“Julian will always be a part of you as you will be with him. It was your capacity for love that attracted you to each other. It is your love that will hold you fast.” He turned and entered Julian’s room.
She looked at the floor before taking a shuddering breath.
Julian stood with his back to the window. His eyes locked onto those of his friend when he entered.
“Julian, my time is short. There are things you must know,” the priest thought and his friend felt it.
Julian closed his eyes and the priest felt the ache in Julian’s mind, in his soul.
“Luciano had to be stopped, but we assigned an importance to him that blinded us to other dangers. I will take responsibility for that,” Fr. Soski said and went on. “The Group has refreshed its coffers with another stolen fortune.”
The priest’s face twisted into a grimace as pain tore though his body. Panting from the spasm, he continued. “I spoke with Mrs. Bragonier. She says what I suggest, what you and I know, is not possible. I believe she is incorrect. The Group is headed by one of us, protected and nurtured by one, perhaps more of us.” Fr. Soski swallowed hard and tried to breathe deeply. The racking cough served only to shorten each breath further.
The priest looked up at his friend. Julian’s thought was weak, but the words were unmistakable.
“Cardinal Manning,” Julian thought and Fr. Soski nodded. Julian continued, “Bridget said she couldn’t get through the darkness obscuring all of this.”
“Julian, Manning was the darkness, is the darkness, and that is how you will find him.” Fr. Soski said. “For now, Manning has gone to ground with a fortune. The total loss is estimated at nearly a billion including the millions he took from what Luciano embezzled.
“The Vatican Bank is scrambling. With luck, and if it can call in enough favors, it will not collapse. If it does, millions of people and institutions will be wiped out. That would ripple through the worldwide economy. Chaos is the only result possible. Chaos is their objective, Julian.”
The priest allowed Julian to absorb what was said. “Had they more time - a papal assassination would have allowed that - more funds would have been stolen. That would have ushered in a new dark age. By stopping them, you have frustrated their aims. This will neither be forgotten or forgiven.”
The men stood in silence, each with their own thoughts. Fr. Soski guided Julian to his hospital bed. A knock was heard at the door and Ailís looked into the room. “Father…”
“I am nearly done.” His smile was sardonic and sad. “A few moments more please.” The door closed silently.
“Julian, I must be going, but I have something else that needs to be said.
“You blame yourself for this. Don’t do this my friend. Don’t punish yourself by cutting yourself off. The people around you, the people who love you are a lifeline. They are the way back. By turning them away, you will surely lose your way, lose yourself.” Soski moved closer to his friend.
“I have been where you are, further in some ways. I have had my mind nearly destroyed as you have. I have had my body broken. I feel I can say I know where you are. Stay where you are and you will be lost, my friend. Lost to us. Lost to yourself. Think carefully before you take your next step. It may be irrevocable.
“Remember too, if you can keep to nothing else, the love you have for Ailís and hers for you is vital. Even if it is whittled away to the merest splinter, you must hold on to it. It may be your only way back.”
Fr. Soski could feel it. Julian would find his way back, but it would be the hardest, most painful way possible. Julian’s friend smiled his sad understanding, turned and left.
***
“Father?” Ailís called after the priest as he left Julian’s room. “Tell me.”
“Doctor, there will be a long road back for him,” the priest rasped with effort.
“I am afraid he is in a place you cannot go. You can lay hands on him, but you cannot touch him. None of us can. He is an ocean away from us all. He has endured so much, Doctor. More than that, he sees himself as being responsible for a great many deaths. Although painful for us, he believes by shutting himself off, he is sparing us his suffering. By removing himself, he believes he is protecting the ones he loves.”
Ailís began to speak, but Fr. Soski overrode her with a glance.
“He is wrong in all of this, of course, but he will have to learn that in his own way, in his own time.” The priest took out a handkerchief and began a racking cough. Ailís became alarmed when the man took his now bloodied handkerchief away from his mouth.
“Father, you must come with me now.” She took the sleeve of his overcoat, but the priest just smiled.
