Raphael

by Tillie Cole

  “We will protect you,” Father Murray said. “We will be close and will give you a way to contact us immediately and discreetly if you fear for your safety.” He leaned forward, eyes boring into hers. “I won’t let anything harm you. I won’t let him touch you.”

  “Thank you,” Maria said. “What is it you want me to do?”

  “We will explain everything. But first . . .” Father Quinn’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her headdress. “I am going to ask you to reveal your hair.”

  Maria’s pulse thundered. “M-My hair? But it is to be hidden. My vows . . .”

  “It is not sinful if I have asked. I’m your superior and demand this in God’s name,” Father Quinn said sternly. Both priests fell silent and waited for Maria to remove her headdress. Maria had not let down her hair in public for years. It was for her only. To be released in the privacy of her own room. But the priests still waited. Maria knew she was to obey, even if the order was difficult.

  Her hands shook as she reached up and slowly removed the headdress. The pins in her bun came next, and Maria let her long hair fall from its captivity and flow down her back and over her bottom to the tops of her thighs.

  “Stand please, sister.” Father Quinn’s voice was gravel. Maria got to her feet, eyes cast to the floor. “Turn around.” Maria did as instructed. She didn’t know what the priests wanted, or why they wanted to see her hair. There were no words spoken as the priests got to their feet and walked around her, assessing her.

  “Yes,” Father Quinn said, a hint of excitement in his voice. “This will work very well.”

  An hour later, Maria stood at the monastery’s gates. Father Quinn and Father Murray waited at the main doors of the building while Mother Superior came to speak to Maria. Sister Theresa took Maria’s hands. Concern was written all over her face. “My child, are you sure you want to do this?”

  Unease flooded Maria’s heart, but she nodded her head and squeezed the older lady’s hands. “I am.”

  Mother Superior stepped closer. “I don’t know what they have asked of you. Father Quinn doesn’t have to tell me. Nor do you. But I know how hard it will be for you to leave these gates.”

  Maria dropped her eyes, but then raised them again to say, “Reverend Mother, you have worked with me for years to get me to this point. To where I have the courage to leave.”

  “Are you sure you’re there?”

  Maria wasn’t. She was honest with the woman who had been her rock since her first days as a postulant. “I’m sure I have to try. These priests are good men. They have been patient with me.” Maria attempted a weak smile. “You always wanted me to entertain the idea of missionary work outside of these walls.”

  Mother Superior sighed. Hugging Maria, she whispered, “Be careful, child. I’ll see you when you return.” She left Maria without another word and went to speak to Father Quinn. Maria watched her go with a lump in her throat.

  “Are you okay?” Father Murray asked as he came to stand beside her, the cold wind seeping into the very depths of her bones. Maria kept her focus on the iron gates, and the lock that was firmly in place.

  “I haven’t been beyond these gates in nearly five years,” she revealed, for once not caring if she sounded weak and cowardly. The outside world scared her. That was the honest truth. She would never lie.

  “We will look after you,” Father Murray said again. Maria smiled up at the young priest. “I promise,” he assured her. “You have my vow.” She knew she did. Father Murray was a good priest. He loved his church and faith. She could see it in his face.

  “Thank you. I trust you. I trust you both.” With that said, Mother Superior opened the heavy lock, and Fathers Quinn and Murray stepped over the threshold to a waiting car. With a kiss for Mother Superior, and a soft farewell, Maria stepped over too, ready to sacrifice herself for Christ.

  However that may be.

  *****

  Maria didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. She wore a black dress that fell to mid-thigh. The immodest skintight material showed off her every curve. Maria had not worn anything form-fitting since she was a young teen, and even then it was nothing like this. A thick layer of makeup had been painted on her face by a lady the priests had hired under the guise of Maria being a regular girl about to celebrate her twenty-first birthday with her brother and father.

  The stylist had curled her hair, making it glossy and voluminous. The curls shortened the length slightly, but only by an inch or so. Large silver hoops were clipped on her unpierced ears. Her blue eyes stood out against the black kohl liner and mascara that rimmed them. Bright red lipstick and black high heels completed the look. Maria’s skin was fair, and the dress strategically hid all of her scars. The scent of roses drifted up her nose from the strong perfume Father Quinn had given her to wear on her neck and wrists.

