Raphael

by Tillie Cole

  He wondered if she ever felt him watching. It wouldn’t matter. Sister Maria Agnes was the most dutiful bride of Christ he had ever encountered. The perfect holy sister—meek, subservient, and completely devout. He knew Father Quinn felt the same about the novitiate. He had seen the high priest speak to her longer than the others who were close to taking their final vows. He watched the older man’s gaze warm whenever Sister Maria was close, when she nervously smiled his way.

  Father Murray choked down the bland vegetable broth and bread and waited until the nuns had vacated the hall before following Father Quinn to the privacy of his office. The minute the door was locked and Father Quinn gave the signal that they were alone, Father Murray rushed out, “I saw one.” The high priest seemed confused, until Father Murray added, “In the club last night, after I cast a sinner to hell, I saw him. Raphael. One of the lost Fallen.”

  The room plunged into a harrowing silence. Father Quinn’s eyes widened. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “And where is he now?”

  Father Murray rubbed his hand down his face. “I had to leave. People were noticing the sacrifice’s absence. But we now know where he frequents. We can lay a trap.” Father Murray smiled in excitement. “We can finally capture him, Your Excellency. We can finally recall him to finish what we started.”

  “We need a plan. We’ll have to call a meeting of the others. This is too important to wait.” Father Quinn sat down behind the desk, but Father Murray could see the high priest was just as excited as he was. The older man was unable to keep still. Father Quinn was a master priest. The finest example to follow. But Father Murray was comforted that the high priest, served with this news, was unable to rest. “I have a call with a Maine diocese that I must take. After that, we’ll call an emergency meeting at the headquarters and make plans. We need something that is iron clad, brother. We can’t lose them again. We may never get another chance to finally send their souls to hell.”

  Father Quinn got to his feet and laid a hand on Father Murray’s face. Father Murray was not unused to the high priest’s touch. It had been Father Quinn who had exorcised him all the years he was in Purgatory, cleansing him with his seed. At first he had fought it. But he had still been in the grip of the consuming evil that had captured his soul. Once that evil had been freed, Father Murray had yearned for the high priest’s touch. Prayed that he would come to the dorm and take him into his care.

  Father Murray curled his cheek into the priest’s hand, feeling his spirit soothe, and kissed his palm.

  “You did well, Francis.”

  “Thank you, Your Excellency.” His voice was merely a whisper.

  “Now, go wait for me in the car. I won’t be long.” When Father Murray stepped out into the empty hallway, Father Quinn’s blessed touch still warming his cheek, silence and darkness greeted him. He glanced toward the main doors, but his heart tugged in his chest and persuaded him to walk in the opposite direction. On light and silent feet, Father Murray followed the shadows to the stairs and up to the first floor. It wasn’t the first time he had ventured into the private rooms of the nuns. As if a beacon were calling to his heart, he followed his feet until they stopped outside a nondescript wooden door, its panels chipped and worn with age.

  Checking there was no one around, Father Murray leaned his ear against the wood and listened. All beyond the door was silent. The sister must have been done with evening prayers and already asleep. Smoothing his palm down the door, Father Murray allowed his fingers to wrap around the iron knob and quietly turn it to the right. The door opened, and Father Murray peered through the inch-wide gap he had made.

  He froze.

  Every muscle locked into rigid ice as the view before him was revealed.

  Sister Maria Agnes was undressing, the dim glow of a single low light on her nightstand surrounding her body in an ethereal halo. Father Murray felt his breathing change from soft exhales to short, sharp puffs as Sister Maria removed her habit. She was as meticulous in undressing as she was in walking. Every move was gentle and measured, purposeful in her duty. Father Murray felt a familiar stirring in his groin as Sister Maria slipped into her nightwear and began removing her headdress. The white material gave way to dirty-blond hair he had never before seen, captured in a tight bun at the base of her head. Slowly, the trainee nun pulled out pin after pin until there was a small pile on her empty desk. With delicate hands, Sister Maria proceeded to unravel her hair. Down and down it went, falling past her shoulders, the center of her back . . . until it landed below her rear. Father Murray’s eyes widened as the nun raked through the silky strands with her hands, followed by a simple comb. And then his heart stilled. His blood stopped pumping as a memory flashed across his mind.

