The Fallen and the Elect

by Jerry J. K. Rogers

  Chapter 41

  Sister Justine still had a couple of free days before having to fly to Chicago for her new assignment. Getting her personal affairs in order to relocate from her order had taken less time than anticipated. Like the other Sisters in her order, she didn’t understand the need for the hasty transfer. The official word of her move came through an email sent to her Mother Superior from Cardinal Millhouse, “Sister Justine Dawson of the Benedictine Order of Sisters in Los Angeles is to report within two weeks to the Benedictine Sisters of Chicago. She is to develop and focus on the monastic aspects of her future spiritual growth, her relationship with the Church, the Blessed Mother, and God.” She understood through the language the intent of the Cardinal’s message: report to Chicago and keep quiet. Sister Justine thought this was a bit ironic. For years she’d been informing on those sisters whom the leadership might’ve been interested in as not following Church orthodoxy; now she was being sent away as a result of doing what she’d been directed to do. She wouldn’t protest the decision; sorrow crept in and took root. As in the past, she would manage to repress and confess her emotions of guilt.

  In the process of attempting to establish teaching continuity for the Woodlawn neighborhood education and school mission programs she had been in charge of, Sister Justine would need to say good-bye. She didn’t know how to tell the impoverished women in her adult education classes, or the sisters of her order, the true reason she had to leave. Making her final rounds in the neighborhood center with tearful departures, many of those whom she’d helped over the years felt she was abandoning them. Her simple excuse was that it was part of God’s plan for her to pursue her gifts in Chicago. Many of the women asked the same question, why couldn’t God just let her stay and do her work in Los Angeles? She was becoming prominent throughout the city among the parishes as the Sister of education and hope. Many of those Sister Justine had taught and ministered to over the years seemed to be more blessed than others when searching for jobs, raising families, or attempting to straighten out their lives.

  Reflecting on all that was happening, Sister Justine now felt compelled to see Michael for one final time and say good-bye. Not speaking to him in years, then recently brought together by extraordinary circumstances, she felt she would need to tell Michael the truth regarding his notes and research material from the first time they investigated the events in Aguascalientes. She didn’t understand why. Even though she confessed her sins to her priest about what had happened years ago, she would need to tell Michael she took them before he had the chance to transcribe them into the electronic journals of the Church. The grudge he held against Bishop Grielle was misplaced. Sister Justine was feeling guilty.

  When Sister Justine stopped by Michael’s house, Alicia had accidently disclosed that in the last couple of days he had been in the process of cataloging the information they’d recently gathered. Alicia thought the Sister was fully aware of Michael’s possession of the notes. Realizing the misstep of informing Sister Justine about Michael’s stash of notes, she stood resolute in not letting her into the house. Alicia courteously communicated that Michael was currently teaching a class, and if she wanted to take or even review any of the information, she would need to get Michael’s permission. Sister Justine accepted the challenge. By the time she arrived on campus, Sister Justine’s remorse transformed to fury ruminating that Michael hadn’t turned in all of his notes from their investigation in the prior weeks.

  Finding the building, then classroom, Sister Justine walked in and to the top row of the lecture hall. Plenty of seats were available as the classroom was only half-full with 22 students. She’d learned the start time of the class from the department’s administration office down the corridor; the class would end in almost half an hour. Sitting in the rear of the lecture hall for the entire remaining 30 minutes, Sister Justine threw Michael a piercing stare every time he took a glimpse in her direction, derailing his train of thought while presenting his lecture. He recovered but not because he could see she was angry; he didn’t care about that. He was more interested in what could have caused her to transform from her typical calm demeanor to being openly incensed.

  Watching each lagging second to the scheduled end of class time on their watch or time display on their cell phone, many of the students expressed their disinterest in the lecture, closing books, putting away pens, nervously tapping their feet, waiting for the second they could to dart from the lecture hall to whatever affairs of the day awaited next. The clanging bell indicating the end of the class hour signaled the start of the human race toward the door. Only a handful of students remained to discuss questions on what they just learned or to clarify future assignments. Sister Justine walked down the aisle stairs between the desks to give those students assaulting Michael a chance to ask their questions and leave. Plus, out of courtesy, she didn’t want to confront him with anyone else around. After the final student departed, Sister Justine glared at Michael, who was putting his notepad, several papers, and a textbook into his attaché case.

