by Mark Carver
****
Rays of moonlight pierced the heavy clouds, falling like snow on Julian’s huddled shoulders. His face and folded hands were lost in shadow as he cowered beneath William Story’s weeping angel tombstone.
Tears streamed down Julian’s face as his lips trembled with rapid prayers. He didn’t know what had happened. After fleeing St. Nero’s Square, he had vanished into the labyrinthine streets of Rome, quickly discarding the Vespa scooter. The sounds of sirens and chaos faded into the distance as he threaded his way through the crowd of city-dwellers rushing home for their supper. His mind had been blissfully free of all thoughts and he felt a soothing sense of contentment, the feeling one gets after successfully completing an important task.
After wandering for an hour, maybe two, he was surprised to find himself at the site of the Arch of Constantine. Where the proud arch once stood, there now arose the Great Dragon, thronged by fiends and imps, dancing as they broke free from the shackles of hell. As Julian gazed upon the monstrosity, he felt something collapse inside of him, like a scaffolding folding in on itself. He clutched his stomach and hastily sought out a portion of the fence to steady himself. He gasped for breath, his eyes wide with fear.
What was happening?
He looked up at the wicked face of the Great Dragon, and he heard it, deep within his soul.
Laughter. Cruel, mocking laughter.
Julian was seized with panic. He bolted through the crowd, not knowing where his feet were carrying him. Fitful gusts of wind billowed his great black coat as he tore his way through the crowd. He didn’t even know when he left the teeming streets behind and found himself at the foot of the Cimitero degli Inglesi, the Englishmen’s Cemetery. He struggled to catch his breath as he opened the iron gate and stepped into the silent graveyard.
The Englishmen’s Cemetery was the last Christian cemetery left in Rome, and it had only been spared from vandal’s hammers because of constant vigilance by armed mercenaries paid by the church. Julian glanced around warily as he glided through the tombstones. The guards were obviously not on duty at the moment, probably deserting their posts once the chaos began. There were more important targets that needed protection, and who’s to say the mercenaries hadn’t switched employers? After all, their guns only followed the money.
The signs of vandals were quickly apparent. Several crosses had been brutally smashed and Satanic graffiti was splashed across several monuments. Julian was thankful that this was as far as the damage extended. He looked around again, worried that a gang of hooligans might rush out of the darkness at any moment. Or worse, that a passing police officer’s flashlight might freeze him in his tracks.
The sound of sirens was faint and distant, but a different kind of distress caused his heart to ache. A wave of powerful guilt washed over him. He sat down beneath the statue and looked up in sorrow and desperation.
Why? his soul cried out. Why does Your peace forsake me? I felt Your hand upon me then, but now…
He looked down at his hands and could almost see the bloodstains.
Where are You?
“What troubles you, my son?”
Julian whirled around, his hand whipping out his weapon from the folds of his coat. He aimed the steady barrel at the approaching shadow, setting his mouth in a grim line.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The figure raised its hands in a peaceful gesture. “Do not be afraid, I mean you no harm.”
A break in the clouds allowed moonlight to flood the cemetery, and Julian saw an old man walking towards him. He appeared to be of Asian descent, and his narrow face bore the signs of decades of strife and struggle.
“Who are you?” Julian repeated, rising to his feet and keeping his gun aimed at the old man.
Master Ko halted a few meters away, his hands still raised. He smiled warmly.
“You do not need that, my son. I am Father Shen.”
Julian did not lower his weapon, but his eyes softened.
Master Ko took one more cautious step forward.
“I see that you bear a heavy burden, my son. Come, lay your troubles at the altar of the Lord.”
He motioned with his hand towards the rear of the cemetery, where a humble chapel stood nestled in the shadows of ancient trees. Julian’s eyes followed his gesture, then he replaced his weapon inside his coat.
“Thank you Father, but I really don’t know what I can say. I’m…I’m very confused at the moment.”
“Confused?”
Julian let out an exasperated sigh and sat down at the base of the statue. With a flutter of his robes, Master Ko sat down beside him. The heavy cross he wore gleamed in the moonlight.