  Maria heard a sharp inhale behind her. She spun to find Father Murray in the doorway, dressed in civilian clothes—they all were. It was part of the ruse. No one could know they were here on official business of the Catholic Church. Once the man had been captured, he would be turned over to the police and dealt with through the proper channels. Maria didn’t question a word from the priests. They wouldn’t lie. They were devout men of God.

  They were stationed in a hotel in downtown Boston. Maria had grown up not too far from where she now stood. It was strange being back around familiar streets. Familiar, yet felt so distant from her life now.

  “Sister Maria . . .” Father Murray whispered. Maria felt her cheeks blaze under the priest’s brown-eyed scrutiny. She rebelled against his roving eyes, taking a step back. Seeming to catch the sinful way he was regarding her, Father Murray stood straighter and quickly averted his eyes.

  “Father Quinn sent me to see if you were ready. It’s time.”

  Maria took one last look at her foreign reflection and picked up the purse the priests had given her. Inside was a tracker. A panic button also lay in the lining of the purse, along with a few other things. When she was ready for the priests to come into the club, or if she felt in danger, she would press the button and they would be there in minutes.

  She turned and walked into the living area of the hotel suite. It was an opulent room, all rich golds and thick velvets. The plan was for her to visit the club every night until this “Raphael” appeared. If she could, she was to get as close to him as possible. If God was on her side, she could carry out the more detailed plan.

  Father Quinn got to his feet and nodded. “He will be rendered speechless when he sees you, sister.”

  Maria lowered her eyes at the compliment. She would find no pride in this mask they had painted on her. She would find no pleasure in this task. This was a sacrifice to God. And she would not be derailed from its purpose.

  “Remember,” Father Murray said, “you will know him when you see him. He is beyond attractive. He has olive skin and dark hair that falls over his eyes.” Father Murray paused, a strange look overtaking his face, as though he were lost in a memory of some sort. Clearing his throat, he finished, “But it is his eyes that will confirm it’s him. Light-brown eyes that appear oddly golden.”

  Maria nodded. Nervously, she played with her hair. “That,” Father Quinn said, pointing at her moving hand.

  Maria dropped her hand. “Sorry. I play with my hair when I’m nervous. It’s why the headdresses we wear at the monastery are a gift.” She tried to smile through her mirth, but it was swept away by her rising anxiety.

  “No,” Father Quinn said. “Keeping doing that. Raphael will like it. It will draw his attention. That and the move I showed you.” Father Quinn looked at her expectantly. Maria, understanding she was to practice one final time, tipped her head to one side, pulling all of her hair over one shoulder, baring her naked neck. And as Father Murray had insisted, she ran her red-painted nails down the bones underneath her skin. A caressing, seductive movement. It made her feel sick every time she did it.

  “Yes,” Father Murray hissed. The pleasured b
urst of praise made Maria stop dead. Her gaze snapped to the priest. For the first time since she had met him, Maria saw something unusual in his expression—want, need . . . all from staring at her bared neck. Maria quickly righted her hair, covering both shoulders and hiding her throat. Father Quinn took hold of Father Murray, who was still staring. The touch of his superior’s hand snapped him from whatever impure thought he was lost in. Father Murray’s eyes widened when he saw Maria staring, and Father Quinn whispered something into his ear.

  “I’ll be right back. I need to check on something.” Father Murray fled into his bedroom. Maria flinched as the door slammed shut and she heard the running water of the shower.

  “He is tense,” Father Quinn said from beside her. Maria jumped; she hadn’t realized the older priest was so close. “He wants this sinner caught. Taken off the streets to protect innocent lives. It pains him that this task has fallen to us, to the church.”

  Sadness plowed through the high defensive walls Maria had built years ago. “I understand.” She tightened her grip on the purse. She knew what it was like to feel failed by the authorities. She knew how it felt to lose hope.

