Allah is the greatest.
CHAPTER 23
THE FIRST THING Darren Bender saw as he opened the door to the library was Sofia rising to her feet, her gaze fixed on him, and no hint of any kind of smile either in her eyes or on her lips. Still, there was no doubt that she’d been waiting for him, and even before the door had closed behind him, she cocked her head toward the farthest corner of the room and walked toward the stacks.
Darren put his books down on a table and followed, using a different aisle but catching up with her by the windows. Taking her arm he turned her around, and whatever faint hopes he’d been nursing for a quick kiss instantly evaporated as he saw her eyes, red and puffy from crying.
“Hey,” he whispered. “What’s wrong? Where have you been? I’ve been calling.”
Sofia ignored his questions. “What did Father Sebastian do to you?” The words came more as a challenge than anything else.
Darren recoiled a step back, almost as if he’d been struck. “Nothing! He talked to me and I have to go see him again tonight after school, but there was nothing special.”
“Nothing?” Sofia echoed, her voice starting to rise. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Shhh!” Darren took a quick look behind him to be sure the librarian wasn’t anywhere around, then moved closer to Sofia, and lowered his voice. “What happened?”
Sofia shook her head almost as if she was trying to rid herself of the memory. “Sister Mary David locked me in a chapel and made me pray on my knees for—” Her voice suddenly faltered. How long had she been praying? She couldn’t quite remember. It had seemed like forever, but how long had it really been? And suddenly she couldn’t even remember what the chapel had looked like! It had looked strange, and scary, but…
But she couldn’t remember any of the details.
Only how frightened she’d been, and how much her knees had hurt, and her body had ached.
She looked up at Darren, and he could see tears pooling again in her lower lids. “It must have been hours,” she went on, her voice breaking. “And then I had to go to confession, but Father Sebastian wouldn’t absolve me.”
Darren took one of her hands and held it in his own. What was she talking about? The priests always absolved you after confession. That was supposed to be the whole point, wasn’t it? “What do you mean, he wouldn’t absolve you?”
Sofia spread her hands helplessly. “Just that! He wouldn’t do it. And I have to go back there again tonight.”
An uncertain frown furrowed Darren’s brow. “But what we did wasn’t that bad,” he began.
“It’s not fair!” Sofia cut in, a tear dripping off her lower lashes and sliding down her cheek. “You don’t have to do any penance at all? I don’t believe it!”
“I don’t know yet,” Darren said. “Father Sebastian said he was going to think about it.” He gently wiped the tear from her cheek with his thumb. “I’m really sorry—”
“Everybody’s easier on boys!” Sofia broke in. “You guys get away with everything.”
Though Darren knew Sofia’s words weren’t quite true, he also knew better than to argue, at least right now. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Father Sebastian’s cool.”
Sofia bit her lip as she struggled to stop crying. “I thought so, too,” she sniffled. “But I don’t want to have to go back to that place Sister Mary David took—”
As the words died on Sofia’s lips, Darren could suddenly feel someone right behind him. He dropped Sofia’s hand as he felt a tap on his shoulder and whirled around to find Sister Cecelia standing behind him. The librarian held her finger to her lips and glowered at him. “Quiet,” she said, the single word stinging like the lash of a whip even though she’d barely whispered it. “This is a study period.”
Darren nodded, his gaze going to the floor.
“And you,” the nun pressed, shifting her gaze to Sofia. “You need to be studying, not flirting.”
“But I wasn’t—”
The nun’s nostrils flared. “Three rosaries for talking back,” she pronounced. “And I suggest you go back to your seats.” When neither Darren nor Sofia moved, she spoke one more word: “Now.”
“No,” Sofia said, her voice suddenly rising. Darren put his hand on her arm, but it was too late. “I get three rosaries for talking back? All I was doing—”
The nun turned and fixed her with a steady gaze. “All you were doing was flirting,” she said.
“But it wasn’t just me!”
“Sofia,” Darren whispered, trying to warn her off as he saw the nun’s countenance freeze into a mask of anger.
Too late.
“All I’m saying is that I shouldn’t be the only one who’s punished for something both of us were doing.”
“Insolence earns you two more rosaries,” the nun decreed, her gaze unwavering. “Now are you going back to your seat, or shall we go see Father Sebastian?”
“We’re going back to our seats,” Darren said before Sofia could make things any worse. “And we apologize. We’re really sorry—”
Sister Cecelia silenced him with a glance, turned around, and stalked back between the rows of bookshelves to her station. Darren put a hand on the small of Sofia’s back and guided her to follow the nun back to the study area.
“I don’t apologize,” he heard her whisper fiercely over her shoulder.
Darren’s eyes flashed toward the librarian, certain they were about to get in trouble all over again, but Sister Cecelia was already talking to someone else, and from the look on the girl’s face, Darren was pretty sure she was getting a few Hail Marys, too.
Then he remembered what Sofia had said about Father Sebastian not giving her absolution. What was that about? Was he, too, going to be locked into a chapel and forced to pray on his knees for hours and then go to confession?