“Go on,” he prompted.
Julian took a deep breath. “I have always tried to follow the will of God, even if it takes me to places where I cannot see the light.”
“You mean the attack at St. Nero’s Square?”
Julian’s face betrayed his fear and surprise. Master Ko held up a comforting hand.
“News travels fast. Besides, you’re already an internet celebrity.”
He held up a brand-new cell phone, which seemed quite out of place compared to the ancient surroundings. Julian peered at the shaky video of him ascending the ruins of St. Nero’s Obelisk and bellowing his condemnation upon the unbelieving world.
“The police already came looking for you here,” Master Ko lied. “Do not worry. You are safe.”
Julian’s eyes were glued to the small screen. Tears began to fall on the sleeves of his coat.
Master Ko frowned. “Do not weep, my son. Your bravery and commitment shall bring you great favor in the eyes of God.”
“I killed them,” Julian wept. “There were Christians there. And I killed them.”
Master Ko leaned forward. “And now they worship at the throne of God. It was inevitable, my son, but a necessary sacrifice. Do you have any idea what is happening because of this? The Church of Satan is reeling like a tree beneath the ax! You are a hero for our church!”
Julian looked up at the old priest.
“I am?”
“Of course! Your bravery is unparalleled in this world. The church looks up to you as a true soldier for God.”
The fires of pride flared to life in Julian's heart, though he felt obligated to make an attempt at modesty.
“But…but I feel such doubt now. I used to feel peace in my soul, but now there’s this…this blackness inside of me. What does it mean?”
Master Ko’s eyes flashed, and he quickly turned his head so Julian wouldn’t see his expression of delight.
“It means the devil is attacking you,” he solemnly declared. “But you must not listen. Every great believer in history was tormented in the same way. Even Jesus Himself was mocked and assailed as He walked through the wilderness.”
Julian’s spirit jumped at being compared to the ancient heroes of faith. The sadness had gone out of his eyes and a small smile stole across his lips.
“I suppose you’re right, Father.”
Master Ko patted his knee. “I have a confession to make as well, my son.”
Julian looked at him expectantly.
“I knew you would be coming here,” Master Ko continued. “It came to me, in a dream, just a couple of days before. I saw Nero’s obelisk fall, and I saw a man in a black coat running down the road towards the chapel. He was pursued by demons and monsters, but as he reached the church steps, they stopped and fled in terror.”
He looked at Julian with intense, somber eyes. “The man in my dream was you, Julian Rossa Monte.”
Julian gasped and jumped to his feet. “What…? How did you…?”
Master Ko reached up a friendly hand. “One word from the mouth of our Lord can create entire galaxies. Communicating a man’s name to another man in a dream is hardly even a miracle.”
Julian swallowed his hesitation, then sat down again. “Is it true,” he asked, “what you said earlier? That God has a great plan for me, and I am be
sieged by the devil because of it?”
Master Ko smiled broadly. “My son, you cannot begin to imagine what the future holds for you.”
He glanced around warily, causing Julian to do the same.
“We should go inside,” Master Ko said. “You are a wanted man, and God’s miracles can only take us so far.”
Julian nodded, and he followed the priest through the wind-swept graveyard towards the darkened chapel. Master Ko fumbled with the keys for several moments, though Julian reasoned that it must be difficult to see the keys in the dark. After an unsuccessful try, the priest unlocked the creaking wooden door and Julian followed him inside.
He didn't notice the puddle of blood seeping out from a closet door tucked away in a dark corner.
****
Lorenzo peered nervously through the windshield as he guided the rattling van along the back country roads that twisted like veins, almost invisible to the casual passerby. But he had grown up in Susa all his life, and he knew every nook, every cranny. And right now, he was hoping he knew the roads better than the policemen who were out scouring the hills and forests for Benito and the other perpetrators.
He glanced in the rear view mirror. The boy hadn’t said a word since Father DeMarco brought him back from the pasture. What he was doing there, Lorenzo couldn’t imagine. He only knew something very wrong was going on inside that boy’s head, and that wrong would need to be confronted soon.
