by Lincoln Cole
She hadn’t realized that Niccolo stood watching her, and when she looked back at him, she smiled pleasantly.
“It was nice to meet you, Father.”
He cleared his throat. “Likewise.”
Her husband turned and walked away toward the fence, turning his attention back to the game.
Mary watched him go, and then turned and smiled at Father Paladina. “I wish you all of God’s love and all the luck in the world.”
“Thank you,” he said.
She turned and headed toward her husband, then paused and glanced back at Niccolo one last time.
“You’re going to need it.”
◆◆◆
“What did you mean?” Niccolo asked when they’d climbed into Jackson’s car and got on their way to Bishop Glasser’s estate. He felt queasy and weak, not sure what to think about everything happening around him. What had Mary meant by saying he would need God’s love? What was going on? “When you said Rose wasn’t the only one who seemed different, what did you mean?”
Jackson frowned, thinking. “I don’t know how to describe it. When I first met with Rose in her home when she started acting weird, she gave me this vibe … like …” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to describe it. It seemed like I could sense what lived inside her, and it felt wrong.”
“But not just her?”
He shook his head. “No, not anymore. It has become a general feeling now. Not everywhere, exactly, just in a lot of people; and, I have this sense of foreboding. As far as I can guess, it started when I first went to visit Rose, and then my mind ran away with the idea and set me off in imagining it. I don’t know, like maybe I’m searching for the worst in people now, you know?”
Father Paladina nodded. “Did you get that feeling from Mrs. Spencer?”
“Mary?” Jackson asked. He took a long moment before pausing. “Yes. How did you know?”
He spoke reluctantly as if tattling on a friend. Niccolo stayed careful not to let his face give anything away, but it made him feel somewhat sick to his stomach. “But not her husband?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. As I said, it doesn’t seem to mean anything. It just comes down to this feeling I get sometimes. But Mary is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, so I know it doesn’t have anything to do with her.”
“Probably not,” Niccolo said. “Most probably nothing.”
Inside, however, he didn’t feel at all certain. Right now, all he wanted was leave Everett behind forever.
One last dinner. He only had to make it through tonight.
Chapter 9
The rain sprinkled lightly when they arrived at the home of Bishop Leopold Glasser a short while later. The gloom and misery outside filled him with dark thoughts and worries. He believed their best option lay in canceling the meeting and going to the Airport, but Father Affretti had warned him most specifically against that. Their best option dictated that they act normal.
The trees flanked their car as they headed up the drive, and Niccolo couldn’t help but feel that they’d come alive. He felt like a prisoner heading to his death, no matter how ridiculous a thought. They just had to get through a simple dinner engagement and everything would turn out fine.
“I’ve only come here a handful of times before,” Jackson said, turning the car off after parking in front of the bishop’s house. He looked at the estate with an expression of mixed awe and disgust. “Each time I see it, it makes me feel …”
Father Reynolds, once more, grew aware that he’d nearly voiced out of place. He glanced sideways at Niccolo, a guilty expression on his face.
“Ostentatious?”
“I didn’t mean to … it isn’t my place to judge—”
“I agree completely,” Niccolo raised a hand. “It is ostentatious and designed to draw attention. Men such as Glasser believe that their relation to God entitles them to luxuries not befitting such a station. He should live in a humble way, and this home is not one of humility.”
“We’re supposed to live within reasonable means, aren’t we? It isn’t our place to flaunt our wealth.”
“It depends on the outlook you have. Some believe that a show of privilege benefits their congregation by showing them that worship of our Lord has tangible rewards. I, however, don’t make one of those people. I believe that faith is its own reward.”
“So do I. I would rather the money get put to good use in helping those in need. Our reward isn’t to be found in this world.”
“Are you ready to go in?” Niccolo asked. “I hope we don’t have to stay here for too long.”
Jackson seemed surprised by that. “I thought I was the one who didn’t like the bishop.”
Niccolo didn’t respond.
Father Reynolds and Bishop Glasser had a strained relationship. Jackson seemed rather on edge by the situation even without knowing the whole story, and that made Niccolo worry. Supposed to act normally, it wouldn’t prove good if one of them acted off. Niccolo wanted to make sure that Jackson relaxed and remained in control before they entered the estate. He didn’t want to push Jackson into a confrontation for which he hadn’t prepared.
To be honest, though, he felt unsure whether or not he’d prepared. The last few days in Everett had provided some of the strangest and most worrisome of his life, and he had no idea what he would do in response to everything happening. He had come here with the belief that anything abnormal happening could get explained mundanely, but now he doubted if he could make it out alive.
“We just need to inform him that the investigation got dropped and that everything can go back to normal,” Niccolo said, finally.
Jackson smiled, but it looked a strained smile. “Of course. What sort of man would I be if I proved unable to admit when I got it wrong?”
Niccolo nodded and opened the car door, stepping out into the rain. Though not heavy enough to warrant an umbrella, and his coat being waterproof, it still felt uncomfortable when the cold water ran down his hair and beneath his shirt. The rain wouldn’t have bothered him at all, in fact, if not for how cold the night had grown. Only a few moments after stepping out of the car, he felt chilled to his bones.
