Liam hadn’t wanted to re-enter the Facility, of course. Given everything that he’d previously suffered at the hands of the Order’s security force, Father Murray sympathized. However, controlled conditions were necessary if any proofs were to stand. Therefore, it had been agreed that Liam would not only go to mass, but he was to take holy communion as well which, in turn, meant confession. That alone had been a battle. As a biased observer, Father Murray knew he wouldn’t be considered appropriate. Originally, Monsignor Alghisi had thought to hear Liam’s confession. However, security had disallowed it due to the high level of personal risk. None of Father Murray’s arguments to the contrary had carried weight. Security had countered by citing Liam’s violent history. After that, no one had been brave enough to volunteer. With only an hour remaining before the scheduled mass, Father Stevenson saved the day by stepping forward.
Not that a certain segment of the Order will ever be convinced,
Father Murray thought upon spotting Monsignor Paul in the audience. Noting the dark purple bruise covering Monsignor Paul’s right eye, Father Murray briefly wondered what had happened and then remembered the incident in the café.
Nervous, he glanced over his shoulder and up into the balcony and spotted the sniper that security had placed there. He took a deep breath.
Is that completely necessary?
He’d already counted five armed security team members in the surrounding pews.
Do they not understand how impossible the situation would be, given the numbers packed into such a small space?
Liam leaned closer, winked and whispered, “What’s the
craic,
Father?”
“Please, pay attention to the mass, or pretend to,” Father Murray said. “It’s important.”
Dressed in a new black suit, white shirt and black tie provided for the occasion by Sceolán, Liam at least looked presentable.
But for the boots and the hair,
Father Murray thought. Liam had been adamant about refusing the haircut, reasoning that God wouldn’t much care about the state of his hair. The fact that he was attending mass at all was sure to be good enough.
“Aye,” Liam muttered, facing forward. “Behave or the nice men with the wee rifles in the balcony will put a bullet in the back of your skull.”
There’s more than one?
“Liam, please.”
“Don’t worry, Father. I’ll be a good wee lab rat. I promise not to burst into flames.”
Father Murray swallowed. It was only the lad’s way of covering his fear and had served to keep him alive. However, as coping mechanisms went, Father Murray would have preferred anything else at the moment.
Wincing, Liam got to his feet with the rest of the congregation in preparation for the reading of the Gospel. Kneeling and walking seemed to be harder on him. Due to the previous history with opiates, Sisters Catherine and Mary had refused to give Liam much in the way of pain killers after the initial dose of morphine which had left him far from comfortable. This added to Father Murray’s anxiety—not only because of Liam’s physical discomfort but because the potential for misinterpretation regarding the source of his pain. All things considered, he seemed to be doing well enough, even appearing not to notice that most of the crowd studied him as he followed along in the missal.
Bishop Avery finished reading the Gospel, and everyone sat for the homily. Liam flinched as his back made contact with the hard wooden pew. His bruises had already healed for the most part, leaving only the gash in his back. Regardless of the severity of the wound, even that was healing well and fast. Sceolán had explained that Liam’s accelerated recovery time was due to his having shape-shifted in addition to the time spent on the Other Side. Nonetheless it was obvious it hadn’t been enough, and Father Murray found himself anxious for mass to end for the first time since he was a young man.
Someone in the audience coughed. The abrupt sound caused a visceral shock, and he noticed he wasn’t the only one startled. A nervous laugh came from the back of the chapel, and then two priests took up positions at the end of the pews in the center aisle. The time for communion had arrived. One row at a time was allowed to line up. Since he and Liam were seated on the last row, they were the last permitted to go to the altar. Father Murray allowed Liam to take a place in line ahead of him in case he needed assistance. Liam took careful steps toward the altar with his teeth clenched. Father Murray could feel everyone’s eyes upon them as they approached the communion rail.
Liam paused.
Intent on showing everyone that all was normal, Father Murray jumped the line and knelt at the communion rail. Liam wasn’t long behind. From the corner of his eye, Father Murray watched Liam fold his hands in prayer. Bishop Avery moved along the communion rail, dispensing the Eucharist. Father Murray’s turn came. He accepted the host and allowed it to dissolve in his mouth, closing his eyes in prayer as if nothing were wrong. When finished, he made the sign of the cross and opened his eyes. The Bishop had stopped in front of Liam but hadn’t proceeded any further. The expression on his face was unreadable. Father Murray caught Bishop Avery’s eye and gave him an encouraging nod.
Go on,
Father Murray thought.
He’ll be fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
The tension in the chapel grew and swelled. A deafening hush pushed against his ears. He understood he wasn’t helping by hesitating himself. So he got to his feet, leaving Liam alone at the communion rail.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, please, let him make it back to the pew without falling.
Finally lifting the Eucharist in the air, Bishop Avery said, “Body of Christ.”
“Amen.” Liam’s answering whisper practically echoed through the chapel.
Father Murray tried not to smile. Upon reaching his pew, he risked a glance down the aisle. Liam got to his feet, using the edge of the communion rail to steady himself. For a moment Father Murray considered going back to help, but then Liam turned around. After a short pause, he lifted his head and started the long return journey to the pew. Keeping his gaze locked to the deep red runner carpet, he slowly limped back to his seat. Father Murray released the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Let them make what they will of that,
he thought and sat down, leaving a space for Liam.
I’ve waited nine years for this.
The tension in the room didn’t disperse until Liam knelt again and prayed.
Father Murray waited until Liam sat down and whispered, “Well done.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I may yet burn,” Liam said, keeping his voice low. “Incidentally, does it count if the source of combustion is one of security’s wee grenades?”
“Don’t even joke about that.” Father Murray felt a gentle tap on his shoulder and turned around.