  “It’s the hair, isn’t it?” Father Murray said to Raphael, triumph flooding his face. “It’s the hair.”

  Father Murray quickly closed the door and raced to Father Quinn’s office. He burst inside just as Father Quinn hung up the phone.

  “Father Murray, I told you to wait in the car,” the high priest snapped.

  “I know how we get him,” Father Murray said breathlessly. “I know how we capture Raphael.” Father Murray smiled, his body radiating pure joy. “And I know it will absolutely not fail. He’ll be ours. He’ll finally be ours.”

  Chapter Three

  The loud clang of the bell broke through Maria’s sleep. Hymns sung by the sisters walking the hallways drifted under the gap at the bottom of the door. It was still dark outside, the Massachusetts winter still holding tightly on to its final chilly breaths. Maria sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She blinked into the dark and reached over to switch on her lamp. The light bathed the room in a warm glow. Maria smiled as she heard the birds beginning to sing outside the curtain-less window. The owl that nested in the nearest tree surrendered his night song to the early-rising jays’ serenade.

  Maria kneeled on the cold wooden floor and clasped her hands in prayer. Closing her eyes, she whispered into the silent room. When she was done, she got to her feet, moved to her closet, and dressed in fresh robes. Finally, she retrieved her headdress. She laid the white garment on the edge of the bed and sat down at her desk. A small mirror was the only thing on the desk. That and her comb. Maria glanced at her reflection as she ran the comb down her thick strands. As with every morning, without fail, she didn’t see the reflection of now, but that of years ago. Of that girl. The one who still cowered in a corner of her soul. The girl she couldn’t reach to heal. To soothe or convince that all would be okay.

  After all the knots were freed, Maria brought her long hair into a ponytail, then wound it into a low bun at the base of her neck. Pins held it in place. With a deep breath, meeting her own blue eyes in the mirror, Maria placed her headdress over her head and dusted out any stray creases that might have crept onto her black robes.

  As Maria walked to the door, a sense of duty and peace washed over her. Convent life had given her a freedom she’d believed she would never find. The rigid schedule and deep, silent prayers were a balm to her soul, a Band-Aid to her ever-bleeding heart.

  The second Maria set foot in the hallway, she cast her eyes down and clasped her hands, tucking them into the sleeves of her robe. Her feet led the way to the refectory for breakfast. Maria focused on the stone floor beneath her. Soon she would pledge her final vows to the church, committing herself to a life of sacrifice and servitude. A life loving God and thanking Him for saving her, for singling her out of the many who had perished before her.

  Maria recalled her first vows. She relived the sense of happiness and joy she’d felt rain over her body and mind as she donned the white dress, as she kneeled before Father Quinn and took her first step in becoming a dedicated bride of Christ. Something happened to her on that day. Something pulled at her heart. Her gut. Something that told her she was about to embark on the journey that would explain why she had been spared. God was warning her that her reason for surviving was about
to be revealed. And she was ready to receive the message and give all of herself to the task. Mind, body, and soul if needs must.

  Breakfast passed quickly. Today was a day of reflection and chores. Father Quinn’s lessons would recommence the following day. A heavy mist hung in the air, making it difficult for the rising sun to sneak through. As Maria stepped outside to tend the garden, the morning dew kissed her face. This, Maria thought. This is all the evidence I need to know You exist.

  Maria thought upon the people in the world who took every new sunrise for granted. They simply didn’t understand how fleeting life could be. They didn’t know the gift they were awarded every day by simply opening their eyes and seeing the sky. Breathing in the fresh air, igniting life in their lungs.

  But Maria did. And she’d vowed years ago to never take the simple things for granted again.