“For now, dear Doctor, your place is with him. Stay awhile. He may not acknowledge you; in fact he won’t, but you need to stay with him,” Soski said. “It is my hope, you and Julian live long and happy lives. Go with God.” He laid his hand on her head and she crossed herself as he prayed.
Fr. Marek Soski turned and left her at Julian’s door.
She entered and sat at the bedside with what was left of the man she loved.
***
A portly man in his late sixties with sharp features, green eyes and slate gray hair looked into the mirror and adjusted his tie. He brushed at the shoulders of his blue pinstripe suit coat and smiled a crooked smile at his reflection.
He called over his shoulder to his protégé and continued to inspect himself. “Are we ready, Mr. Clarke?”
Clarke didn’t answer at first. He continued to look out the window of the second floor bedroom in a sedate home in the heart of Old Rome. He looked into the side yard with its brickwork patio, wrought iron furniture and park like setting. “I think I shall miss this place,” he said.
The older man took one last look into the mirror. He smiled as he watched his green eyes flicker slightly and gradually change to piercing gray.
“We really cannot call you ‘your Eminence’ anymore,” Mr. Clarke said and smirked. “And Mr. Manning is just not on. Consul isn’t an especially good idea either.”
Terrance Cardinal Patrick Manning said, “I’ll think of something.” The Consul looked at his reflection once more, then said, “Shall we go?”
“Have you decided where?” Clarke asked.
“I think we’ll hide in plain sight. Our group always has,” the older man said and chuckled with a slight shrug.
Both men descended the stairs, and entered a waiting limousine.
Chapter Twenty-one
A leery and ferret eyed Joselina Conaletti entered the room hesitantly and approached Julian.
“How can I help you, signora?” Ailís asked. Joselina shot the doctor a sharp look and Ailís immediately bristled, but let the woman approach Julian.
“My business is with the wizard,” the madam said without ever taking her eyes off of Julian’s face.
She addressed him softly. “I heard what happened. I hear everything of course. I came as soon as I could.
“You and the Ghost asked me to keep this safe and return it if anything, well, you know.” She reached into her voluminous handbag and withdrew the Jesuit Book. She placed it gently in Julian’s hands. He felt the cool, smooth leather under his fingers, but only closed his eyes in response.
The madam touched Julian’s face and smiled. “Come and stay with us anytime,” the older woman said before the thought came through to her quietly. “Joselina, thank you. You are a good person and I thank you for keeping my book safe. You deserve better boarders them I have been,” Julian thought.
The madam snorted. “As long as you pay in cash you’re welcome at my house.” She winked and turned to leave. Before she reached the door, she twisted back and looked at Ailís. “Dottoressa,” Joselina said. “bring him back. It will be good for you both next time. I promise.” The older woman smiled warmly. “Maybe we can teach you not to hang around with wizards.” The older woman smiled. “We’ll find you a nice Italian boy, no?” The door closed silently
behind her.
***
Ailís tried to get Julian to lie down, but he wouldn’t move. She sat in a chair in front of him and held his hand in hers. His eyes, once so clear and intense, were now a dull cloudy gray and as cold as his hands.
The door opened slowly. Enrico Marino entered quietly. He flipped his police identification card at Ailís, who stood as he approached.
“Officer, I am afraid Mr. Blessing is in no condition to talk,” she said.
“Dottoressa, this is official police business. He doesn’t need to speak. I will talk and he will listen. I require nothing else,” the sergeant said. Ailís nodded and moved into the shadows near the door.
The big man sat in Ailís’ chair. Julian’s eyes only moved from the Jesuit Book to take in Enrico’s face etched deeply with misery. Julian could feel only a part of the man’s grief. The pain was excruciating and Julian welcomed it. He wanted to burn away his guilt, double his own suffering.
“She was why I couldn’t sense you,” Julian thought and Enrico looked puzzled and then smiled slightly.
“You gave yourself completely to her. You lived your life for her, for your Bella. But there is more. You never told her,” Julian thought and hung his head feeling the man’s agony, touching an immeasurable well of misery.
