Enter by the Narrow Gate

by David Carlson

  “Do we need a search warrant to check his room?”

  “Nope. A small donation to the mission took care of that. I was just waiting for you.”

  The two men walked through the recreation room, empty except for the tape player, on through another door into a hallway. The narrow passageway smelled of disinfectant, the reason becoming clear when they passed the common bathroom, which smelled of rancid alcohol and vomit. At the end of the hall, Sergeant Rakich stopped in front of a room and opened it with a key.

  Worthy walked into a small, neat bedroom. All indications were that its most recent inhabitant had checked out. Worthy began with the bed, over which hung a plaque of praying hands, while Rakich checked a small chest of drawers. Finding nothing, Worthy rose too quickly to his knees and saw stars. I’ve got to get some food, he realized, though the thought of another candy bar or donut made his stomach turn. What he needed was sleep.

  He sat on the floor as Rakich opened the bottom drawer and drew out a small suitcase. Laying it on the bed, the sergeant pried at the small locks with a pocket knife.

  “This hasn’t been opened for a long time,” the sergeant said. Finally, one metal clasp sprang back, then the other. He pushed the suitcase toward Worthy.

  Worthy got to his knees and reached into the suitcase. On the very top was a wooden crucifix of a bleeding Jesus, the type he’d seen at the monastery. The item directly beneath the crucifix seemed from a different world. A small whip made of rope with bits of metal tied in at uneven points lay curled like a sleeping snake.

  “What do you make of it, Sergeant?”

  Rakich shook his head slowly. “I’m guessing Penitente, but then again, I’m just an outsider. Anything else in there?”

  Worthy’s hand reached to the bottom of the box and pulled out an ornate certificate, all in Spanish.

  “Can you translate?” he asked.

  “If it’s not too complicated. My wife’s Spanish.” He took the document, whistling softly as he studied the flowery script. His eyelids narrowed. “As best as I can make out, this says that Eladio Moldonado was a member of the Brotherhood of Jesus of Nazareth in a place called Arroyo Seco. That’s Penitente jargon.”

  “And Arroyo Seco?”

  “Down in New Mexico. North of Santa Fe.”

  “What else?” Worthy asked.

  “It says he served faithfully as a pitero and a rezador. I don’t know what the first word means, but I think that last word means he was a reader.”

  “Is the document dated?”

  “Let me see. Yes, right here at the top,” he replied, turning it in Worthy’s direction. “It’s from almost fifteen years ago.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Some names at the bottom. One is a Felix Martinez, who’s listed as El Hermano Mayor, but the other name makes no sense.”

  “Just a minute. You said Martinez?” Worthy asked.

  “Yep.”

  He remembered Ellie’s words the day before. Could that really have been only the day before? She’d said that Victor had run into two men; one knew his father.

  “You said the other name makes no sense. Why’s that?”

  “The name of the Hermano Coadjutor is an Anglo name. I never heard of an Anglo being permitted into the Brotherhood.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Somebody named Bernard Johnson. The cross after his name makes it look like he was a priest.”

  Worthy fell headlong into the motel bed, fully dressed. He’d had the presence of mind to both set an alarm and leave a wake-up call for eight thirty, an hour later than the time Sergeant Rakich promised to be at the police station in Antonito. The two would meet there and then figure out their next step.

  Worthy turned over in the bed to lighten the pressure on his shoulder. The next step. Was there a next step? He’d followed one clue out to an abandoned morada. From there he’d driven through the night to a rescue mission to find a suitcase of mementos. Were the two clues connected? Did either lead to some underground bunker?

  If this Coffman was the killer, he was a meticulous and calm one. The clues he left were bizarre, but never obvious. Sera may have managed to fit some pieces together, but with each passing hour Worthy feared she’d also walked into his trap.

  Worrying won’t help, he scolded himself, turning over again. He tried to block out the sound of the semis rolling by outside, but they seemed to be driving through his head. What if he couldn’t sleep? No, he had to sleep. He had no choice.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured the pile of leaves in the morada, and saw Allyson as a third-grader diving into them. She was throwing the leaves over her head, holding up a large one for him to see. She put the huge oak leaf on her head and began dancing around the empty morada, her baby voice calling out, “See my hat, Daddy, see my hat.”

