her cell phone before it chirped, and stepped off a few paces. Moira stood her ground, but softened as she felt the weight Julian carried. Her student had suffered and continued to do so. She bit her lip and bunched her fists to stop the trembling of her hands.

Julian stumbled, but Ailís and Sean caught him before he fell. He turned to Ailís and said in a slow nearly inaudible whisper, with tears in his eyes, “He’s gone.” Sean steadied his friend then stood next to the Hagan.

Ailís looked into Julian’s face, a face she knew so well. She looked into the warm gray eyes grown cool with agony as tears brimmed them, then rolled down his cheeks. “Who is gone?” she asked.

Julian hung his head and he shook with the sobs. Ailís took him into her arms, but he did not embrace her. She felt him take a ragged breath, square his shoulders and stand upright.

She noticed his arm and hand trembled as he took a tighter hold on the book. Tears continued to course his cheeks, but his face, a face bathed in anguish moments before, was now expressionless, distant and cold.

Sean closed his eyes and swallowed hard as he felt the Hagan take his hand and hold on tight. She needed his quiet strength and in that, Sean was the strongest man she had ever known.

Bridget Bragonier, tall, slim and regal, placed her cell phone back in her purse. She approached Julian, looked into his face and her smile was sad with the empathy she felt for her friend.

She traced the scar on his cheek, the wound Ailís had stitched so carefully in Cappel Vale so many months ago. He was willing to suffer for what he believed then and he suffered more now. So much had changed, since then, for him and now, for them all.

“You know,” she said simply, but Julian did not acknowledge her comment. “Of course you do. I am sorry, Julian. Words will change nothing. This is something that for you will heal, but will never be forgotten,” she said.

She moved her hand to Julian’s heart and her face instantly turned the color of ash. Moira tried to move forward and Sean held her hand tightly. She turned on him with venom. She softened and began to weep when she saw the big man close his eyes and shake his head imperceptibly.

“No. Julian, do not do this,” Bridget said. “I forbid you to allow this to happen.” There was iron in her voice, a voice of authority tinged with kindness and washed in wisdom.

Julian’s face never changed. His eyes distant, his thoughts unknowable, his heart was closed and cold. He blinked slowly once and the tears stopped and began to dry on his cheeks.

Ailís looked on bewildered. Everyone seemed to know what was happening to the man she loved so much – everyone but her. “Who’s gone? What’s happening? Someone tell me what is going on. I demand it,” she said with force.

Bridget turned to the doctor. “Fr. Soski died not long ago.” It was said plainly, gently. “He died of a cerebral hemorrhage combined with a great many internal injuries.”

Ailís’ stood in open-mouthed silence before she said, “But that’s not possible.” Her forehead was etched with incomprehension. “I was with him a few hours ago. He was injured, but…” She stopped and closed her eyes. She had looked at the priest and had not seen him as an injured man, but as a man who was Julian’s friend, a man who could return Julian to her.

She turned away in bitter recrimination as an older man approached the group. Ailís had a dim recollection of the man, a vague recognition, but nothing more.

“Come with me.” The man was gentle and said it softly. He had Bridget’s kind authority in his voice. His words were neither a request nor a command, but more a statement of what needed to be done.

“I know you,” Ailís said and she squinted in concentration, but the man never acknowledged her. He continued to look with soft, knowing gray eyes into Julian Blessing and what he saw is what they all felt. They felt Julian’s slow decent into grief and the overwhelming reproach and sadness that was swamping his soul.

Sean stepped up and took his friend by the arm and supported him as they followed the older man toward the terminal doors and into the bright sunlight outside.

Ailís was standing between Bridget and Moira. She moved forward to follow Julian, but the two older women held her back.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “I have to go with him.” Her cry was plaintive, imploring, demanding.

Moira nodded and Bridget was the first to speak. Her voice was genteel and soft. “Ailís, you cannot go with him. That man is a specialist. He has experience dealing with this. He knows what to do and how to do it. Your place is not with Julian, not now.”

“No, I have to,” Ailís began, but Moira spun her around and said with force, “Listen to me, my girl. While Bridget is refined and will deal gently with you, I will not. Mind you, you probably could use a little gentleness now, but I’ve none to give, lass.

“Hear me well. The man you see there is not the man you knew. He is nothing like that man and may never be again. You have a practice in Cappel Vale to attend to and a son who needs you. You cannot help Julian, not now anyway. You haven’t the tools and wouldn’t know how to use them if you did.” Moira said it and softened with the pain she saw on Ailís’ face.

“Where your man is and where he is going, you cannot follow. None of us can.” She stopped and kissed Ailís’ cheek.

“Ailís,” Bridget said. “Moira is right. You have a part to play in rebuilding him, a vital part, we all do. And we will each play our part when the specialist thinks the time is right.”

Moira took up the line, “And not one moment sooner. This must run it’s course and we are not to interfere. Do you understand, girl?”

Ailís’ agonized wail drew the attention of passers by and Moira sent them on their way with a glance.

A member of the Garda approached. “Ah, ladies, is there a problem I can assist you with?” the constable asked cheerfully.

Moira spun on him and he backed up a step. “Problem, is it? If you consider yer bits shriveling up a problem, boyo, then indeed.”

“Moira,” Bridget warned with easy grace.

“Ach, than you deal with him or I’ll sort him out straight away.”

Bridget reached out and touched the constable’s arm and the man’s eyes went large as he stiffened. The electrical jolt that went through him made him swallow hard.

“Constable?” Bridget searched the man’s uniform for his nametag. “Constable Monahan, thank you so much for stopping. It is an emotional time for our friend, as you can see. Although we appreciate your concern and thank you for it, you need not worry about us further.”

She removed her hand from his sleeve and he backed up another two steps. His retreat was stopped when he bounced off the immovable Sean Maher.

Sean took the constable’s arm in a grip that caused the man’s hand to go numb. “Come along lad. No need to be a bother to the ladies now is there? Of course not.” As they walked away, Sean looked back to indicate Julian had been driven away.

Ailís, weak from exhaustion, fell into the arms of her friends. She whispered a mantra of despair, “I’ve lost him.”

Moira said, “For now, the boy is lost to himself.”

Bridget picked up the thought, “In time and with our help, he will find himself again and you will find him. However, what you find may be far more than what you now think you’ve lost.” Ailís looked confused. Bridget’s smile was one of hope while Moira’s face reflected her deep concern. Both woman harbored secrets they would not share with Dr. Ailís Dwyer.