Enrico slowly reached into his outside coat pocket. He withdrew a small satin bag and shook it’s contents into his large palm. He held it out to Julian. Enrico had no more tears but Julian had a vast reserve of them. His shoulders shook as he wept in silence. Ailís lurched, hesitated and left the room instead.
Enrico said kindly, quietly, “I have carried it for many years. I was going to give it to her tomorrow. It took me all this time to build up the courage.”
He smiled a painful smile. “Now, for me, there is no tomorrow. There is only this day for the rest of my life.” He put the ring back in its bag, sighed heavily and said, “I was sent here to take a statement from you. Instead I will give you your statement.” The big man knew it by heart and delivered it without emotion.
Enrico took on his official police voice. “‘Braving a fierce and deadly attack by Antonio Cardinal Archbishop Luciano on her partner, Fr. Marek Soski and me, Ispettore Belladonna Saviano was forced to shoot and kill the cardinal.
“’Before dying of his wounds, the cardinal killed Ispettore Saviano. She selflessly sacrificed herself in the defense of others. She died a hero and an inspiration.’ I will make up the other details later.” Enrico looked closely into Julian eyes and said with kindness, “Hai capito?”
Julian blinked back his tears. “Sì, capisco. Yes, I understand. Your Bella was a hero. As are you. I am more sorry for your loss than you will ever know. I am sorry I wasn’t better, stronger. I am sorry for us all. Her death, all of the deaths,” Julian paused. “I am responsible.”
Enrico nodded his acknowledgement of Julian’s thoughts and feelings. He stood and walked toward the door. With his hand on the door pull and without turning around, he said, “Wizard, you did not cause this. You are not to blame. Two men brought this to our door. Both the Russian and the cardinal are dead. They left us no choice so we did what needed doing. Learn to forgive yourself, sí, amico mio?” The sergeant was in the hallway approaching Ailís when he felt Julian’s words.
“Amico mio,” Julian thought. My friend.
Enrico smiled slightly and nodded to the doctor as he left.
***
They were side by side on a bed in the second floor bedroom of a stately home in Old Rome.
Both men were naturally posed. One, a butler in the very recent past, looked regal in the crimson cassock of a Roman Catholic cardinal. A man of peace at peace.
The other, a young man in a plain black cassock was as neatly arranged, but the look of frozen terror on the face of Fr. Dominic Giglio was anything but serene.
Both men lay still.
Dead still.
***
A mile away, a limousine proceeded at a leisurely speed through the outskirts of Old Rome.
John Clarke turned in his seat and looked out the back window as a fireball erupted, throwing bricks and mortar hundreds of feet up and out. Exquisite furnishings were turned to deadly shrapnel instantaneously. The explosion shattered glass in nearby homes and scythed mature maple trees in half. A sedate neighborhood was turned into a battlefield in a matter of seconds.
“I think I shall miss that place,” Clarke said.
***
Ailís led Julian down the companionway and away from the arrival gate at Dublin’s international airport. His pace was slow, and painful to watch. His eyes were fixed on a point in the distance, a point, a horizon only he could see. He held a leather bound book tightly in his hand.
A serious Sean Maher, in his Garda Síochána uniform, met them and expedited their passage through customs and immigration.
Sean looked at his friend and ached with the changes he saw. Gone were the easy stride and the ready smile. Vanished, the mischief in Julian’s eyes and the kindness that had been his hallmark from the time they first met in Cappel Vale on the rugged Irish coast.
At the far end of the terminal stood Moira Hagan looking stern and Bridget Bragonier looking kind. Julian’s teacher and his mentor.
Bridget reached into her purse, took out her cell phone before it chirped, and stepped off a few paces. Moira stood her ground, but softened as she felt the weight Julian carried. Her student had suffered and continued to do so. She bit her lip and bunched her fists to stop the trembling of her hands.