  He felt himself sliding down into the darkness of sleep. A final image, like the last frame of an old home movie, showed him raking leaves at their cabin, the same kind of leaves that he’d seen with his flashlight in the morada—tiny pale green and silver aspen leaves floated like feathers to the ground, falling on his head, covering his eyes, now his head.

  “Daddy, Daddy, I can’t make a hat with these,” Allyson’s baby voice complained as she tugged on his trousers. “They’re too small.”

  “Daddy needs to sleep, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I need to sleep.”

  But the little girl only pulled on his leg even harder. “Take me back to the little church,” she said. “Take me to the big leaves or I’ll … I’ll run away!”

  With a jolt, he sat upright in bed. His breath came in shallow bursts as he stared at the blank TV screen at the other end of the room. Big leaves in the morada. Tiny aspen leaves outside. Where had the big leaves come from? Could an animal have dragged them in? He tried to remember the road he’d traveled in the middle of the night. What kind of trees had he seen? Yes, there’d been piñon pine trees, then at a certain altitude he’d seen juniper pines and aspens. Pines and aspens, needles and tiny leaves.

  But the leaves in the unmolested morada had been large, like oaks or sycamores. As he struggled with his one good arm to put on his shoes, he remembered Rakich’s comment about the moradas farthest out being the easiest to vandalize. Why not that one?

  His body, aching from his shoulder up to his head and down his back, yearned for the fluffy pillows. Focus, focus, he told himself. Why had that particular morada been left alone?

  “Coffman was a structural engineer … he built bunkers,” Rakich had said. He’d gotten that message on the borrowed cell phone, the moment he’d stepped outside the morada to clear the static. His brain leapfrogged to another fact. Both murders had been committed in or around a morada. And Coffman’s wife had died down the road from that particular one.

  Worthy was already closing the motel room door when a final thought came to him. What in an old adobe building would cause cellphone static? It had sounded like electronic interference of some sort, and yet when he went outside he could hear Rakich clearly. Was it possible that he’d been standing over something, perhaps a bunker?

  Like a weary Samson, Father Bernard looked up blankly as Father Fortis and Sera, their chains rattling on the floor, were brought into the room. Eladio sat across from Father Bernard, as if the two had been sharing a secret.

  The new room, a type of basic chapel, was smaller than the one that had held Father Fortis and Sera. At one end, in front of yet another set of doors, was a makeshift altar. Atop it was a large golden cross set on a square of white linen. The cross was empty, without Christ or any ornamentation other than golden flames attached to the top and at the ends of the cross’s beam. The walls of the room were also bare except for two plaques. Onward Christian Soldiers, Marching as to War was balanced on the opposite wall by Who Is on the Lord’s Side?

  “Thank God, you’re both okay,” Father Bernard said. His voice was hoarse, as if he’d been talking for hours.

  Coffman brought two chairs, the sam
e metal types as those in the other room, and placed them on each side of Father Bernard. Once Eladio had secured them, the three captives and Eladio formed a semicircle in front of the altar. The only difference among the three was that Father Bernard’s chains had been removed, and he was bound instead with layers of duct tape.

  Coffman remained on his feet and hobbled to the door behind the altar. He opened it slightly. Father Fortis noticed that the man did this with reverence.

  “What now?” Father Bernard demanded of the leader.

  Coffman paced behind the group. “Actually, Bernard, it’s time to set you free.”

  “Free?” he asked, looking from Coffman toward the other two. “Don’t believe him.”

  “No, the truth is, we’re tired of you. Right, Eladio?”

  “Tired of you,” Eladio repeated, his eyes not straying from his leader.

  Sera’s face was flushed but alert. Eladio could be heard mumbling in a mix of Spanish and English as if he were two people.

  “Yes, we’re bored with all your endless questions,” Coffman continued. “Did this nun pray, did she resist at the end, did she say anything to Eladio or me before she died? Always about death, death, death. What is it with you Catholics?”