And what about Sofia? Why would she have to go to confession again? Wasn’t once enough?
Then, out of nowhere, the words he’d spoken to the detective about Kip Adamson rose unbidden from his memory:
…he started going to confession practically every day…
Darren’s stomach suddenly felt hollow.
Father Sebastian opened the closet in the small vestry and took the white linen surplice—the only garment still inside—from its hanger. He slipped it on over his cassock, and adjusted it so that it fell smoothly to midthigh, and the open sleeves hung exactly as they should.
Satisfied with the surplice, he picked up the purple stole—perfect for the sacrament he was about to perform, kissed it reverently, and slipped it around his neck.
As he moved to close the closet door, he saw a flicker of a reflection in the small mirror hanging on the inside of the door.
His father!
But of course it wasn’t his father—it couldn’t have been. It was only himself, catching his own reflection in half-profile, the silver of his temples becoming more prominent every day, just as had that of his father’s so many years ago.
Father Sebastian turned and looked directly into the mirror, gazing deeply into his own eyes, then abruptly closed the door.
Vanity had no place in his life—not now, not ever.
As the bells in the main chapel began to chime faintly, he quickly placed around his neck the chain holding the silver cross his mother had given him on the day he was ordained, poured wine into the chalice, and picked up the small leather box that held the host.
He stepped through the vestry door into the tiny chapel in which he’d heard Sofia Capelli’s confession less than twenty-four hours earlier.
It was still empty.
He lit two candles, one on either side of the altar, then turned the lights down until only the glow of the candles was left, casting flickering shadows around the chamber. As he laid the chalice and the host on the altar, he heard the chapel door open behind him.
Even as she pushed open the door in front of her, Sofia Capelli had no clear memory of what lay beyond it. It seemed as if it had taken h
ours to drag herself here, moving through the maze of corridors as if guided by an unseen hand, never certain where she was, nor whether she was going in the right direction. Yet here she was, standing in the near darkness, the oaken door swinging slowly open to reveal a chapel lit only by two flames. As she stepped inside, it all came back to her.
Father Sebastian stood at the altar, praying. The confessional stood dark and empty at one end of the room, the giant tortured Christ loomed over everything else.
She tried not to look at the twisted face of the crucified Savior, but the gaze of the Christ seemed to command her own, and for a long moment she stood transfixed at the door, her hand clutching her sweater tight around her neck as if its thin material could protect her from the chill that was spreading through her body.
Father Sebastian turned. “Hello, Sofia. Please come in.”
His voice was soft and welcoming, and without even thinking about it, Sofia took a tentative step forward.
“Don’t be afraid, my child. There is nothing to fear here in God’s house.” As his warm voice dispelled some of the cold that had seized her body, he offered her a gentle smile. “Come. Let us complete your penance and absolution. Together we shall banish even the impulse to sin.”
His voice washed over her like a cleansing bath and as he held out his hand to her she approached the altar.
Her fingers touched his.
“We shall pray together, Sofia,” the priest said, his kind brown eyes gentle in the candlelight. “Then I will ask you to prostrate yourself on the floor in front of Christ while I give you absolution. We shall finish with the sacrament of the Eucharist.”
Sofia said nothing, knowing no response was expected.
“Tonight we are dealing with the evil that dwells within you,” Father Sebastian said.
Evil? What was he talking about? All she and Darren had done was make out a little bit. But, so what? It wasn’t like they’d actually been having sex, or had done something really wrong. What kind of evil was he talking about? Even if what she and Darren had done was some kind of sin—which she supposed it probably was—that still didn’t make her evil, did it? On the other hand, Sofia had learned long ago not to argue with priests, so when Father Sebastian indicated that it was time for her to lie on the stone floor, she did as she was told.
The floor instantly brought back the chill that had come over her the moment she opened the door to the chapel, its cold reaching right into her bones.
Father Sebastian paced slowly in front of the altar, murmuring softly, but Sofia was barely listening, concentrating instead on holding the ache in her bones, the cold in her body, and the fear in her soul at bay. Soon it would be over. Soon it would have to be over.
Soon she would hear the words of absolution.
Father Sebastian’s voice droned on, and Sofia’s mind began to drift until all of it—the pain in her body, the flickering light of the candles, even the priest’s whispering voice and time itself—began to blend into a single strange sensation. It was as if she was floating, borne aloft on unseen wings…
“Rise to your knees,” Father Sebastian commanded.
All the cold and aching and fear from which Sofia thought she had been released came flooding back, and as she struggled to get up she thought she might pass out. Finally, though, she was on her knees and crossing herself, bowing her head low.
Father Sebastian opened the pyx and took a single wafer. “On the night of his arrest, Jesus took bread, and after giving thanks to God, broke it and said, ‘This is my body which is for you; do this remembering me.’”
Tipping her head back, Sofia opened her mouth and the priest placed the wafer on her tongue.
“After supper,” Father Sebastian continued, “Jesus took the cup and said, ‘This cup is the new covenant sealed in my blood; whenever you drink it, do this remembering me.’” He handed Sofia the chalice, and she sipped the wine, then bowed her head once more, waiting for the benediction.