  “What can I do for you Sister?” Michael asked nonchalantly as he finished gathering his belongings and ignored her scowl.

  Sister Justine sensed her body tensing and her face flushing; she wanted to tongue-thrash Michael. Nevertheless, she remembered her duty and calling, recalled verses to contain her anger, and serenely replied. “Michael, I’m strongly encouraging you to turn over all your notes that you have on our recent work.”

  She seized Michael’s full attention. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  “Michael, Alicia already told me that you’ve been working on notes you took while we were working together.”

  Michael stood in place for a minute mystified at how she got Alicia to reveal his private notes. “You know what, I’m not gonna let that slimebag steal my notes again. Anyway, there’s some pretty cool stuff that I could probably add to my new classes with the research I’ve been working on.”

  “Michael, you were paid by the Church. That information rightfully belongs to Rome,” Sister Justine noted emphatically.

  “No, I’m just counting this as restitution from what was mine the first time. You and Father Boy Toy should already have more than enough to continue to work on whatever crusade you’re on,” Michael chided but observed a change in the Sister’s expression after his comment, almost as if she were about to tear up.

  “Michael, there’s something, well, a couple of things, I need to tell you,” Sister Justine said with a softened demeanor. “Our investigation was officially terminated by the Church; Father Hernandez was reassigned. I’m being reassigned to a monastic convent just outside of Chicago. It’s a convent of isolation Michael. ”

  “Tough shit. Sorry to hear that.”

  “Doesn’t it seem strange that when we began to formulate what they considered dubious alternatives as to what could have happened, they separate us and seize all of our notes and journals?”

  “And yet you still want me to turn mine over even after what they did the first time?”

  “Michael, they didn’t steal your notes and information the first time.”

  “Bullshi…”

  “I did,” Sister Justine interrupted. “I took your notes and turned them over.”

  The sensation of having walked into a wall overcame Michael. His legs felt gelatinous. Michael retreated to the seat behind the instructor’s desk. “What do you mean you did? Why?”

  Sister Justine could hear the disbelief in the tremor he attempted to conceal in his voice.

  “I’m sorry Michael. It was the only way I was allowed to take my vows in the order I had my heart set on. Archbishop Millhouse at the time held that over me. My order even then was considered extremely liberal in the Church’s eyes. They wanted to make sure I could be trusted to follow Church doctrine and the hierarchy rather than the extreme views of my order.” Hearing herself say this to Michael made her consider the legiti
macy of her past actions.

  “And you still want me to turn over everything to you? I don’t think so.”

  “I still serve God and the Church, first and foremost, Michael,” she responded, more doubt creeping into her thoughts, which cemented her need for penance.

  Like a dog given an order he didn’t understand, Michael slanted his head sideways, flabbergasted as to why she would be complicit without questioning or resisting her church’s leadership.

  “And the lemming of the year award goes to ...,” Michael ridiculed, regaining his usual demeanor. “You’re not getting my notes. Sorry about you and the boy toy, but your crusade is none of my business, especially now.”

  “Excuse me professor,” a female voice said just inside the entrance of the lecture hall, surprising both Michael and Sister Justine. They didn’t notice the fiftyish woman, both being engrossed in their quarrel. Michael knew her to be a student from an earlier class, a recently divorced mother returning to school. She challenged Michael on varying viewpoints in his Introduction to Religious Studies course.

  “Sandra? What can I do for you?” Michael asked.

  “Sorry to interrupt your discussion professor.” Michael and Sister Justine knew she was being courteous in not acknowledging their argument. “Yesterday while at the coffee house, I was debating if I should follow through with withdrawing from your class, and this weird Hispanic lady came up to me, almost knowing what I was thinking. She said if I were to come down to talk to one of the department heads about my final decision, I would come across you and a lady arguing.”

  “I’m sorry Sandra, I don’t follow,” Michael commented. “What lady and what the hell are you talking about?” Michael continued, still unfocused after being thrown off-kilter by Sister Justine’s admission.

  “Just some Latina with a small mole over her right eye and black-and-silver-streaked hair who told me I would probably be speaking to you today.”

  “Where did you speak to this lady?” Sister Justine asked with trepidation.

  “At the coffee house just off campus.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  With a quick pause, Sandra recollected her thoughts before continuing. “You know, she said something about a cross, or a crossroads, in New Mexico.”