A well-dressed man awaited them at the door, perhaps another butler, and opened it to allow them entrance. It surprised Niccolo to see a different man than he had met last time. Maybe the bishop had multiple people on staff for different nights?
Surely it didn’t give a sign of anything amiss?
“Please, come in,” the butler said. “Dinner is nearly prepared.”
They followed him into the foyer, and then through a set of double doors, and ended up in a large dining hall on the first floor on the opposite side of the building from where he had met Bishop Glasser during his first visit here. That felt like a lifetime ago.
A table ran the length of the room, easily capable of seating thirty guests while having room to spare, but for now, only three place settings lay at the far end of the hall.
Staff had set them near a cozy hearth, and a fire blazed and crackled within. Even from across the room, Niccolo could feel the warmth spilling out, and it felt glorious on his cold skin. The butler took their coats and disappeared, leaving the two priests standing in the entryway of the dining hall.
Bishop Glasser stood next to the hearth, watching the flames. He glanced up at them when they came in and smiled. He wore red formal robes and had a shiny substance in his thinning hair to keep it in place.
“Welcome,” he said, striding across the hall to meet them. He shook hands with Father Paladina. “It is good to see you again.”
“Likewise.”
“It is great to see you as well, Father Reynolds,” Leopold said, offering his hand to the young priest. “It has been entirely too long since we’ve sat down and conversed. It pleases me to no end to see you once more.”
Jackson grew visibly uncomfortable but accepted the offered handshake and nodded. He swallowed back his discomfort and put on a calm face.
“I agree, it ha
s been too long since we’ve talked. I came here to apologize in person for—”
Leopold waved his hand in the air. “Come now. There is absolutely no need for that whatsoever. You need never apologize for actions taken while guarding your flock. Your first duty is to them, not to me.”
“I went over your head,” Jackson said. “An action unbecoming of someone in my position.”
“You did what you felt was necessary, and I will never blame you for that. I trust in your judgment, and though I wish you had consulted me further regarding what steps should get taken, I do not blame you for taking the steps you did. Apology is not necessary, nor is forgiveness. Let us simply put it behind us and move on to the next chapter.”
Jackson hesitated, and then said, “I thank you for your understanding.”
“Of course, my friend. I trust this brings the end of the matter.”
“Yes.” Jackson took a deep breath before continuing, “I became severely mistaken in my belief about Rose Gallagher’s condition. I … overreacted, and as such, I have changed my mind about seeking an exorcist or help from the Church. I plan to speak with Rose’s family and determine if we can find some other way to help her outside of the Church.”
Bishop Glasser smiled. “It is of no concern. Please, have a seat and relax. Our food will be brought forth shortly. Do you enjoy lamb?”
He guided them over to the three place settings, and they all took their places. The bishop sat at the head of the table, Niccolo to his right, and Jackson to his left. Niccolo felt grateful to sit so near to the fireplace, as the waves of heat radiating out felt heavenly, though he would have preferred more distance from the bishop himself.
Bishop Glasser lifted a small bell and shook it once, giving off a soft tinkle. A moment later, a side door opened, leading to the kitchen. Servers came into the room, carrying trays, and set them down in front of the three men.
Underneath, the plate held a Caesar salad—and a traditional one at that, replete with anchovies and a light drizzle of sauce. Niccolo’s mouth watered. The hotdog at the game seemed weeks ago.
Part of him wondered if he should eat the food at all, but he experienced too much hunger to care. Also, he had to act naturally, and turning down the meal would get taken poorly. So, he would eat it and do his best to seem like nothing had gone amiss.
They barely spoke as they ate, and as they finished up the salad, the servers returned to replace those dishes with a lamb pasta with pesto sauce, which tasted delicious and earthy and authentic. The servers moved silently and with ease, ghosts in the room, continually filling their wine glasses and removing empty plates.
During this course, Bishop Glasser spoke lightly and courteously about nothing of substance. He asked Niccolo about his home in Italy and the food he enjoyed. Niccolo answered as courteously as he could without giving any long responses. Though normally a talkative person at the dinner table, right now, he found it difficult.
The conversation turned to what the weather was like, and if Rome compared to what he saw in Everett, and then there came other pleasantries that kept the conversation and wine flowing.
Niccolo loosened up as the meal continued, letting his guard down and enjoying himself. This acting normal business became easier because everything seemed normal. He had felt terrified coming into this situation but now believed it all unfounded. The bishop remained polite and courteous. No way did Arthur have it right. The bishop couldn’t possibly have become involved.
The last several days had proven stressful, and it felt nice not to worry for a time. Jackson felt much the same way. Leopold Glasser had an easy charm about him and behaved in an incredibly courteous manner. Soft spoken, he seemed polite with a sort of old-fashioned affect easy to get along with.
Once they had finished their lamb, the servers returned and replaced that with a dessert course—butter cake with raspberry syrup and mixed berries. Niccolo, though full by the time dessert arrived, still found himself devouring the cake in its entirety.
