“Nicholas.” Stingley came forward and embraced the much younger Vatican priest. “I can’t believe it’s you. It’s so good to see you.”
“Bernard,” Nicholas said into the rough cloth of the older man’s robes. It was an uneasy embrace, and when he stepped back, he was alarmed by the worried lines crossing the silver-haired priest’s thin, pinched face.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“It is not my health you should be thinking about,” the older man answered.
Once again, the Voice laughed loudly inside Rosetti’s head. He tried to ignore it, but couldn’t.
Nicholas Rosetti carefully closed the door behind him and took in the book-lined walls of the room. Shelves on the longest wall held Stingley’s collection of Chinese, Greek, and Far Eastern statues, all of them depicting a Christlike figure. There was an unmade daybed in one corner. A plain wooden crucifix hung above it. Beneath one of two casement windows was a cluttered worktable.
The two sat down at the table overlooking the Hudson River, which ran like a wide glass highway far below. They exchanged condolences about the passing of the late Pope Pius.
Then Stingley said, “I think I know why you’ve come, Nicholas. I have a bad feeling. I’ve had it for several weeks, actually.”
Nicholas Rosetti didn’t doubt that. The drums must have begun beating loudly the day he left Rome. The Vatican community was small, almost incestuous. He stared into Stingley’s familiar steel-blue eyes. Clearly, more small talk would be unwarranted and inappropriate.
“Monsignor, I know that you know the secret of Fatima. Pius told me you’ve actually read the words. The message of the Virgin: the promise and the warning.”
The monsignor didn’t speak yet. His eyes showed nothing. He merely listened.
Rosetti continued, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure about his old friend. “You were with Pius much of the time he was ill. Back in ’ninety. He spoke of Fatima, and you were there. You heard it all. And now I know what you know.”
Distress flashed across Monsignor Stingley’s face. “Pius had no right. No right to ask you.”
“It’s too late for recriminations or regrets. I know about the two virgins. One good. One so evil.”
“Then you know nothing!” Stingley’s voice rose. “There is so much more. God doesn’t create in black and white. It’s not so easy. The truth has little to do with the human logic systems.”
As Stingley spoke, Rosetti felt the small room at St. John’s begin to spin, jerking him back to the spinning sidewalk in Rome and the hot knives lancing into his heart. The swirling sidewalk became the Beech plane spiraling down, cartwheeling into the trees, splintering metal and bones. It was more than a memory or a hallucination. He felt the heat crackling around him and the sharp odor of burning flesh.
The vision was a warning. Leave this place! Leave now!
But he would not.
He couldn’t!
Why was he being warned, though? Why had he been spared?
He heard his own voice as if it came from far away.
“Please, I need to know how to prepare myself. The search for the true virgin. What do you mean, I know nothing? I want you to tell me exactly how it’s going to be. I fear that my descent into Hell has already begun.”
Chapter 52
IT HAS, NICHOLAS. You have that much figured out correctly. You’re already lost! Your soul is forfeited!
The Voice screamed laughter inside Rosetti’s head. It seemed like hundreds of voices, and the pain was unbearable, as if his skull were being ripped apart.
The old priest rose up suddenly, overturning a large oak chair with a resounding crash.
“They’re here! You’ve brought them here!” His eyes widened with fear. “The legions are here! They’re everywhere! I can see the unholy bastards! Now they’re waiting to be turned loose.”
Father Rosetti tried to go to his former mentor, but his arms and legs wouldn’t move. They felt as if they were weighed down by stones.
What in God’s name was wrong with him? Was he having a stroke? Was this another attack? Could he possibly survive again?
Nicholas watched in horror as the same force struck Stingley. The priest flailed his arms, trying to swat away an invisible presence. He stumbled toward the overflowing book cabinets. He drew in a deep, raw breath. Then Monsignor Stingley’s entire body sagged.
When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse, as if he were having trouble getting out the words.
“At first there will be the loss of control,” he said, swinging his head back and forth at an exaggerated speed. “You will find that you have no free choices left.