  “Are you ready, child?”

  Maria nodded at Father Quinn, trying not to fall into the black well of despair. She had crawled out of the abyss once. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to do so again.

  He checked his watch. “It’s past midnight. The club will be brimming with carnal sinners. Do you have your cards?” Maria checked in her purse for the ID card the priests had supplied her with and the card that allowed her into the club. Father Murray told her no questions would be asked of her—it was club policy. “Keep that purse with you at all times. And press that button when you see him, or if you feel you are in danger.” Maria nodded again. Her voice was silent as she mentally prepared for what was about to happen.

  Maria made for the door, but Father Quinn stopped her with his hand on her arm. She spun around, and Father Quinn pushed a rosary into her hand. Maria had left hers at the convent for safekeeping. She missed the beads as they slipped through her hands in prayer. “Keep this with you, Maria. Do not wear it around your neck or have it where anyone will see. But keep it with you for courage. To know the Lord and Mother Mary are with you.” As soon as the rosary was dropped into her palm, peace filled her. She looked at the new rosary in her hand and studied the red beads and ornate silver cross, Jesus hanging on the crucifix, redeeming mankind’s sins. On closer inspection, Maria noticed a miniscule “B” carved into Jesus’s chest. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “But what does the ‘B’ stand for?”

  Father Quinn’s eyes flashed with something she couldn’t understand. But he quickly recovered enough to say, “I was told it was originally to represent the Boston archdiocese.” Maria nodded, although she was surprised she had never seen such a design before. Father Quinn laid a hand on her shoulder. Maria froze. She wasn’t comfortable being touched. Especially by a man. Father Quinn leaned in close. “But I like to think it stands for ‘Baptist.’ As in John the Baptist. The man whose sacrifice paved the way for Jesus to save all mankind.”

  Maria let those words wash over her. “I like that too,” she replied and kept the rosary in her hand. She turned to the door and, without looking back, stepped out into the hallway and began her mission.

  In the privacy of the elevator that would take her to the hotel’s foyer, Maria tucked the rosary into her left bra strap. If she couldn’t wear it publicly, she would wear it as close to her heart as she could manage.

  Her legs were jelly as she crossed the marble floor of the lobby and walked on unsteady feet out into the frigid Boston winter. The club was only a few yards away. Keeping her head held high, she played her part as best she could. Feigning confidence had been the greatest challenge so far. Maria was used to keeping her eyes to the ground, hands clasped in constant prayer. Her hands were not linked, but she could still find peace in her faith. Hail Mary, full of grace, Maria prayed silently in her mind as she approached the liquor store. She walked through the automatic doors and headed to the back room, praying she had the entrance right. A steep staircase awaited her on the other side. A large man stood at the bottom of it. Maria handed him her cards as he looked her up and down with a salacious smirk on his face. Handing back the cards, he opened the gate that allowed her to pass upstairs.

  Maria heard the music from inside pulsing against the walls. She clutched her purse tightly. Maria had never been to a club before. Before she was taken by William Bridge she had been too young. When she was freed, she pledged herself to the church. Maria was sheltered in a way most twenty-one-year-olds were not. Normally, she was thankful. Right now, she wished she had some prior knowledge of what she was walking into.

  Ignoring her shaking hand, Maria opened the door to the club and almost stumbled at the sight that greeted her. She froze on seeing a woman tied to a wooden stake in the center of the room, bound by leather straps and metal chains. She was naked but for a strip of black material in her mouth . . . and there was a man, dressed in a three-piece suit, flogging her with a thin leather strap. Even over the blasting music, Maria heard the strap lashing, marring the woman’s skin. There was even blood. But what disturbed Maria more was the look of ecstasy on her face.

  Maria could barely breathe. There wasn’t a part of her that was functioning as it should. Her breathing and heartbeat were too quick. Her eyes were too wide and her mouth was dry in shock.

  What was this place? Maria wanted to run. The sights and sounds were too much. They were too much like the ranch . . . William’s ranch. But these women were here by choice, wanted to be degraded and hurt and sexually used by choice. She felt as if she had walked into an alternative world, one where nothing made sense and sin, violence, and lust were the norm.