Julian stumbled, but Ailís and Sean caught him before he fell. He turned to Ailís and said in a slow nearly inaudible whisper, with tears in his eyes, “He’s gone.” Sean steadied his friend then stood next to the Hagan.
Ailís looked into Julian’s face, a face she knew so well. She looked into the warm gray eyes grown cool with agony as tears brimmed them, then rolled down his cheeks. “Who is gone?” she asked.
Julian hung his head and he shook with the sobs. Ailís took him into her arms, but he did not embrace her. She felt him take a ragged breath, square his shoulders and stand upright.
She noticed his arm and hand trembled as he took a tighter hold on the book. Tears continued to course his cheeks, but his face, a face bathed in anguish moments before, was now expressionless, distant and cold.
Sean closed his eyes and swallowed hard as he felt the Hagan take his hand and hold on tight. She needed his quiet strength and in that, Sean was the strongest man she had ever known.
Bridget Bragonier, tall, slim and regal, placed her cell phone back in her purse. She approached Julian, looked into his face and her smile was sad with the empathy she felt for her friend.
She traced the scar on his cheek, the wound Ailís had stitched so carefully in Cappel Vale so many months ago. He was willing to suffer for what he believed then and he suffered more now. So much had changed, since then, for him and now, for them all.
“You know,” she said simply, but Julian did not acknowledge her comment. “Of course you do. I am sorry, Julian. Words will change nothing. This is something that for you will heal, but will never be forgotten,” she said.
She moved her hand to Julian’s heart and her face instantly turned the color of ash. Moira tried to move forward and Sean held her hand tightly. She turned on him with venom. She softened and began to weep when she saw the big man close his eyes and shake his head imperceptibly.
“No. Julian, do not do this,” Bridget said. “I forbid you to allow this to happen.” There was iron in her voice, a voice of authority tinged with kindness and washed in wisdom.
Julian’s face never changed. His eyes distant, his thoughts unknowable, his heart was closed and cold. He blinked slowly once and the tears stopped and began to dry on his cheeks.
Ailís looked on bewildered. Everyone seemed to know what was happening to the man she loved so much – everyone but her. “Who’s gone? What’s happening? Someone tell me what is going on. I demand it,” she said
with force.
Bridget turned to the doctor. “Fr. Soski died not long ago.” It was said plainly, gently. “He died of a cerebral hemorrhage combined with a great many internal injuries.”
Ailís’ stood in open-mouthed silence before she said, “But that’s not possible.” Her forehead was etched with incomprehension. “I was with him a few hours ago. He was injured, but…” She stopped and closed her eyes. She had looked at the priest and had not seen him as an injured man, but as a man who was Julian’s friend, a man who could return Julian to her.
She turned away in bitter recrimination as an older man approached the group. Ailís had a dim recollection of the man, a vague recognition, but nothing more.
“Come with me.” The man was gentle and said it softly. He had Bridget’s kind authority in his voice. His words were neither a request nor a command, but more a statement of what needed to be done.
“I know you,” Ailís said and she squinted in concentration, but the man never acknowledged her. He continued to look with soft, knowing gray eyes into Julian Blessing and what he saw is what they all felt. They felt Julian’s slow decent into grief and the overwhelming reproach and sadness that was swamping his soul.
Sean stepped up and took his friend by the arm and supported him as they followed the older man toward the terminal doors and into the bright sunlight outside.
Ailís was standing between Bridget and Moira. She moved forward to follow Julian, but the two older women held her back.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “I have to go with him.” Her cry was plaintive, imploring, demanding.
Moira nodded and Bridget was the first to speak. Her voice was genteel and soft. “Ailís, you cannot go with him. That man is a specialist. He has experience dealing with this. He knows what to do and how to do it. Your place is not with Julian, not now.”
“No, I have to,” Ailís began, but Moira spun her around and said with force, “Listen to me, my girl. While Bridget is refined and will deal gently with you, I will not. Mind you, you probably could use a little gentleness now, but I’ve none to give, lass.
Echoes Through the Vatican: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 2) Page 22