But Father Sebastian didn’t begin the benediction. Instead, he began to speak in Latin, his voice intoning cadences she’d never heard before.
She tried to concentrate, to understand what he was saying, but she recognized none of the words at all.
The ache in her bones and the cold suffusing her body was even worse now, and once again she felt as if time itself was warping, and she would never be released from this penance.
She blinked, then squinted her eyes. The stones on the floor seemed to have fuzzy edges.
Then they began to slide around, their shapes moving in strange patterns her eyes could barely follow.
Suddenly dizzy and feeling totally disoriented, Sofia reached for Father Sebastian’s cassock to steady her, but her arms had become too heavy even to lift. “I’m going to be sick,” she started to whisper, but even before she could make her lips move, dark clouds began to swirl around her mind.
For an instant—just an instant—Sofia tried to fight the darkness that was closing in around her, but a moment later it was too late. She gave herself over to the clouds and the darkness and silently begged to be once more borne aloft, away from the dark chapel with its cold stone floor.
The darkness closed around her….
Father Sebastian heard Sofia’s tiny cry and turned just in time to see her collapse onto the stone floor.
He dropped instantly to his knees, his fingers closing on her limp wrist.
Her pulse was strong and steady.
The chapel door opened, and Father Sebastian looked up to see Father Laughlin and Sister Mary David stepping over the threshold.
“Oh, my goodness,” Father Laughlin gasped as he saw Sofia’s body sprawled on the ground. “Is she all right?”
“Of course she’s not all right,” Father Sebastian snapped. “If she were all right, would she be here at all?” He glanced up at the old priest, whose face had visibly paled even in the flickering yellowish candlelight. “But I believe she may be in far more trouble than I thought. Fainting is often the result of feeding the flesh and blood of Christ to someone who is possessed by evil.”
Both Father Laughlin and Sister Mary David crossed themselves.
Father Sebastian lifted Sofia from the cold floor. “But she will be all right,” he said softly, adjusting his arms to cradle Sofia’s head. “If we do our job correctly, our faith will cleanse her.”
Father Laughlin hurried to open the door to the vestry, and Father Sebastian carried the girl through.
Sister Mary David followed, pulling the vestry door closed behind her.
The two candles that provided the only illumination in the chapel flickered, then went out.
The chapel plunged into the same darkness that had swallowed up Sofia Capelli’s soul a few moments earlier.
Ryan McIntyre searched St. Isaac’s cavernous dining room for a familiar face among the churning sea of students, saw no one he recognized, and got in line to fill his tray. As he picked up a napkin rolled around some silverware, he scanned the room once more.
A hand popped up and waved at him.
Melody Hunt.
And she was now signaling that she’d saved him the seat next to her own.
Praying that she wasn’t simply seizing an opportunity to talk about Catholic History, Ryan threaded his way down the narrow gap between the long rows of chairs that flanked the tables, nearly tripping twice, recovering himself, but still managing to slop a quarter of his Coke onto the plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy that made up the dinner.
It didn’t really look like the Coke was going to make much difference.
He set his tray in the empty space next to Melody, and squirmed onto the chair. “Hi.” He sighed as he unrolled the napkin from around the silver.
Melody eyed his plate, then grinned at him. “Coke on mashed potatoes? Maybe I should have let you find somewhere else to sit.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Ryan said, sweeping the room with his eyes. “There isn’t any other place. But who know
s? Maybe Coke on potatoes is really good.” He looked around and saw that most of the people he knew were already there. Across from Melody sat Clay Matthews, flanked by Stacy Lowell and Darren Bender. José and Tim sat on the other side of Melody, and even though it was only his second day at St. Isaac’s, he seemed to have become a member of the group.
Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
“Where’s Sofia?” he heard Clay ask Darren.
Darren rolled his eyes. “Doing penance.”
“For what you did?” Stacy asked. “You gotta be kidding.”
“Maybe we don’t know all they did,” Tim Kennedy said, trying—and failing—to leer suggestively.
“Well, they must have done something to get that kind of punishment,” José offered.
“So?” Clay asked, digging his elbow into Darren’s side. “Are you holding out on us? Come on—give!”
“Stop it,” Darren said. “What we did was nothing.”
Ryan started to pick up his fork, but Melody instantly put her hand on his wrist and nodded toward the nun who stood at the head of their table.
The room fell silent.
Clay leaned over toward Darren. “Where’s Father Laughlin?” he whispered, his lips barely moving.
“Silence!” the nun commanded.
Every head in the room suddenly bowed, and the boy next to Ryan held out his hand.
Confused, Ryan looked at it, then looked around and realized that everyone in the room was holding hands. He took the boy’s fingers uncertainly, but when Melody slipped her hand into his other one, he decided maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He’d just have to remember not to squeeze the wrong hand.
If he could work up the nerve to squeeze any hand at all.
Then, as the nun began the blessing, Ryan felt just the tiniest amount of pressure on the fingers Melody was holding.
Ever so slightly, he tilted his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye.
She had her head bowed, and her eyes were closed.