“When I interviewed the coach, his nose started to bleed. He asked for water. I could tell his mouth was dry, because he could barely say a word. I gave him bottled water. After he drank, he spat it out on the floor. It was followed by a gush of blood. My counterparts in the unit joked that I was roughing up my suspects, but I didn’t lay a hand on him, as much as I would have loved to. But a good investigator knows you have to pretend to be the friend of these guys to make them confess.” He looked straight at Luke. “Molestation is never about sexual gratification. It’s about power. Having power over someone. That’s what drives them. As an investigator, I have to get the power back.”
“Really?” Luke was surprised.
“It’s always about having power over the weak, the defenceless, and the innocent.” Nicholas Myra stood up and put his hands in his pants pocket. He was an intimidating-looking man, even when he was trying to be friendly. He rarely smiled, and even when he tried, his thick, brown moustache covered his top lip completely. Smiling didn’t come naturally to him. He had decided long ago he achieved more in life by frowning.
“Case after case, I couldn’t help but notice that the nosebleeds were constant. Other investigators in the unit also made note of it in their files. Each molester said water tasted like vinegar. Then one time I asked a suspect about it. This suspect was picked up in a pedophile ring. He told me the symptoms were becoming more common among his type, but they were afraid to go to the doctors. He referred to it as Wormwood.”
“Wormwood?” asked Luke. “What the hell is Wormwood? I never noticed any worms on these patients.”
“It’s some kind of Biblical reference,” Myra informed him. “You’ll have to talk to someone who knows more about the Bible than me.”
“Well, the one who knows the most about the Bible is lying in ICU, bleeding to death,” declared Luke, “and I don’t think he is going to talk to me about Wormwood.”
Sgt. Myra gathered up his files and put them back in his large square briefcase. Dr. Gillespie sat back in his chair with his hands locked behind his head, deep in thought.
“It’s a lot to think about, isn’t it?” Myra asked him.
“Yes. I am a doctor, not a detective. My job is to save lives, not research the Bible.”
“Well, I am a detective, not a doctor, and my job is to protect lives, not research the Bible. But right now, I would take advice or help from anyone who could help me do my job.”
Luke stood up. “I have to go do my rounds. I need to think about this. The hospital is organizing the teleconference for tomorrow afternoon. Maybe I’ll know more then.”
“Can you let me know what you find out?”
“As long as it’s not about individual patients.” Then Luke had another thought. “Maybe it would be good for us to share information and keep it between ourselves for now.”
“I think there is a benefit for both of us in that. Not telling you how to do your job, but could you test their blood for poison? The results may change the course of both of our investigations.”
8
Dr. Gillespie picked up his files in ICU. Archbishop Keating’s was on top. He opened it up and started to read through the notes written by the nurses and other doctors. Nothing was new. No one knew why the archbishop continued to bleed.
“Hello, Dr. Gillespie.” Sister Pius startled Luke, and he almost dropped the file. She was a small woman with a big presence. Sister Pius, a proud member of the Sisters of Mercy, preferred to maintain the old ways. She wore the older tunic that touched the floor and the veil that covered her hair. Her face and hands were the only flesh that showed. Although the younger Sisters teased her about wearing such a restrictive dress, she took pride in her uniform of God. She looked friendlier now as she waited for Luke’s response.
“Sister Pius, it’s good to see you again,” Luke lied. He was hoping he’d never have to see her again. She made him feel like he was a ten-year-old boy standing in the principal’s office. “Is the archbishop awake?”
“No, he is sleeping. The nurse gave him something to quieten him down about an hour ago,” she informed him.
A thought entered Luke’s mind. “Sister, can I talk with you in private?” She looked surprised to hear his request.
“Sure. You have something on your mind?”
“Yes. I need an expert, and you may be the one.” Luke pointed her in the direction of a private room next to the ICU.
He closed the door behind them and pulled out a chair for Sister Pius to sit on. He sat across from her.
“What is Wormwood?”
Sister Pius blinked several times, and a sound escaped her lips like Luke had said a vulgar word. Her lips moved as if she was trying to say something, but nothing was coming out. Finally, she asked, “What do you know about Wormwood?”
“Nothing,” Luke answered. “That’s why I am asking you. I truly know nothing about it.”
She closed her eyes and began to speak like she was chanting an ancient proverb. “And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp, and it fell upon a third of the rivers and upon the springs of water. And the name of the star is called Wormwood, and a third of the waters became bitter and many people died of the waters because they were made bitter.” She opened her eyes and looked at Luke. “Revelations 8:10, 11.”
He was stunned. A star from heaven? Bitter water? What did this have to do with child molesters or patients bleeding to death? He looked confused, and Sister Pius decided to fill him in.
“Where did you hear that name?” she asked him.
“I hear that’s what pedophiles call this disease,” he boldly answered her. Dr. Gillespie didn’t know how this Catholic nun would react to him referring to the archbishop as a pedophile. The implications of what he said, how it could impact his career, maybe even end it, never came into his mind.
She sat sternly in her chair. He could tell she had heard the word before.