“No freedom of thought.
“No freedom of action.
“That’s only the beginning!”
That’s nothing! Rosetti heard the Voice inside his head. Get to the good parts.
“Next you will feel a physical decaying of your body, your mind, your soul, Nicholas. You will lose all hope. And that foul, rotting hopelessness, that abject feeling of pointlessness and futility, is the most defeating of all human experiences.”
This is a smart man, Nicholas. For a priest. Listen to him!
“When it happens, when there is nothing for you except that abysmal black hopelessness, then you know you have crossed the threshold into Hell.”
Monsignor Stingley stood at the window, his back arched horribly, the light breaking around him, blinding the Vatican priest. He passed his hand several times across his chest as if trying to relieve a constriction there, and then he spoke again.
“I should beseech God the Father to have infinite mercy on you. But that would mean deceiving you with false hope!”
Rosetti wanted to speak, to ask for the monsignor’s blessing, when the old man suddenly cried out. Bernard Stingley’s face was as white as bone. His lips, the edges of his ears, and his fingertips were a shocking shade of blue.
A deep rasping breath came from his mouth as he pressed his hand hard against his sternum. Frothy white mucus spilled from his mouth and nose.
He screamed, “There are legions of devils, fallen angels everywhere. Look beyond the two virgins, Father. Look beyond the virgins! The legions are right before your eyes.”
Rosetti tried to go to him, but he couldn’t rise from his chair.
He watched as the old man’s skinny legs buckled and he fell to his knees. His eyes rolled upward and foam continued to boil over his lips and down the knob of his chin. He fought wildly against unseen forces.
With extraordinary effort, Nicholas Rosetti lurched from his seat. He was forced down to the floor. He crawled on his hands and knees to where Bernard Stingley had fallen.
“Monsignor, no! Dear God, no! Get away from him! Take me!”
The old man whispered, but the whisper was like a roar: “You will be taken and damned to eternity in Hell. Do you comprehend eternity? Look beyond the virgin girls. The answer is there!”
And in that instant of terror and pain, Father Nicholas Rosetti believed that he did understand something.
He was with the legions now, and they were Hell, and they had come up from the abyss of fire to Earth.
Monsignor Stingley was screaming at the top of his voice. “Get them off me! Please, please! They’re eating me alive!”
Chapter 53
KATHLEEN FELT TOTALLY SPOOKED. That was the right word for it.
Even though nothing had actually happened, she felt an intense pressure building up inside her. She had the intuitive feeling that something really bad was creeping up on Sun Cottage and on everyone who lived there, especially anyone who tried to help her.
Anxious and fearful, Kathleen threw back the chintz curtains of her bedroom window. At first, all she saw was the reflection of her own face in the black windowpane.
Then, through the film her breath made on the glass, she saw gold lights pricking through the dark; the carriage lamps along the driveway cast a fuzzy glow along Ocean Avenue.
A couple of priva
te security guards in dark fur-collared parkas were standing at the front gate. For some reason, their presence didn’t make her feel at all secure.
A sudden movement caught her eye.
Directly below her window, a car door opened and a man got out.
He looked ominous: a black suit, a black hat with the brim severely pointed down, a bulging black satchel under his arm.
He looked spooky.
Even from above, Kathleen could see how stoop-shouldered he was, as if he were carrying a mountain of stone on his back.
And she had a very odd thought: They are here for me. Plural. They are here.
Suddenly, voices boomed out as the front door to the house opened and Father O’Carroll came out onto the veranda. He extended his hand warmly to the dark figure. That was how Kathleen knew with certainty who the man was.
He was the other investigator.
The priest from Rome.
Just before he entered Sun Cottage, he looked up.
Kathleen thought with a shudder, He looked right into my eyes. He already knows the truth, but he hasn’t the faith to believe it. This priest hasn’t the faith.