  “Did she say what she meant by that?” Michael asked, noticing Sister Justine’s sudden pasty complexion.

  Sandra shrugged her shoulders. Sister Justine focused her attention on Michael, who was already focused on her.

  “Michael, do you understand what she just said?”

  “Uhh, no,” he responded. “And frankly I don’t give a damn.”

  “Was there anything else? Anything else about New Mexico maybe?” Sister Justine asked Sandra, ignoring Michael’s rude response.

  “No, there wasn’t anything else. She left right after that.” Not wanting to spend any more time in the lecture hall, Sandra left to go and finish her task of withdrawing from Michael’s class, especially sensing the tense relationship between her soon-to-be-former instructor and the Sister.

  “I don’t get why New Mexico is so important Justine,” Michael noted.

  “Michael, Father Hernandez was transferred to Las Cruces, New Mexico.”

  “Wah, wah. My heart is broken.”

  Sandra timidly returned to make one final comment. “You know, she did say something else. She said, ‘There’s no such thing as coincidences; all things happen for a purpose.’” Sandra departed again.

  “Michael,” Sister Justine began, “it’s no coincidence. What if that lady was Ashere, and she’s involved and …”

  “And the fact that Father Hernandez is in New Mexico and one of my students says that a strange lady tells her to tell us about something crossing …”

  “Cross or crosses,” Sister Justine corrected.

  “Whatever.”

  “Michael, the city name of Las Cruces means …”

  After Sister Justine’s statement, Michael recalled his Spanish and the translation of las cruces. “Just a coincide…” Michael then interrupted himself. “You sure you didn’t set this up?”

  “Michael, I came here to apologize for taking your notes and information ten years ago, and to petition for you to release what you have now. I didn’t set this up.”

  “Like hell. I find out you stole my notes when all along I’ve been blaming Grielle. And now you come here where it almost seems contrived with weird circumstances for me to turn over what I have now. I’m sorry Justine, I just can’t do it.”

  “You can’t escape everything that’s happened. I mean, look what happened at the hospital chapel. You saw the same thing I did.”

  “So, I saw something, the hysteria of a man who ended up in a coma. And do you know that after we submit our findings, I’m called in by the head of my department threatening me with dismissal, even though I have tenure? The Church called and said I’ve been submitting fallacious and inflammatory research work. Did you know that? You may have stolen my earlier notes, but Grielle and Millhouse are still f’in snakes trying to steal my career.”

  “Michael, you and I know the truth. We must be onto something. Why else separate us?” Sister Justine countered. “And look at everything, Aguascalientes, hot waters, two words implied from the deaths at the funeral home. Some of the victims tied together through one company; we run into the survivor and the one man who helped tie in to the same company at the hospital. Then there’s Las Cruces somehow connected. Divine providence must be at work.”

  Michael’s cell phone rang. Pulling it out from his pocket, the caller ID showed a number with the area code of 575. He didn’t recognize the number and considered letting it go to voice mail, but then decided to answer it anyway. “Yeah, this is Michael.”

  Sister Justine witnessed a look of disbelief flash onto Michael’s face. After a minute of silence, he finally made a comment, “Oddly enough, she just happens to be standing right here.”

  Sister Justine was confused. Who would’ve known she was here to visit Michael?

  “Hold on boy toy. Here she is,” Michael said, handing Sister Justine the phone. Now she knew.

  “Father? How did you know I would be here with Michael?” she inquired.

  Michael watched Sister Justine listening on the phone, the look of apprehension growing the longer the conversation continued, until she finally made a comment apart from a periodic gasp. “Father, there’s no way I would be able to come out there. They’re expecting me in Chicago in a couple of days. Plus, what could we do?” the Sister said, pausing to listen before continuing. “Can you tell me that? Isn’t what’s said between the two of you confidential?”

  After another short pause, she continued, “I could say that due to the abruptness of the transfer, I need to take a retreat before heading out to meditate, reflect, and accomplish some private devotions.”

  With another pause following her comment, she responded with a remark she hoped would evoke a reaction from Michael. “How do you know he would want to help?” she asked, her eyes becoming glassy from the stream of tears she held back, upset from the information the Father told her. To hear the Church was involved with a modern-day inquisition, and sanctioning the potential destruction of an entire race, threw her into turmoil. She suspected the Cardinal’s anti-Semitic tendencies in many of the inferences he’d made reviewing the notes, minutes, and statutes developed and published from the conference of Bishops. Many of the Orders of Nuns represented by the Leadership Conference of Women Religious in the United States were under fire from the Bishops, with Cardinal Millhouse subtly implying that the views of nuns equated to the heresy of the Jewish nation. Now she felt the true remorse of being a quisling, betraying many of her companions in her order whom she thought might have become too liberal in their views. She passed the phone to Michael.