“What is this disease? What is Wormwood? If you know something, just tell me, for God’s sake!” Luke was tired of riddles from this woman.
Sister Pius had prided herself on staying humble and wholesome throughout her calling. She told her own mother when she was five years old that she wanted to enter the convent. All through her teenage years, when her school friends delighted in wearing lipsticks and being asked to dances, she stayed home and faithfully prayed her rosary. When she was sixteen, she met a boy who changed her mind. An awkward situation occurred. The relationship ended. She went back to wanting to join the convent. When her friends teased her, she would answer, It’s my calling. She never regretted her decision.
Often, as her own brothers and sisters married and had children, they would ask if she ever missed what she didn’t have. She would go to her school, into her classroom, and tell herself, I have everyone’s children. I don’t need any myself. She meant it, but in her heart, she kept a secret that could never be revealed. She had truly answered her calling to God. She was serving Him the best way she knew how. Except when Archbishop Keating came to visit.
Sister Pius knew she was not supposed to hate, but she didn’t know how to stop hating him. She understood some priests had relationships with each other. She was aware that some nuns had relationships with other nuns. And she was even aware that some priests and nuns lived together like man and wife. She turned her head. In the end, she would have to answer only for her sins. Others could worry about themselves. But the children, that’s where she would draw the line. No one would hurt them while she was in charge.
Every night she got down on her knees and prayed that God would answer her prayers. Send her a miracle. Make it stop. Finally, He did. The answer came with a tiny drop of blood that fell from Archbishop Keating’s nose. She didn’t understand in the beginning, but eventually she put two and two together. She knew it woul
d only be a matter of time before God unleashed a plague upon the earth. The plague was here. The plague was Wormwood.
Sister Pius looked into Dr. Gillespie’s blue eyes and began to explain. “Some people think the term ‘great star’ represents an important political figure, while others think it means Jesus or God Himself. I think, in this case, it’s the Holy Spirit.” She continued, “Every generation of theologians refers to Wormwood as an event from their time, like a war. Some think it refers to an asteroid’s collision with earth. Others believe that the Chernobyl disaster fulfills the prophecy because ‘Chernobyl’ translates to ‘Wormwood’ in Russian.”
Luke’s head was starting to hurt. “But why do they use the term ‘Wormwood’ to describe this disease?”
“Religious people consider Wormwood to be a symbolic representation of the bitterness that will fill the earth during troubled times. Only God knows the troubled times children have seen at the hands of these sick people. In the Bible, there is a plant called Wormwood. It is a Biblical metaphor for things that are unpalatably bitter. These people taste bitterness in their mouths first. Then it turns into a thirst that can’t be quenched. Water tastes like vinegar to them. That’s when their noses start to bleed uncontrollably and the pain starts.” She seemed to be more of an expert on this than Sgt. Myra.
“These people?” Luke questioned.
“Pedophiles,” she answered. “Yes, pedophiles, if that’s what you’re getting at. They seem to be the only people who contract it.”
“Are you sure?” Luke still wasn’t sure if he was connecting the dots.
“It’s my job to work with the lepers without judgment. I pray a lot,” she added.
“Do any of the scholars say how to stop the blood and the pain?” Dr. Gillespie asked.
“No,” Sister Pius answered, “but the Bible does.”
“Really? This is in the Bible?” Luke was surprised.
“Sort of,” Sister Pius informed him, and then she began to site a verse from memory. “Then I heard a loud voice in heaven, saying, ‘Now the salvation, and the power, and the kingdom of our God and the authority of His Christ have come, for the accuser of our brethren has been thrown down, he who accuses them before our God day and night. Our brothers conquered him by the blood of the lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they did not cling to their lives even in the face of death. For this reason, rejoice, O heavens and you who dwell in them. Woe to the earth and the sea, because the devil has come down to you, having great wrath, knowing that he has only a short time.’”
“What the hell does that mean?” Luke was frustrated.
“Well,” Sister Pius began, “it means different things to different people.”
“How does it apply to this situation? I don’t care how it applies to anything else.” Luke was tired all of a sudden.
“I’ll try to explain it the best way I can,” the nun said, her brow furrowing as she tried to sort it out in her own head. “What I think it means is this: God has decided to come for the pedophiles. Not for those accused, only those who are guilty. He can look into their hearts and see their sins. He doesn’t need a detective or court to decide the innocent and the guilty. Being washed in the blood of the lamb means to have your sins forgiven so you can enter Heaven. I think the blood is meant to be both literal and figurative in this case. He is showing the world who the guilty are by marking them with the blood of the lamb. At the same time, if they confess their sins, the blood stops. But for those who do not confess, they die in a pool of blood. A person with this disease doesn’t last more than a year.”
She stood up and walked toward the door, then added, “I truly believe this disease marks the child molesters and, at the same time, gives them the opportunity to confess to get into heaven. If they refuse, they die a slow, painful death and they go to hell.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Luke joked. “You know the archbishop molested children, including Father Horan, so why do you come to pray for him every day? Or are you just coming to enjoy his suffering?”