Chapter 54
FATHER ROSETTI HAD FINALLY ARRIVED. Now, I guessed, there were three of us watching over Kathy, trying to get at the truth. Was his presence a sign that I had failed?
Had I?
A meeting of the minds had already been called. I took my place in a straight-backed chair in one of the handsome double parlors on the first floor of Sun Cottage. I was only an observer. That was my job in this meeting. But my heart was thumping in panicky double time for Kathleen.
She sat beside me in an armchair, her protruding stomach looking as if it were about to burst open any minute. I hoped she wouldn’t be too afraid, wouldn’t be too affected by stress.
Charles Beavier offered drinks all around and, when he got no takers, poured himself a stiff scotch. Carolyn looked faint as she sagged into a chair on the other side of her daughter. Justin sat closest to the sliding oak doors.
The assemblage quieted down immediately. We were all waiting to hear what the priest from Rome had to say. He knew things that we didn’t, and he looked so damned mysterious.
He was a formidable presence. Alien, downright strange. A black monolith with an unknown agenda. I watched him anxiously clasp and unclasp his large workman’s hands.
He finally smiled, but it didn’t look genuine.
There was no way Father Rosetti was as in control as he’d have us believe. He greeted us in a sibilant voice colored with the musical tones of his native tongue.
Then he strode to the center of the room and took a wide-legged stance in front of Kathleen.
“Kathleen, I have been sent here by the Vatican,” Rosetti said. “For what it is worth, my official title is Chief Investigator for the Congregation of Sacred Rites. This Congregation of Sacred Rites is the body within the Church that investigates miracles, all varieties of supernatural phenomena, claims of sainthood.”
“I guess you’ve come to the right place,” Kathleen said.
The broad-faced priest smiled. “Nevertheless, please don’t be afraid of me, Kathleen. I’m something of a pushover. In spite of the theatrical title, I’m simply a bureaucrat. I’m like a tax investigator of the supernatural.”
Kathleen shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you, Father.”
I was glad to hear her say this, but I was concerned for her. She looked pale and tired. I was afraid she might go into labor at any moment.
Father Rosetti seemed not to notice. He was definitely no pushover. “Kathleen, is the Blessed Virgin Mary here with us tonight?” He asked the strange leading question as if he were requesting the time of day. As if it were an afterthought.
Kathleen took a deep breath and pushed back a wisp of silken-blond hair.
“She’s here. Yes,” she said in a soft voice.
“Inside the house? In this very room with us?”
“Yes. Right inside this room, Father. Are you surprised? Don’t you believe in the Blessed Mother?”
“I’m sorry, Kathleen,” said Rosetti. His hands were working again, clenching and unclenching. “I’m just not used to having Our Blessed Mother around. Is she quite beautiful? Is she standing, Kathleen? Or is she sitting over on that blue chair, perhaps?”
“Father Rosetti,” Kathleen said. “I know what you’re doing, but please don’t try to play tricks. They’re quite beneath you. Our Lady is here with us. In appearance she is like a beautiful gentlewoman. You do believe in her, don’t you?”
“Kathleen, I’m concerned only with what you believe,” the Vatican priest said with an edge in his voice. I heard it. And I saw his facial muscles twitch.
There was no longer any doubt in my mind. The Vatican priest was absolutely terrified of Kathleen Beavier.
Why was he afraid of Kathleen?
What did he know that we didn’t?
What was he here to investigate?
Chapter 55
I WAS MESMERIZED by Father Rosetti as he paced in a tight circle at the center of the long room. The atmosphere inside Sun Cottage was charged with anxiety, but especially with energy. And from the twitching and fidgeting I saw around me, things were clearly uncomfortable for everyone.
Rosetti himself was behaving like a caged panther. He seemed possessed. He had the confidence that comes only with absolute power.
“I have some extraordinary news,” he said at last. It was apparent to me that he’d dismissed all of us but Kathleen. He fastened his eyes on her.
“One of the things I have uncovered thus far, one of the few things I’m truly sure about,” the chief investigator said, “is that there are two virgins. Kathleen is not alone.”