  “This is Michael,” he said, speaking into his phone and realizing that his impulse to taunt Fath
er Hernandez, who had been the symbol of his rage with the Church, had diminished. Father Hernandez reprised what he’d learned with a heartfelt fervor. Michael did not recall experiencing such an enormous amount of passion during their time working together. The Father conveyed almost all of the fragmented comments broadcast by the unknown and mysterious patient, emphatically stressing the strange incidents having the semblance of angelic appearances.

  “Come on, do you know how crazy that sounds? I mean, something like that seems very illegal, a biological virus capable of killing millions. You know, this sounds like something you should be telling the Feds or someone, especially if whoever told you all that stuff is telling the truth,” Michael said into the phone, glancing toward Sister Justine, whom he sensed, by her penitent and contrite expression, was genuinely affected.

  “I’ve considered whether he’s truly crazy,” Father Hernandez entreated.

  “You’re not helping your cause padre. Especially if he is crazy, you still want me to come out there with Sister Justine. I don’t think so.”

  “We’re not through with this yet. Consider the odds of him being here in New Mexico, where I’m sent to keep me quiet. The angels aren’t quiet. We need to try and see what they’re truly saying to us.” The exhortation by Father Hernandez caught Michael off guard. He couldn’t see the correlation the Father had attempted to brick together. Yet Michael felt incomplete in his views, even though observing the angel in the hospital chapel, or what he thought to be an angel, was forcing him to consider the veracity his religious beliefs. And what if angels did make an appearance in New Mexico where the Father was located?

  Maybe they aren’t being quiet, Michael thought.

  Observing Michael’s countenance, Sister Justine felt she needed to contribute to attempting to persuade him. “Michael, something is happening, something bigger than both of us, and we need your help.”

  “Why would I want to help?” Michael asked, reminiscent of his normal brashness.

  “We need you to help us sort this out. For Father Hernandez to be sent to New Mexico and still somehow be involved with Aurora, this can’t be a coincidence. Have you even thought that all of this could be a part of God’s providence?”

  “Father, we’ll call you back,” Michael said, ending his call.

  Sister Justine waited for a reaction from Michael, unsure what to expect. He himself wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just shooed her out of the classroom. Hearing her plea and the information from Father Hernandez, he knew it was of importance to both but felt no vested interest in the current events. Yet Michael couldn’t believe that, as Sister Justine continued to press the case, he felt his inhibitions to support her and the Father diminish. Deep down if this occurred a couple of weeks ago, he knew it would have been because he wanted to spend more time with Sister Justine, especially as up to a short time ago he was considering breaking off his relationship with Alicia. Michael had wanted to manipulate his college-aged girlfriend to end their relationship by subtly becoming more aloof and adversarial than normal. In the end, he admitted to himself that he was starting to care for Alicia more deeply and was becoming comfortable having her around. There’d been other women before her, but she had stuck it out the longest and said she was really beginning to care for him. One of her friends even implied she had ended the relationship with her current boyfriend.

  Then there came the revelation that Sister Justine had stolen his notes. A fresh burst of outrage washed over him. How could he even consider wanting to spend more time with her? After all the time they’d just spent researching the recent events, she could have at least told him. He’d even begun to tolerate Father Hernandez and had warmed up to the Church. That was until Cardinal Millhouse and Bishop Grielle tried to derail his career as a professor. They sent correspondence with harsh accusations Michael’s research and works should be considered trite, pedestrian, but most significantly, inflammatory, divisive, and fabricated, with consideration to remove him from the department. Michael was thankful the dean of his department personally knew of his work. The dean dismissed anything presented by the Cardinal, especially knowing two of Michael’s works were up for prestigious awards. However, hearing that Father Hernandez was relocated out to the desert in New Mexico, and Sister Justine being reassigned to a traditional convent in Chicago, he suspected the Church hierarchy was disturbed by their findings.

  “Damn, I have to think about this. You just don’t know how angry I am,” Michael said.