Sister Pius looked vexed, as nuns do when they are mad. “I don’t enjoy anyone’s suffering, Dr. Gillespie. I come to pray that he confesses his sins to free his soul, to free Father Horan’s soul.”
“Do you honestly think he would confess to molesting children? He is the head of the Catholic Church.”
“Imagine if he did,” she replied. “Imagine the souls that would be set free if he confessed and showed true remorse. Even victims who are not his would find release from that confession.” She raised both her hands toward heaven, as if she were delivering a new commandment to the followers.
Luke stood up, too. “One last question. If they confess, does the bleeding stop? Does the disease go away? What happens?”
“From what I’ve seen, the blood and the pain stop, but the person still dies. I’ve only seen four cases where this has happened. They each died of a heart attack.” Now Sister Pius looked tired.
“So, whether they confess or not, they still die! So, why would they confess and have their names ruined?” Luke asked.
“Ruined in this world,” she informed him. “On their deathbed they get one final chance to save their soul and the souls of their victims or die with the sin. Remember, the Bible says, ‘The devil has come down to you, having great wrath, knowing that he has only a short time.’ They get one final chance to be washed in the blood of the lamb or be sent to the fires of Hell. The symptoms of this disease are only a taste of what Hell is really like.”
Luke couldn’t believe that she was making sense to him. He opened the door and let Sister Pius go before him. He watched her walk through the corridor of the ICU toward Archbishop Keating’s room. She was singing softly to herself, “Have you been to Jesus for the cleansing power? Are you washed in the blood of the lamb? Are you fully trusting in His grace this hour? Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?”
9
When Dr. Gillespie started his next shift in the ICU, the first person he encountered was Jermaine Cousin, the X-ray technician. He was keeping his usual vigil outside Archbishop Keating’s door. The nurses were doing their rounds, and no one was on the front desk. Except for the hum and beeps of various medical equipment keeping people alive, and the soft snoring of patients, the ward was quiet.
Dr. Gillespie decided to take advantage of the quiet to talk with Mr. Cousin. Maybe today he might get some real answers.
“Hello, Jermaine.” He startled the visitor, who had been deep in thought. Jermaine turned with a jolt toward the doctor, like he had been awakened from a deep sleep. His eyes were wide with surprise, and Luke, in turn, stopped in his tracks.
“Dr. Gillespie! You scared me,” he exclaimed, putting his hand over his heart as if to stop sudden palpitations.
“You’ve come back to visit the archbishop again?” Gillespie noted as he also took a place in front of the viewing window.
“Yes, just curious about his condition,” Jermaine admitted.
“We didn’t get to finish our conversation the other morning,” Luke informed him. “You were telling me about Sister Pius and what a good school principal she was. How she protected the children.” This time, Jermaine Cousin looked like he was about to have a real heart attack.
The air in the ICU ward felt stale and constantly smelled of bodily fluids. The odour of everything from blood to urine lingered in the air. At times it was so thick it could stick in a person’s throat for days. The temperature was always up on bust to accommodate the patients going through shock and those who shivered when their blood pressure fell. After a short time in the ICU, a person either felt the urge to puke from the stench or fell asleep from the heat. Standing in one spot for a long period could leave one feeling overwhelmed and faint.
Jermaine Cousin felt beads of sweat running down his face and was beginning to feel himself sway as his legs
lost their strength. “I don’t recall what I was saying. I should get back to work.” He turned to leave.
“Don’t go. I know why you come here. I know about Wormwood.” Luke waited for his reaction.
Cousin slowly turned on his heels and faced the doctor. It was the first time Luke realized that Jermaine Cousin was twice his weight, and broad as a truck. He looked to be about thirty years old, and he had deep, dark circles around his eyes. Cousin had pulled his shoulders back and stood as strong and tall as a maple tree. His big hand came up, and he pointed his finger directly at Luke’s nose.
“I don’t have Wormwood! There’s no blood on me.” He ground his teeth as his head turned toward the archbishop’s window. “He has Wormwood. That’s why he is dying.”
Gillespie wasn’t sure if Jermaine was going to punch him or take the window out. “I am not saying you have it. I am asking if you know about it,” Luke stuttered.
“I know about it. It’s how we tell the monsters from the rest of us,” Cousin answered.
“He molested you,” Luke stated. “In school. You were one of his victims. You come here to watch him die.” Now Gillespie was looking directly into Cousin’s eyes.
“Yes,” the X-ray technician said with a nod. “I was one of his victims. So was my older brother.” His eyes began to moisten. “My brother could never deal with it. Or talk about it. He filled his body with alcohol and drugs, but nothing could stop the torment of Keating coming into his room at night.” Tears began to roll down his face.
“We were put in the orphanage when we were young. I was five, and he was nine. Our mother had fallen on hard times, and she needed a break just until she could get her life back in order. She warned him to watch out for me.”
Luke was frozen on the spot. He wanted to suggest they move to the private room nearby before the nurses returned, but his mouth wouldn’t move. Cousin continued.
Operation Wormwood Page 7