  A hand pressed on her shoulder. Maria spun, caught off guard. Mother Superior’s face was before her. “I’m sorry, Reverend Mother,” Maria whispered, trying to calm her racing heart.

  Mother Superior smiled. “I called your name three times.”

  “I was caught in gratitude, Reverend Mother. In prayer and thanks.”

  “I thought so, child. There are none more grateful for their position here than you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come, child. You have visitors.”

  “I do?” Maria asked, confused. Maria had no family—none but the family of the church.

  “They have come especially to see you.”

  Maria dutifully followed Sister Theresa, her Mother Superior, down the hallway that led to Father Quinn’s office and the education room. Head down and hands clasped, Maria tried to focus on God and Jesus as the custody of the eyes required, but her head was too busy with questions of who could be there to see her.

  Maria’s questions were answered when the door to Father Quinn’s office opened and Fathers Murray and Quinn rose from their seats at the desk.

  “Sister, good day,” Father Quinn said.

  “Father Quinn,” Maria said softly. “Father Murray.”

  “Please.” Father Quinn gestured to the seat on the other side of the desk.

  “I’ll leave you alone.”

  Maria didn’t look behind her as Sister Theresa left and locked the door. The room plunged into silence. Maria kept her head bowed, staring at her clasped hands.

  “Relax, Sister Maria,” Father Quinn said. “You are not here to be reprimanded.”

  Maria released a pent-up breath and lifted her head and looked nervously at the two priests. “Sister, we have been locked in study for a while now. Years in fact,” Father Quinn said. “In a few short months, novitiates, if they decide this life is for them, will take final vows.” He paused, watching her curiously. “Where do you stand on that? On taking final vows?”

  “I am pledging,” Maria said quickly, confidently. “I already see myself as a bride of Christ. I want this. This life is everything to me. I understand now that it has been God’s plan for me all along. Everything that has happened to me . . . it was to guide me onto this path, as painful and difficult as it has been.”

  Father Quinn and Father Murray looked at one another, seemingly sharing a private thought. Then Father Quinn turned her way and smiled. “You have no idea how happy this makes me, Sister Maria.” Maria exhaled a long, relieved breath. “But,” Father Quinn said, interrupting her relief, “there is something I’m going to ask of you.” Maria waited patiently for him to continue. Father Quinn leaned forward on the wooden desk that separated them, hands steepled. “Sometimes, sister, we, as priests and experienced men of the cloth, need novitiates to prove that they are ready.”

  Maria’s heart sank, ripped in two, when those words left the father’s mouth. There was none more fit for a life as a nun than Maria. She wanted to argue that she was prepared, ready for what this life entailed. But she would never speak out of turn. She would never disobey a superior so rudely.

  Father Quinn held up his hands. “No one doubts your faith, sister, nor your diligence to your duties. But what we believe you lack is conviction. The ability to do harsh, and often frightening, tasks for the sake of God and mankind. Being sequestered here at Sisters of Our Lady of Grace is noble and will prepare you for a life of service, but what we seek is proof that you are willing to step outside the shackles of these high walls and be a disciple of Jesus, not just His subservient bride.”

  Maria’s hands trembled at the thought of stepping out of the gates that kept her safe. When she had decided to join the church at seventeen, Maria was the youngest nun in the convent. She was still only twenty-one; her twenty-second birthday fell on the same week as final vows. But what she lacked in age she made up for in life experience. At age sixteen, she’d felt as though she were ninety. Hardships aged the soul even if the skin your body wore told another story.

  Father Quinn sat back in his seat. “Are you ready for that challenge, Sister Maria? One that pushes you, takes you out of your comfort zone and into the graceful arms of Christ?” Maria didn’t speak at first. Father Quinn took advantage of that silence. “Christ died on the cross, in slow, agonizing pain, to save mankind. Is it too much to make sacrifices for Him in return? Love is a two-way street. To take, you must also sometimes give.”

