by John Saul
When finally he was back at the point where he’d begun, he began to realize that all of it was futile.
He’d never escape.
He’d never fulfill his purpose.
He sat down and began to howl.
CHAPTER 16
SOFIA CAPELLI FELT her body responding not only to Darren Bender’s kisses, but also to his touch as he fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. She should make him stop—she knew it—but it felt so good when his fingers brushed against her breasts that she just couldn’t make herself pull away, and she found herself pulling his shirt up out of his pants and running her hands up the smooth skin of his back. His hand was inside her blouse now, and—
The door to her dorm room burst open, slamming hard against the wall, and Sister Mary David stood glowering in the doorway, her knuckles white as she clutched the doorframe in cold fury.
Darren leaped up, his face red, his hair mussed, tucking in his shirt as fast as he could.
“Out!” Sister Mary David commanded, her voice low but more menacing than Sofia had ever heard it before. “Father Sebastian will deal with you.”
Darren dashed out without so much as a backward glance.
“You!” Sister Mary David spat, striding into the room. “Cover yourself!”
Sofia pulled her blouse together and had begun to button it when the nun grabbed her hand and yanked her up off the bed.
“You’ll be lucky if we don’t expel you,” Sister Mary David hissed.
Expel! Fear shot through Sofia as she scrambled to button her blouse with one hand while being marched down the hall ahead of the furious nun.
“No, Sister, really—” Sofia began, frantically searching in her mind for something—anything—with which to defend herself.
But the nun wasn’t listening. “We don’t condone that kind of behavior here, Sofia,” Sister Mary David grated. “If you want to act like a—” She groped for the right word, then found it: “—a harlot, then you should go to school somewhere else.”
“I—I’m sorry,” Sofia stammered. “I didn’t want him—”
“Too late,” Sister Mary David snapped, her voice cutting into Sofia like the barb at the end of a whip. “You are in charge of your actions, and you shall be responsible for the consequences.” The nun guided her down a set of stairs and through another hallway. Sofia stumbled ahead, barely able to keep the pace Sister Mary David was setting.
“Wicked,” the nun muttered. “Wicked, evil child!”
“No, Sister,” Sofia gasped. “I’m not wicked. I’m—” Once again she searched for words that might appease the dorm supervisor. “Darren and I love each other!” she finally blurted out.
The nun stopped short and spun Sofia around to face her, her thin lips set into a harsh line. “Love does not sneak about breaking rules, Sofia. Evil does that.”
“No, Sister—”
“Silence! I do not wish to hear another word from your sinful mouth.” The nun twisted Sofia around once again and steered her down another set of stairs, then guided her so quickly through a series of narrow hallways that Sofia was at a loss as to where they were. Certainly they were somewhere she had never seen before.
What was going to happen to her? Was she really going to be expelled? Her father would kill her. He’d send her somewhere else—somewhere even more awful than St. Isaac’s.
And her father would give her a beating.
“Please, Sister—” Sofia began again, trying to resist the frantic pace the nun had set, but Sister Mary David pressed relentlessly onward, the fingers of her left hand digging like talons into Sofia’s shoulder, while her other hand held Sofia’s right arm in an agonizing hammerlock.
Her body burning with pain and her soul with humiliation, Sofia began to cry.
The nun stopped in front of an old wooden door, unlocked it with a heavy key she took from her pocket and pushed it open to reveal a tiny chapel with an enormous carving of a crucified Christ hovering over its altar. “Stop crying and light the candle for your soul,” the nun whispered.
Sofia sucked in her breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She picked up the single candle that lay in the box, and struck the lone match that lay next to the box. Both shook so badly in her trembling hands that she could barely touch the flame to the candle’s wick, but finally it caught.
She blew out the match.
“Now get on your knees and pray to the Holy Virgin for forgiveness of your sins,” Sister Mary David said.
Sofia obediently dropped to her knees on the stone floor, clutching the small candle.
“You will stay here until I return,” Sister Mary David said, her voice devoid of any warmth—any mercy—at all.
Sofia nodded, her chest heaving. “Please don’t expel me,” she choked out. Then she crossed herself and took a deep breath. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I am heartily sorry for having offended thee and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell, but most of all because they offend thee, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life.”
The nun nodded once, then backed out the door.
Sofia began the prayer again.
Then she heard the ancient lock turn in the heavy oak door, and her heart lurched.
A moment later, the overhead light went out.
The chapel was completely dark, except for the tiny flame in Sofia’s trembling hands. The room seemed to close in on her, and she felt as if she could no longer breathe.
“Oh my God,” she began again, “I am so sorry…please don’t expel me…please don’t let my parents know what I did…I am heartily sorry for having offended thee…”
Sofia spoke faster and faster, trying to rid herself of the panic that was closing in on her with the darkness.
All she could see was what the flickering candle flame in her hand illuminated, and as she looked up, the visage of the tortured Christ seemed to lean closer, leering down at her as she knelt repeating her prayer of contrition. She shrank away from its ruthless gaze, doing her best to hide her shame.