“Watch out!” Donatella shrieked.
Lorenzo had anticipated the curve well in advance, and he chuckled at her girlish outburst. His amusement lasted for only a moment, though, when he noticed flashing lights ahead on the road.
“What is it?” Father DeMarco leaned forward, attempting to peer through the darkness despite his weak vision.
Lorenzo’s foot instinctively lessened the pressure on the gas pedal and the van slowed. He also cut the headlights, hoping that they hadn’t been spotted.
“Roadblock,” he said in a quiet voice.
Donatella let out a squeak of despair and crossed herself.
“What do we do?”
Lorenzo let the van roll to a halt. “I’m not sure,” he answered simply.
He glanced again in the rear view mirror, studying Benito’s sullen face. He wanted to reach back and throttle the idiotic boy.
It’s his fault that we’re even in this mess….
He quickly suppressed such counterproductive thoughts. He turned his attention to the challenge in front of them and began cycling through his options. His palms were slick with sweat as they gripped the steering wheel.
“Go through.”
Lorenzo whipped his head around and looked directly at Father DeMarco.
“What?”
“Go through.”
“You mean, run through the roadblock?”
The priest shook his head. “Just drive up and act normal. We have nothing to fear.”
“But they’re looking for him,” Lorenzo protested, gesturing with his eyes towards Benito.
The boy looked like he was in some kind of trance; his head hung heavily on his chest and he seemed to be praying.
Father DeMarco patted Benito’s leg and smiled weakly at Lorenzo. “We have nothing to fear.”
Lorenzo glanced at Donatella, whose eyes emphatically pleaded with him to do anything except drive up to the roadblock. He looked back at the priest, who nodded confidently and stared at the flashing lights ahead on the road.
Without knowing why, Lorenzo gripped the shifter and put the van into drive. He knew he should have been praying at that moment, but his mind was such a flurry of doubt, excitement, fear, and curiosity, that he found it impossible to string two words together. One thing he did know: at the first sign of trouble, that gas pedal was going straight to the floor.
Donatella started muttering rapid-fire prayers. Her words were one continuous flow and her trembling fingers clutched the crucifix around her neck. In the backseat, Father DeMarco put his arm around Benito and laid the young man’s head on his shoulder. His heart truly ached for the boy. For a moment, his thoughts flitted back to the confrontation beneath the oak tree in the pasture. That…that thing… Father DeMarco knew exactly what it was, and he was pretty sure he knew what it wanted. He swore before God and heaven that the darkness would not take this boy.
“Father…”
Lorenzo’s voice was shaky as he approached the roadblock, which consisted of two police cars parked at angles across the road. Father DeMarco raised his eyes, squinting against the flashes of blue and red. Lorenzo waited for him to speak some words of instruction, but the priest was silent.
The brakes let out a shrill screech and the van jerked to a halt. A fist rapped on the driver’s window.
Lorenzo rolled the window down slowly, feeling an instant chill as the crisp night air slithered into the van. A glaring flashlight shone directly in his eyes and he had to look away.
“Patente e libretto, per favore.”
Lorenzo froze.
The flashlight dropped, revealing Antoni's smile.
Lorenzo and Donatella could only stare at his friend in wordless amazement. Father DeMarco also raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was certainly more miraculous than he had been expecting. Benito didn’t look up or make any acknowledgement.
“What...what are you doing here?” Lorenzo asked. His eyes scanned Antoni’s police uniform in disbelief.
Antoni motioned with the flashlight towards the other car. Another friend, Giacomo, leaned against the car door. He was also dressed in a navy blue uniform. Lorenzo’s eyes suddenly grew wide.
“You didn’t...!”
“No,” Antoni said, shaking his head. “They’re tied up in the trunks. And we made sure they can breathe.”
“What is going on, Antoni?” Donatella’s tone was harsh.
“After we left you at the farmhouse, we followed the same road you took to get here,” Antoni answered. “We came up to this roadblock, and the officer asked what church I belonged to.”