  Then Maria’s eyes dropped to the woman’s legs, and all of the blood rushed from her face. Inserted inside her was a toy that resembled a man’s private parts. But that wasn’t what horrified Maria the most. It was the fact that the toy was spiked. Maria’s thighs tensed at merely the sight, as though she could defend the woman from the frightening device. Maria prayed for the woman’s sake that those spikes were rubber and not metal as they appeared. But by the screams and shouts traveling from every corner of the room, Maria couldn’t be sure.

  Maria’s body grew colder as she forced herself to move. Men and women stopped to watch her as she moved past, hands reaching out and stroking her bare legs, over her dress, along her breasts. Maria fought back tears as others tried to reach between her legs, pushing themselves on her in ways she could barely stand. She shivered, cold wrapping around her as memories she never wanted to relive sprang into her mind.

  Darkness . . . pain . . . despair . . . weakness . . . giving up, I’m giving up . . . no one is coming to help me . . . please . . . please God, please save me . . .

  “You want a drink?” A voice pulled Maria from her dark memories. A barman was looking her way.

  “Just a water, please,” she said and took a seat at the bar. She placed her purse beside her and, naturally, her hands began playing with her hair. Maria took a large drink of the water when it landed on the bar, and forced herself to look around the club. The sights were too overwhelming, but she kept searching the crowd, looking for the man she was sent to capture. The quicker she found him, the quicker she could return home. In the purse lay a small syringe, one that was filled with a liquid that would render Raphael unconscious. It was only there for if she found herself in the position to get him alone in a private room. Father Quinn and Father Murray didn’t emphasize that expectation too badly, but she knew it was what they prayed for.

  She had to do it.

  Almost on cue, a man came through the doorway. Maria stilled, her glass halfway to her mouth. He was dressed in a black fitted shirt and black slacks and walked like a god through the club. His confidence leaked from his every pore. Maria’s heart kicked into a sprint when she noticed the olive hue of his skin, the
dark hair that fell over his forehead and dropped over his eyes. From this distance, Maria couldn’t see the color of them. The man was looking to his left, away from where she sat. But his lean build, his solid frame—well over six feet tall—fit the description she had been sent with.

  He was beauty personified.

  Maria was motionless as she watched him cross the club to a woman who waited at the opposite bar. She had blond hair and wore a dress that showed every inch of her figure and what little she wore underneath—a barely-there bra and panties that revealed her shapely behind. In all her life, she had never seen such clothes.

  Maria placed her empty glass on the bar and nervously played with her hair. She watched as the blond woman reached out and stroked the man’s wide chest. His top few buttons were undone, revealing the start of a tattoo Maria couldn’t decipher. She raked through her thick dark-blond strands, waiting for the man to look her way. The man lifted his head, and a smile so stunning it was blinding formed on his lips as he threw his head back and laughed. The entire club seemed to fade away as she focused on the man.

  And then he looked her way . . . Golden eyes latched onto her. Maria was starved of breath as light-brown—golden-hued—eyes set right on her, on the movement of her hand in her hair. Scrambling to remember what Father Quinn had told her, Maria tipped her head, casually baring her neck. Closing her eyes, she began stroking her hand up and down the fine bones that lay underneath her fair skin. Her fingernails tickled, and goosebumps spread along her spine. Maria pictured Sisters of Our Lady of Grace in her mind, knowing that once this was done she would return to her beloved monastery and never have to be in such a sinful den as this again. This was the last thing she must do to prove she was ready to take final vows.

  Maria felt him before she saw him. The scent of fresh water and salt traveled up her nose. The smell was addictive. The steady beat of the music controlled her heartbeat, and, taking in a deep, freshwater-scented inhale, Maria let her eyes flutter open to the vast depravity of the club. Only Maria didn’t see the club, nor the patrons and the people screaming in carnal ecstasy as they were flogged and flayed. She only saw the most captivating face she’d ever seen, that sinfully beautiful face, and that mesmerizing golden stare that rendered her immobile.