But the figure on the cross held her. This being was not the Jesus who loved her and forgave her all her sins. This was an angry Christ who hated her sins. This was a terrifying Christ, looming over her, judging her.
Condemning her to an eternity in Hell.
She started the prayer yet again, careful not to breathe too hard on the flame, terrified of losing that last tiny flame that was all that held her fears at bay.
What if something happened to Sister Mary David and she never came back?
Would anybody ever know where she was?
Did anybody else even know about this chapel?
Sofia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Now she welcomed the pain in her knees on the stone, for she knew she deserved the pain, the fear, the threat of expulsion.
She was truly contrite now, truly ashamed.
And terrified that the Christ above her might extinguish the single flame that stood between her and the darkness, until Sister Mary David returned to pronounce whatever penance she must perform. But whatever it was, she would do it. Just as long as the candle in her hands did not go out…
“Oh my God,” she said a little louder, the sound of her voice her only company. “I am heartily sorry for having offended thee…”
CHAPTER 17
DARREN BENDER STARED AT the television without seeing the screen. He wasn’t exactly hiding in the dorm’s common room, he was just avoiding Father Sebastian. Not that it really mattered where he was; the priest would find him sooner or later.
Still, at least he would get to deal with Father Sebastian instead of Sister Mary David—he didn’t even want to think about what she might be doing with Sofia.
The door to the common room opened, and Darren could tell who it was just by the expression on Clay Matthews’s face. The fact that everyone else in the room sat up a little straighter onl
y strengthened Darren’s feeling that his time had come, and José Alvarez’s picking up of the remote to click off the television was the final confirmation. No one ever straightened up for Brother Francis, let alone shut off the TV.
“Darren?” Father Sebastian’s voice asked.
Darren’s face began to burn and his heart pounded. He’d made a mistake coming to the lounge—he’d rather have this conversation in private, where at least all his friends wouldn’t hear him getting chewed out. But now Father Sebastian was going to use him as an example in front of all the other guys. Just what he needed. “Yes?” he finally said, doing his best to make the single word sound neither guilty nor frightened, and succeeding at neither.
“I hear you and Sofia Capelli were breaking a few rules this evening.”
Father Sebastian didn’t sound too upset, so Darren risked a slight shrug. “I guess.”
“I’m sorry?” the priest asked, his voice taking on an edge that made Darren instantly turn to face him. “You ‘guess’?”
Darren looked up at the priest, his tongue running nervously over his lower lip. “I mean, yes, we did, Father.” He said it so quickly that a faint snicker emerged from his roommate.
Father Sebastian silenced Tim Kennedy with nothing more than a sidelong glare, then returned his attention to Darren. “So you think you can just break rules whenever you feel like it?”
The sudden shift back to an easy conversational tone only served to set Darren’s nerves more on edge. “N-No, sir,” he replied.
“Well, then?”
Darren took a chance. “We were just making out a little.”
“That’s not exactly what Sister Mary David tells me she saw,” the priest countered.
“But we weren’t doing anything really wrong,” Darren protested, immediately regretting his words as he saw Father Sebastian’s expression darken.
“Well, let’s see,” the priest began. “First off, you were in the girls’ dorm. That in itself is wrong, given that it’s against the rules. Whether what you were doing once you were in Sofia’s room is wrong is—”
“Maybe the rules are wrong,” Darren blurted out, knowing as he spoke the words that he’d just made yet another mistake.
Father Sebastian lowered himself onto the ottoman in front of Darren’s spot on the couch, his eyes boring into the boy’s.
“That may be so, but it’s not your decision to make. When you entered this school, you agreed to abide by the rules, whether you agreed with them or not. And breaking that particular rule is grounds for expulsion, as I’m sure you are very well aware.”
Darren heard someone gasp and felt his face start to burn with humiliation. “We—Sofia and me—we just wanted to be together.”
“You can be together anywhere on campus other than the dorms. And I repeat: you knew that.” Darren sagged on the couch. It was actually going to happen—he was actually going to be expelled. “I want you to think about what you’ve done,” the priest went on. “Not just in the eyes of the school, but in the eyes of God, as well.” He paused, and his voice dropped slightly. “You are sixteen years old. When a boy your age stands his moral ground with an innocent young woman, God is pleased. But when he gives in to his basest urges, it pleases God not at all. It will spell trouble for both you and Sofia, and my job is to help you keep from harming yourself—or anyone else—until you’re old enough to exercise your own self-control.”
Darren felt a flicker of hope. Was it possible that maybe he wasn’t going to be expelled after all? Was it possible that Father Sebastian intended to try to help him, and not just punish him? Then the priest stood up, and Darren, almost as if drawn by some unseen force, rose as well.
“I shall have to consider your penance carefully,” Father Sebastian said. Then he looked around the room. “No one here has to study? You’re all straight-A students? I’m impressed!”
Everyone but Darren scrambled to leave, and when they were alone, Darren scuffed at the floor. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.
“I’m sure you are,” Father Sebastian replied. He laid a gentle hand on Darren’s shoulder and began steering him toward the door. “I want you to go to confession before breakfast tomorrow, and then come to my office after classes.”