  So only the two of them killed Sister Anna, Father Fortis thought. Very likely it had only been the two of them who’d crucified Victor as well. Eladio was only an alcohol-wasted derelict, a poor Sancho Panza, a fact that made Coffman all the more impressive. That Coffman had committed such horrific murders without leaving any telltale clues was sobering. The man’s thinking was twisted, but he executed a plan with logical precision. Now their survival depended on finding a flaw in that logic and finding it quickly.

  “These other two came as adversaries to battle me,” Coffman said, gesturing toward Sera and Father Fortis. “That I understand. It is what we expected. It was what had been prophesied centuries ago. But you puzzled me, Bernard. You see, I believe that each of you was meant to be here, meant to come down our road and find us. Even before you met Eladio, you’d been to this place. A magnet. Didn’t I tell you, Eladio?”

  Eladio continued to mumble incoherently.

  “Each of you is part of the plan. The only question I’ve had, Bernard, is why God brought you.”

  “But I told you,” he interrupted.

  “No, I heard what you said, but it took me a while to hear what was hidden in your words. And oh, so many words.” He walked in front of the altar as if he were a priest and gazed down on Father Bernard. “Before Eladio frees you, I’m going to tell you the real reason you came.”

  Eladio stood up, his face drained of color. “Me? Free him? No, not me!”

  “Settle yourself, Eladio. Let’s not go through this again.” Coffman turned to Father Fortis and Sera. “Did you know that Eladio and Bernard used to know each other?”

  Father Fortis looked at Sera. Her gaze moved from Father Bernard to Coffman, as if she were as confused as he was. What did it mean that Coffman intended to “free” the monk? What was Father Bernard’s game?

  “I’m not ashamed to say that I was this man’s priest,” Father Bernard said, his eyes trained on Eladio.

  “Half-truths, half-truths will never do, Bernard,” Coffman chided. “Eladio, why don’t you tell them the rest of the story?”

  Eladio had returned to his seat. His hands were visibly shaking in his lap. “No, no. Too long ago.”

  Father Fortis watched Father Bernard. The ex-Navy Seal’s face was set as if he, though helpless, was finally ready for battle.

  “I’m not ashamed to say it. Eladio and I were brothers.”

  Coffman rested his hand on Father Bernard’s shoulder. “Brothers. Yes, there’s that term again. Brothers.”

  “What? You were a Penitente?” Sera asked, staring at Father Bernard.

  He nodded.

  Father Fortis watched Eladio, expecting him to deny it. But the derelict only kept repeating, “long time ago, long time ago.” No, this is preposterous, Father Fortis thought. Brother Elias had described Father Bernard as an enemy of the Brotherhood.

  “I see you don’t believe me, Nicholas,” Bernard said. “I thought Linus would have told you back at St. Mary’s. As I said, I was a priest up here. Some of the men in my parish were members, and over time I came to believe. It took a while for them to trust me, but eventually they did. But the bishop got wind of it, and well, let’s just say the hierarchy finds the Penitentes a bit embarrassing. That’s when I was sent to St. Mary’s.”

  If I can’t go, there’s no one I’d want to go in my place more than Bernard. That was what Father Linus had said. How could Brother Elias have been so wrong in accusing the spiritual director of hating the Brotherhood?

  “Why’d you send Sister Anna out to the retreat house?” Father Fortis asked. He could feel Coffman’s eyes on him, as if he were evaluating something.

  “She was being tempted to renounce her vows. I couldn’t let her do that,” Father Bernard replied.

  “So you sent her out to be killed?” Sera asked.

  “No! What are you saying? I sent her on retreat to pray for direction. You don’t think … Father, you, too?” He stared at Father Fortis.

  “I saw you whisper something to Eladio when we were first taken,” Father Fortis said. “I thought—”

  “But I assumed you knew. You read her journal. The church needs to know as much as we can about how Sister Anna died.”

  “Why? We know how she died,” Sera replied.