Father Thomas whispered, “Bishop Avery wishes to meet with you both in his office after mass.”
Father Murray nodded.
Is this it? Are they finally willing to admit to a small doubt at least?
He waited to share the news with Liam until the mass had ended.
With a majority of the attendees gone, Father Murray stood with Liam at the elevator door. Father Murray felt a presence at his back.
“How did you do it?”
Turning, he discovered it was Monsignor Paul, the Grand Inquisitor.
That really is an impressive black eye,
Father Murray thought.
Liam placed his back to the wall as if readying himself for an attack. Biting down on one of several retorts, Father Murray settled on something more politic. “What do you mean?”
“That had to be some sort of trick,” Monsignor Paul said. “Children of the Fallen can’t accept the sacraments.”
“It wasn’t a trick,” Father Murray said. “Liam is half Fey. You wanted proof. You have your proof.”
Monsignor Paul took a menacing step toward Liam, his eyes boring into Liam’s. “How did you do it?”
“How do you?” Liam asked. His lips thinned into a straight line and his brows pinched together.
“Liam,” Father Murray said.
Don’t lose control of your temper now. Please. That’s all we need.
“Don’t know why we’ve bothered with this,” Liam said. “Won’t matter what I do.”
“It’s what the Bishop believes that matters.” Father Murray moved between Liam and Monsignor Paul. “And if the Bishop believes it’s proof enough, it’s proof enough.”
“Are you so certain?” Monsignor Paul asked. His expression was intense with hate.
“What is it that Liam has done that makes you hate him so? Or is this about your grudge with me?” Father Murray asked. “Or perhaps you can’t admit that Liam has a soul because if you did it would place everything you’ve done for Milites Dei in a terrible perspective. Whatever the case may be, you should review your motives.”
And the Bishop and the Prelate will too, if I have my way.
A bell rang, and the steel elevator door opened. Several stragglers entered, and Father Murray motioned for Liam to get inside. When Monsignor Paul attempted to crowd into the elevator as well, Father Murray held up a hand.
“I believe the elevator is full,” Father Murray said.
The doors slid shut in Monsignor Paul’s face. The tiny space inside the elevator swelled with a tense silence. Father Murray reached over to the right and pressed the appropriate floor button. It was possible Monsignor Paul would take the stairs in order to cross paths with them again. However, Father Murray wasn’t sure Monsignor Paul was aware of the meeting with Bishop Avery. Upon reaching the second floor, Father Murray exited first. He paused in order to be certain the way was clear. There was no sign of Monsignor Paul. Father Murray signalled for Liam to follow him down the empty hall. Their footsteps echoed off the cinderblock walls.
“Weren’t you pressing your luck back there a wee bit, Father?” Liam asked.
“I never said I had infinite patience.” Father Murray stopped at Bishop Avery’s office door. He knocked and then opened it wide, indicating Liam should go inside first with a nod. Father Murray checked the empty hallway one last time and then closed the door.
Since Father Thomas operated as Bishop Avery’s assistant, his work area consisted of a small antechamber. Waiting to meet with Bishop Avery, Father Murray noted the work area was furnished with a grey metal desk, a short table and three elderly dark green upholstered chairs. A photo of Pope John VI hung on the wall behind the desk, and wooden bookcases and filing cabinets lined the walls on either side. Father Thomas entered the room from the door opposite and held it open.
“The Bishop will join you in a moment,” Father Thomas said.
The next room was more luxurious with dark cherry-wood panelling and a large antique desk to match. Father Murray sat in one of the three black leather chairs and pondered the reasons why they’d been called to a meeting now.
Will the Bishop agree to a truce? Or is this a portent of another reaction all together?
Obviously curious, Liam hobbled to the memorial wall lined with row upon row of black-framed photographs.
“You should sit,” Father Murray said. “While you have a chance to rest.”
Will Liam hold up? Or is he going to allow his emotions to get the better of him?
“Who are they?”
“The Order’s honored dead.”
“Oh.”
“Liam, please. Sit. You’re tired.” Father Murray watched him limp to the next chair and perch on the edge of the seat. “Do you need more aspirin? I can ask Father Thomas—”
The door swung open and Bishop Avery and Monsignor Alghisi entered the room. The Monsignor was a small bald man with a thick moustache. His expression was carefully neutral, whereas Bishop Avery appeared annoyed.
“Declan, please apologize to Monsignor Paul. Tell him I’ll be available in the morning. Unless it’s urgent, of course.”
“He isn’t going to like that, Your Grace,” Father Thomas said.
“It’s Christmas,” Bishop Avery said, in Latin. “Surely the man can indulge me and wait for a more civilized hour before voicing his objections to this evening’s events. Oh, one more thing, can you bring some tea? I’d like a little brandy to go with it, please. Monsignor Alghisi might like some wine. And perhaps something to eat for Mr. Kelly.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Father Thomas closed the door with a quiet thump.
Out of respect, Father Murray stood. Liam remained sitting.
Bishop Avery said, “Happy Christmas, Mr. Kelly, Father Murray.” His expression had changed. He seemed more relaxed. There was even a smile on his face.
Father Murray took that for a good sign. “Thank you, Your Grace. Happy Christmas to you as well.”
“May I call you Liam?” Bishop Avery asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Liam, let me introduce you to Monsignor Alghisi. He is Secretary to His Holiness, Pope Paul VI.”
Father Murray watched Liam’s face, praying that the lad would choose to be diplomatic. Liam shook hands with Monsignor Alghisi and Bishop Avery and then sat. Greetings were exchanged in English. However, Monsignor Alghisi’s Italian accent apparently caused Liam some difficulty. When the Monsignor inquired about his family, and where Liam might plan to spend the Christmas holiday, Father Murray had to repeat the question.