The flicker of hope that had been burning faintly inside Darren suddenly flared. “I will,” he promised. “And it won’t happen again.”
Father Sebastian’s brows arched slightly. “I’m sure it won’t.”
As Father Sebastian turned to leave the dorm, Darren headed for his room. His room, and his cell phone, with which he could find out what had happened to Sofia.
His roommate, Tim Kennedy, was waiting for him, leering gleefully now that Father Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. “So you got to first base, eh?”
“Not funny,” Darren shot back. He dug in his backpack for his cell phone and tapped in a quick message to Sofia: Are you okay?
He waited a minute, then another.
Then five more.
No response. Brushing aside Tim Kennedy’s questions about what —exactly—had happened in Sofia’s room, Darren opened his history text, but couldn’t concentrate.
Sofia was being punished simply for being with him.
There was a soft knock on the door, then Clay Matthews and his new roommate stuck their heads in, Clay grinning even more lasciviously than Tim Kennedy had a few minutes earlier. “Give us the details,” Clay said.
Darren shook his head. “Just go away, okay?” he said, and turned away from them.
They left.
An hour later, Tim Kennedy went to bed.
But Darren stayed up, turning pages in his history book but seeing none of the words. Every few moments he checked his phone, but it was working fine. The signal was strong, the battery was nearly full.
But no text messages had come in.
Finally giving up, Darren went to bed and turned out the light, but knew he wouldn’t go to sleep.
What had happened?
Was Sofia all right? He never should have run away like a scared jackrabbit—he should have stayed, and explained to Sister Mary David that it was all his fault. He could have told her he’d pushed his way into Sofia’s room, and she’d wanted him to leave but he wouldn’t, and—
—and now she was probably in more trouble than he was, and would never even talk to him again, let alone let him kiss her, or touch her, or—
Rolling over and pulling the covers over his head, Darren put the phone under his pillow and tried to sleep.
Maybe tomorrow he’d figure out how to make it up to her.
Assuming she was even still here tomorrow. Knowing Sister Mary David, Sofia’s parents might have had to come and get her this very night.
Darren Bender rolled over again, punched his pillow, and tried to get comfortable. But even as he closed his eyes again, he knew it was futile. No matter what he did, he wasn’t going to go to sleep tonight.
Not with the guilt gnawing at his gut that Father Sebastian had instilled in him.
How could he have been such an idiot?
CHAPTER 18
FATHER LAUGHLIN MOUNTED the steps to the diocesan rectory slowly, feeling the weight not only of the problem at hand, which he was certain had to do with Kip Adamson’s death, but of his age as well. When the summons had come from the Archbishop’s office so late in the day, Laughlin had hurried to shave, change into a fresh collar and shirt, and get into a taxi, yet there had been none of the excitement that years ago had invariably accompanied a summons to see the Cardinal. Of course, the Cardinal was gone now and while Archbishop Jonathan Rand was certainly a competent administrator, it simply wasn’t the same. A Cardinal was a Cardinal, and an Archbishop an Archbishop, and that was that. But it wasn’t just the man at the top that had changed; in the last few years everything in the Boston Archdiocese had changed.
Laughlin hesitated to catch his breath and wipe a handkerchief across his forehead before pressing the b
ell next to the rectory’s simple front door. Something else that had changed. This was nothing like the Cardinal’s mansion Laughlin used to enjoy visiting. That mansion had been sold off to pay restitution in the unending lawsuits the Boston diocese had incurred, and this far simpler house seemed to Father Laughlin far too humble even for an Archbishop.
He pressed the doorbell and a few seconds later the door was opened by a young seminar student, who immediately ushered him into Archbishop Rand’s office.
An office with none of the luxury the Cardinal had enjoyed. True poverty, it seemed, had finally come to the priesthood, at least in Boston.
“Good evening, Ernest,” the Archbishop said, rising to his feet and coming around his desk to shake the old priest’s hand. “I am so sorry to have called you out so late in the day.”
“Always a pleasure,” Father Laughlin sighed, sinking gratefully into the nearest chair and hoping the words sounded more genuine than they felt.
Archbishop Rand returned to his seat behind the desk. “I wish I could say the same, but just now there seems to be precious little pleasure in this job.” His eyes fixed darkly on Laughlin. “In fact, since Saturday I’ve found no pleasure in it at all.” Father Laughlin nervously folded his handkerchief to a fresh side and wiped his face as the temperature in the office seemed to go up five degrees. “And I must tell you, Ernest,” the Archbishop pressed. “There is more Church business to which I must attend than acting as apologist for your school.”
Father Laughlin shifted uneasily as the temperature seemed to go up again. He was just beginning to formulate a reply to the Archbishop’s words when Rand leaned back and folded his hands together across his chest. “You are as aware as I am how restless the flock in Boston has become the last few years. What you might not be aware of is how hard I have been working to calm the flock. And then along comes the Adamson boy, and in a single evening nearly wipes out the effectiveness of what I have been trying to do for several years. What little time I’ve had not placating people, I’ve been spending in prayer.” He leaned forward, his eyes once more boring into Laughlin, his voice dropping. “Praying, and asking for guidance.”