  Not completely, Father Fortis thought. Yes, that would explain everything. “The church thinks that she might be a saint,” Father Fortis muttered. “That’s why you wanted me to read her journal, and that’s why you tagged along with us, isn’t it? You came along to begin to establish her … what do you call it?”

  “I’m only here to begin the process of establishing her cause,” Father Bernard said.

  “Boring, boring, boring,” Coffman interrupted, as he started pacing again. “But not unimportant. Bernard, I will tell you something. I am going to free you, as I promised, but I want you to know that you’re very much like the nun and the boy.”

  “Thank you. I only wish that were true,” he replied.

  “Thank you,” Eladio repeated with an odd chuckle. “The cup is full, the cup is full. Father, but not my father.”

  There’s that phrase again, Father Fortis thought. He studied Eladio as he wrung his hands and stole glances at Coffman. He’d first heard the derelict say it when he bumped into him weeks before at the store in Truchas. That must have been soon after the two men had buried Victor alive. He searched his memory. Had Coffman been with Eladio that day? No, he thought. The derelict had been alone.

  “The final battle is between the children of death and the children of life,” Coffman said as he paused in front of Bernard, their faces only inches apart. “ ‘Oh Death, where is your sting,’ now?”

  “Your sting now,” Eladio mimicked.

  Father Fortis strained in the shackles. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to rise up just enough to string his chains around the man’s neck.

  Coffman raised himself to full height and walked behind the altar. Closing his eyes tightly, he raised his hands in the air. “Oh God of power and might, God of vengeance and zeal, hear us, we pray. The days are numbered, the very drops of blood to be shed in these final days are known to you alone. End this veil of tears, defeat Death we pray, judge the cup to be full in these moments.”

  Coffman opened his eyes, reached down to retrieve something from under the altar, and opened the door behind him another inch. “It is time to free Bernard, Eladio. Take the knife.”

  Eladio whimpered as he accepted a long fishing knife from Coffman. The six-inch blade was honed to a sharp point and glistened off the fluorescent lighting.

  “Eladio … I said, free him!” Coffman ordered from where he stood behind the altar.

  Nothing about the scene made any sense to Father Fortis. Coffman edged back toward the
door behind the altar as if someone would come out, while Eladio stood with the knife trembling in his hands. Father Bernard looked confused as he gazed down at the duct tape around his wrists.

  “God is waiting, Eladio. So are the souls in Christ, including my beloved. And so is your friend, Bernard. Aren’t you, Bernard?”

  Eladio dropped the knife and ran toward the door at the other end of the room.

  “Stop!” Coffman ordered. “Remember what I told you. When the end comes, the righteous will reign with the Judge. I promise you before God, Eladio, that I’ll personally come and cut your eyes out if you walk out that door.”

  Eladio dropped to his knees, whimpering, as Coffman hobbled to pick up the knife. He bent down and looked into Father Bernard’s eyes. “Before I free you, I want to finish what I was saying,” he said in little more than a whisper. “When you started all those questions this morning about the nun, I thought at first that she’d been your whore. You told me you’d sent her to that house of death to paint those images, and I thought maybe that’s where you and she fornicated. But then I realized you are just like her. You’re just as much in love with death as she was. You all are, with your crucifixes of our Lord, as if he’s still dying, and all your talk of saints and how they died. Death, death, death. Always death for you. That’s when I understood. You weren’t sent by God for me, but to test Eladio, to lure him back into that filth. He almost succeeded, didn’t he, Eladio?”

  Coffman turned his head toward Sera. “Pay attention, Lieutenant. This is why you and your type never had a chance of catching me. I’ve been given a gift of seeing into people. Case in point, I know you both want to kill me, but this big hulk of a man, the strongest of the three of you, doesn’t. Bernard wants something else.”

  He started cutting the tape around Father Bernard’s wrists. One at a time, the strands dropped free. Coffman paused over the last strand of tape and looked down into the priest’s eyes. “Ready, Bernard?”

  “She forgave you, didn’t she? Yes, I can see it in your eyes. At the end, she forgave you,” Father Bernard said, his voice clear and strong.