  “Love and sacrifice, Sister Maria,” Father Murray said, speaking for the first time. His voice was gentle. “It is what our lives in the church are made of. The church protects us and our mortal souls. Sometimes we need to protect it back.”

  Maria swallowed, afraid her voice would shake when she talked. “I-I . . .” she stuttered and cleared her throat. “I am willing to sacrifice myself for the church.” And she was. Her voice may have betrayed her fear, but she knew she was made to endure hardships.

  She already had.

  Father Quinn smiled so widely that warmth blossomed in Maria’s chest. She had pleased him. “That’s good, sister. I believe it will be your last test before final vows. You will know, as you kneel and give yourself over to Christ, that He is pleased.” Maria nodded. Father Quinn’s face lost all humor. “In the church, we are sometimes faced with evil that many cannot comprehend.” Father Murray sighed, and his eyes softened. “But not you, sister. We understand you are aware of such forces. Are aware and have faced them.”

  Maria fought to keep her breathing steady. “Yes, Father,” she whispered. She tried not to feel the permanent red marks on her body burn. Feel the dark touch she had tried to forget. His breath, the sound of his voice, and the devastating mockery in his awful laugh as it filtered into her claustrophobic prison.

  “In our years as priests we have encountered many corrupted men like William Bridge.” Just hearing that name said aloud caused shivers to accost Maria’s skin, beads of sweat building on her brow. The mention of his name brought his face to her mind, the one that still caused her to wake at night, panting and unable to calm her pulse. She saw his cold smile as he looked upon her naked teenage body, his eyes as they roved over her skin. And the blood on his face as he tore her world apart, all so he could take her apart, piece by piece, for his own sinful needs.

  Father Quinn cleared his throat, taking her from her nightmare. “In fact, there are a group of men we believe are even more evil than he is. Men whose influence has allowed them to evade even the power of the law, has allowed them to assimilate into society among good and honest people. Men who are intent on hurting others, not caring if their victims have families, loved ones, who depend on them, need them. They just want to hurt people, in vile and sick ways. They want to kill.” Father Quinn’s face reddened, and Maria saw incredible anger building in his usually kind eyes. “We have been in positions like this before, where it has fallen to God’s everyday warriors to defeat evil. To bring a reckoning to their door. This time is no different.”

  Maria focused on her breathing, sure she would pass out if she didn’t. She didn’t want to face men like William Bridge, men who were worse. She liked her quiet li
fe. Confronting the terrors of her past made her paralyzed with fear.

  “That’s where you come in, Sister Maria,” Father Murray said.

  “How?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “One of the men has been spotted for the first time in many years. He was found dwelling in a place of perpetual sin and disgrace. A man who uses his beauty and the lust of others to lure in his victims,” Father Quinn informed her. Maria’s eyes were wide as she drank in the information. “We need someone to help us lead him into our path.”

  “Me?” Maria whispered.

  “The man knows who we are. He will know we are there for him. But you . . .” Father Murray trailed off. Maria looked into the priest’s dark eyes. He must have been about thirty. Still young, Maria thought. But he has risked his life for God many times. She glanced down at her hands, hands that still remembered what it felt like to be trapped in the dark, searching for a way out of her own version of hell. Maria’s eyes closed, and she tried to calm her nerves. She’d always known this day would come. She had chosen Sisters of Our Lady of Grace for its solitude, but God had not saved her so she could hide behind high walls for the rest of her life.

  There was a higher purpose to her survival.

  Was this it?

  Something . . . some inner pull inside her told her it could possibly be.

  “Okay.” Maria was terrified even as she agreed to whatever task they were laying at her feet. The thought of meeting the man they spoke of in the flesh was almost too much for her to bear. But if he was anything like William Bridge, as wicked or as vile, she had to help. The very idea of someone hurting an innocent person the way William had hurt her, her family, and many others made her skin crawl in horror.

  She had to be more than her fear.

  Father Quinn exhaled in relief. “God will see your devotion through this act, sister. All of His great prophets and disciples have endured hardships to prove their love. Yours will be recognized just the same.”