Father DeMarco leaned forward. “What did you say?”
Antoni shrugged. “Nothing. I punched him in the face.”
“What?” Donatella shrieked.
“Giacomo jumped out and took care of the other guy before he could get to his radio. Then we figured the best thing to do was keep the roadblock going and let anyone through who needed our help. Giacomo used to be a policeman so he knows the lingo. We stashed the car a little bit down the road. We’ve been up here waiting, and so far no one has come this way except you.”
“Antoni,” Lorenzo muttered, shaking his head slowly, “don’t you see how dangerous this is? You and Giacomo need to get out of here, now. If they catch you, they will make martyrs out of you.”
“Eh, we’re not worried, are we Giacomo?”
Antoni’s good nature was encouraging and infuriating at the same time. He looked back at the occupants of the van.
“Now that you’re here, we’ll leave too. We’re going to head to Belarus and rendezvous with Ambrosia and Nicholas. At least that’s the plan.”
Lorenzo nodded solemnly. “Well, it’s good to see you one last time. You gave us quite a scare.”
“Yes, you did!” Donatella scolded.
Antoni chuckled. He craned his neck and peered into the backseat, fixing his eyes on Benito’s lowered head.
“What about him?”
“We’ll take care of him,” Father DeMarco answered quickly, placing a protective hand on the boy’s head.
Antoni pursed his lips and looked at Lorenzo with a grim expression. All of his previous levity had vanished.
“Will you be okay?” he asked, his voice low and serious. “We can come with you if you want.”
Lorenzo shook his head. “Go be with your sister in Belarus. We can take care of ourselves. And we have faith that God will handle whatever we can’t.”
Antoni nodded his agreement.
“Okay.” He tapped the car door with the flashlight.
“Be careful, all of you.”
He’s taking his disguise way too seriously, Lorenzo thought with a smirk. He turned the key and the van’s engine sputtered to life again. After shifting into drive, he guided the van in a zigzag around the police cars.
As he drove past, Antoni called out, “Where are you going, anyway?”
Lorenzo, Donatella, and Father DeMarco were struck dumb. They were so desperate to leave and get out of harm’s way that they hadn’t even thought about where they were heading.
“Rome.”
Father DeMarco looked with surprise at Benito, who was now sitting straight up. A grim, determined expression was etched on his stone-like face.
He spoke again, clearly and forcefully.
“We’re going to Rome.”
Lorenzo exchanged wary glances with Antoni.
“We’ll be in touch.”
Antoni nodded, his face betraying his uneasiness. He watched the van lurch down the bumpy country road until the feeble red taillights were lost in the trees. The radio chirped, and he jumped with surprise.
“Units 225 and 317, check in, over.”
Giacomo leaned into the car through the passenger window and grabbed the handset.
“Units 225 and 317, all clear, over.”
Antoini placed his hands on his hips and stared out into the darkness. He removed his hat and held it in his hands for a moment, then tossed it onto the driver’s seat.
“Let’s get out of here.”
****
Patric’s hands trembled as he held the paper. Sweat from his fingertips smudged the printed words. He tried to swallow but there seemed to be something dry and jagged lodged in his throat. He grabbed the bottle of water on the small chair to his right which, besides the chair he also sat in, was the only piece of furniture in the room. Of course, if there had been other pieces of furniture scattered about, it would have been impossible to see them, with the entire room being shrouded in darkness. Only a blinding shaft of light shone down on Patric’s head. He swore he could feel his scalp starting to burn.
He finally managed to swallow whatever had been obstructing his throat, and he stared at the red light a few meters in front of him. Behind that red light were Claude, Christine, and several others whom he had only glimpsed before being herded into this room, which looked identical to the room that had hosted his tense negotiations with Claude earlier that evening. After Patric’s acquiescence, there had been wine as promised, but only a half cup that was downed quickly, for Claude wanted to get down to business as soon as possible. He imparted no details of his plan, except that Patric was going to read a carefully drafted message on camera, which would be immediately uploaded to the internet. He would say nothing beyond this, but Patric knew there was more to come.