Certainly, it made for one of the most enjoyable meals he had experienced in a long while. While the servers cleared off the table, he leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach, pleasantly full. Somehow, it felt like everything would turn out all right. Consciously, he recognized the feeling as wrong and realized that every second they stayed in Everett they remained in danger; however, he still half-believed it.
If the bishop had no part in events, he realized, then it became possible that he had also come into harm’s way. Maybe he should speak with Father Affretti about getting the bishop a ticket to Rome as well. Just in case.
“Well, gentlemen,” Bishop Glasser said. “If you would like, we can retire to my study and have a drink and continue our conversation.”
He stood, and the two priests followed him across the hall into another room. Still raining, the wind and water pattered softly against the windows, and Niccolo found himself growing rather sleepy.
From the wine, he assumed. He hadn’t drunk anything since first coming to Everett, and only had wine occasionally back home in Rome. A lightweight, his comfort at the entire situation had diminished his judgment.
Bishop Glasser poured out a few glasses of brandy, and they took seats in comfortable, reclining chairs. For a while, they relaxed in silence, sipping their drinks and enjoying the quiet.
“You should come visit us sometime in the spring or summer,” Bishop Glasser said to Niccolo. “It looks quite beautiful out here when everything comes out in bloom.”
“I would like that,” Niccolo said.
He doubted he would ever return to Everett, Washington, but it didn’t seem a prudent thing to say.
“When will you return to Rome?”
“Tomorrow,” he said, the answer slipping out before he could stop himself.
The bishop frowned. “So soon?”
“Yes. I need to return to report my findings.”
Bishop Glasser looked down at the glass in his hand, twirling a finger around the rim. “And what will that report say?”
In Niccolo’s mind, warnings flashed. Perhaps his worry came from his run-in with Arthur at Rose’s home. However, it seemed prudent to keep his concerns to himself. He felt that the bishop remained on the up-and-up and that everyone had overreacted. Also, he wanted to stay safe and hold certain details back.
At least for now.
“Precisely as Father Reynolds explained,” he said, nodding toward the young priest. “I have found nothing abnormal happening in Everett, and thus, my recommendation will lean toward dropping the investigation.”
Bishop Glasser nodded and sipped his brandy, but the motion appeared stiff and awkward. Niccolo frowned, realizing that something about his tone or what he had said had given the other man pause.
“Nothing? You didn’t find anything to report?”
“No.”
“Hmm. I would have thought you might find a few oddities in every city that you should take to your superiors. The idea that you found nothing at all seems quite … peculiar.”
Niccolo took a steadying breath. “Nothing of substance, at least.”
“Ah. Well, I’m glad to hear it,” the bishop said, finally, “though I will be sorry to see you go.”
“I’ve enjoyed my time here quite a bit,” Niccolo said. “Perhaps I will take you up on that offer and come to visit in the future.”
“I would like that, as I’m sure would Father Reynolds.”
The conversation turned to idle things. Jackson seemed relaxed while they spoke, though Niccolo fell silent and brooded. Something about the meeting felt off to him, as if more went on than he had anticipated.
The bishop didn’t say or do anything that caused him to second guess the man’s intentions, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the man withheld something. It came not from what he said but the way in which he spoke.
Maybe he didn’t like the bishop’s personality and demeanor and had let it rub him the wrong way, but part of him knew that was
n’t it. No, it came down to something else.
By the time they had finished conversing, it had grown late. It had stopped raining completely, and all three men felt exhausted. The bishop walked them to the front door—the house had emptied of staff now, and Niccolo assumed the butler and serving staff had gone home—and bid them farewell. He wore a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he shook Niccolo’s hands, and then they stood out in the cold.
The gravel crunched underfoot while they walked back to Jackson’s car.
“That went well,” the young priest said, a note of surprise in his voice. “A lot better than I expected.”
Niccolo didn’t respond for a few seconds. “I’m glad,” he offered, finally.
“I had expected a chastisement, or maybe a punishment, but he seemed reasonable about the whole thing.”
“Yes,” Niccolo said.
Too reasonable, in his estimation. What Jackson had done had made an affront to the bishop. Moreover, Leopold did not seem like the kind of man to forgive so easily.
So, why did he let Jackson off the hook so quickly?
They climbed into the car and drove away from the manor. With a growing sense of foreboding and worry, Niccolo watched the estate disappear behind them in the side mirror. Had he said too much and been too open with the bishop? He shouldn’t have said anything about his travel plans. Had he just added to their risk?
“Are you leaving tomorrow for real?” Jackson asked while they traveled.
“Yes,” he said.
“A shame. I’ve enjoyed having you around. Someone else I can talk to that understands what our lives are like.”
Niccolo didn’t reply. A part of him—a large part—wanted to open up to Jackson about his fears and concerns and tell the young priest that he had to travel with him. He wanted to explain the odd things that had occurred, the bad omens, and admit that he believed something crazy was going on.
But he didn’t. Not yet. They wouldn’t leave tonight, and he would tell Jackson first thing the following morning. He would get one more night of peace before his world crumbled around him. They would need to have the conversation eventually, but he wanted to postpone it until he got outside Everett and had Jackson safely away from the city.