I gasped and shook my head in disbelief. But Kathleen’s eyelids didn’t flutter. In fact, by contrast to the rest of us, Kathleen was as serene as the calm before a storm.
“I sensed that there were two of us. At least two,” Kathleen said so quietly that I had to strain to hear her. She looked almost in a trance. “Everything is happening in great numbers right now. Plagues, deaths, illnesses, even virgins. It’s the scariest time ever on the earth.”
The Vatican priest’s brown eyes narrowed. “How do you know that, Kathleen? You must tell me everything that you know. Tell me now.”
It was as if a volcano had erupted on the far side of the room. “Don’t ever talk that way to my daughter!” Charles Beavier, who had been silently simmering, boiled over in rage. In two paces he was on the bulky Vatican priest.
I yelled “Stop” as Justin tried to drag him off Father Rosetti’s flailing body. There was a struggle, Charles thrashing, threatening to throw the priest out of the house. A dam had broken. His daughter was being harassed again and he wouldn’t tolerate it.
With his wife and daughter hovering over him, he shook himself off and settled down to half a roar. They returned to their seats.
“Enough with the third degree,” Charles Beavier said in a sharp, angry voice. “How about answering a question for me? Let’s cut the investigator crap. What’s your business here, Father Rosetti? Why are you in our house trying to scare us to death?”
I shot a startled glance at Justin, who returned my look of alarm.
Kathleen leaned forward in her chair. Her wide blue eyes went from me to the priest to her father.
“I can answer that, Daddy. Father Rosetti has come here to find out which of the two girls is the true virgin.”
Chapter 56
I WENT TO SLEEP that night trying to comprehend the startling news that there were two virgins and what it could possibly mean to the Church. It was half past four in the morning when I was awakened from a deep sleep by a persistent knocking on my bedroom door.
Twelve kinds of emergencies jumped into my mind as I scrambled out of bed, only to find a tidied-up and smiling version of Father Rosetti standing outside my room.
“What’s happened? Is Kathleen all right?” I asked.
“Good morning. Sorry to get you up so early,” he apologized without seeming to mean it. “Kathleen is still sleeping like a baby.”
He was, he said, calling a meeting.
By five o’clock I had joined Justin and the Vatican priest in the library. From the look of things, it seemed the two of them had been up talking for a while.
Justin summed up what he knew so far. “The so-called second virgin is a young girl in Ireland. Her name is Colleen. Sort of rhymes with Kathleen. The Church is struggling to keep her situation secret. That’s easier there than over here. Father Rosetti has questioned her —”
“And I would very much like another opinion,” Rosetti broke in. “Unquestionably, you are the two people most qualified to give it. You know Kathleen and can make a comparison. Cardinal Rooney and the Vatican agree. They also think it wise to keep our circle small.”
That certainly woke me up. What was he saying? That we were to fly off to Ireland to meet this girl? But what about Kathleen? And Jamie Jordan? What about the night in question at Sachuest Point? My investigation was in Newport, not Ireland.
As if the priest had read my mind, he said, “I’ve already spoken to the cardinal in Boston. I’ll stay here with Kathleen and wait for your return. Go quickly. You will be back in plenty of time.”
Justin and I exchanged glances. I was thinking that I didn’t particularly like this priest from Rome. I didn’t trust him. And I cared about Kathleen. I also had a lot of work to do here in Newport.
Then Rosetti did something that surprised me. He completely humbled himself. “Please. I truly need your help,” he said. “There is so very much at stake . . . for so many people around the world. And I cannot do this job alone. Please? You have to help me.”
My heart turned over in that instant.
“Of course we’ll go,” I said.
Rosetti’s relief was tangible. He smiled again, and I realized with a visceral shock that he wasn’t nearly as old as I’d thought. He was in his late thirties; forty, tops. What had aged this man so? What had he seen before he came to Newport? What did he know? What were Justin and I about to see in Ireland? Would we be in danger? Should I pack my gun?