F Paul Wilson - Novel 03 (34 page)

           
 
"Once she gets to
Rome
, she may disappear forever, as if we never
found her."

           
 
"That is absurd," Vincenzo said.

           
 
But within he wondered if she might not be
right. He was more familiar than she with the internecine ways of the Holy See,
and realized it was all too possible that the Virgin might be lost in the
labyrinth of
Vatican
politics.

           
 
"Please!"
she cried.

           
 
He was wounded by the tears in her eyes. How
could he separate her from the Virgin? That seemed almost . . . sinful.

           
 
Vincenzo shook himself. His duty was clear.

           
 
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I
really have no choice. I must report this to
Rome
at once."

           
 
Sister Carolyn began to sob. The sound tore at
his heart. He had to leave. Now. Before he changed his mind.

           
 
"I'll be back as soon as I have the
Vatican
's decision."

           
 
"Don't be surprised if you find an empty
room," Father Fitzpatrick said.

           
 
Vincenzo swung toward him. "Please do not
do anything so foolish as to move her or try to hide her. I found her here. I
can find her anywhere."

           
 
He hurried out of the room leaving behind the
sobbing nun and the stricken, silent priest.

           
 
This is the way it has to be, he told himself.
This is the best way, the only way.

           
 
Then why did he feel like such a villain?

           
 
He would make it up to Sister Carolyn. He would
see to it that she was not separated from her beloved Blessed Mother. He would
convince the Holy See that Sister Carolyn Ferris must accompany the Virgin to
Rome
to tell her story.

           
 
But first he had to convince the Holy See that
the body in the subcellar of this church was indeed the Blessed Virgin. He
could do that. They'd believe him. He'd debunked so many reputed visitations in
the past that they'd listen when he told them he'd found the real thing. More
than a visitation—the greatest find since the dawn of the Christian Era.

           
 
And then it would begin.

           
 
The Second Coming . . . the end of history . .
.

           
 
Carrie clenched her teeth and tried to rein in
her emotions. What was wrong with her? She'd never cried easily before. Now she
couldn't seem to help herself.

           
 
She'd just about regain control when Dan
stepped up beside her and gently encircled her in his arms. His touch, and the
depth of love and warmth in the simple gesture toppled her defenses. She sagged
against him and broke down again.

           
 
"It'll be all right, Carrie," he
said softly. "We'll work something out."

           
 
But
what
could they work out? Her worst nightmare had come true.

           
 
She straightened and faced him. "They're
going to take her, Dan. They're going to take her and seal her away where no
one will ever see her again, where no one but a privileged few will even know
she exists."

           
 
"You don't know that."

           
 
"I
do
know that." Anger was beginning to elbow aside the fear and desperate
sorrow. "And I know we didn't go to all that trouble to find her and bring
her here just so she could be locked up in a
Vatican
vault!"

           
 
"But what the monsignor said about a
'plan' makes sense. Don't you feel it? Don't you sense a hand moving the pieces
around a chessboard? We're a couple of the pawns, Carrie. So's the monsignor."

           
 
"Maybe," she said, although she knew
exactly what Dan was talking about. She'd felt it too. "And maybe the
'plan' isn't meant to play out the way the monsignor sees it. We can't let the
Vatican
have her."

           
 
"How are we going to stop it? You heard
what he said about being able to find her if we try to hide her. I don't know
how or why, but I believe him."

           
 
Carrie believed him too. Maybe it was the cure
he claimed the Virgin had performed, maybe it was part of the "plan."
Whatever it was, the monsignor seemed to have been sensitized to the Virgin. He
was like a smart bomb, targeted on Carrie's dreams.

           
 
But there had to be a way to stop him.

           
 
And suddenly she knew how.

           
 
"All right . . ." she said slowly.
"If we can't hide her from the monsignor, we won't hide her at all . . .
from anyone."

           
 
"I don't—"

           
 
"You will."

           
 
Excitement and dread blossomed within her as
she considered the repercussions of what she was about to do.

           
 
She drew Dan to the Virgin's side.

           
 
"Will you carry her upstairs for me?"

           
 
"Upstairs? Into the kitchen?"

           
 
"No. Farther up. Into the church."

           
 
Dan stood in the nave of St. Joe's with the
Virgin's stiff remains in his arms and tried to catch his breath. The church
was locked up tight for the night, silent but for the muffled voices of the
latest contingent of Mary-hunters chanting their nightly Rosary outside on the
front steps. He wasn't puffing from the exertion of carrying her up from the
subcellar—the Virgin was as light as ever—but from anxiety.

           
 
What was Carrie up to? She wouldn't explain.
Was she afraid he'd balk if she told him? No. He'd do almost anything to keep
her from crying again. He'd never heard her cry before. It was a sound he never
wanted to hear again.

           
 
"Now what?" he said. "Where do
I put her?"

           
 
She stood in the church's center aisle,
turning in a slow circle, as if looking for something. Suddenly she stopped her
turn.

           
 
"There," she said, pointing to the
space past the chancel rail.

           
 
"In the sanctuary? There's no
place—"

           
 
"On the altar."

           
 
Dan felt his knees wobble. "No, Carrie.
That wouldn't be right."

           
 
She turned and faced him, her expression
fierce. "Can you think of anyone with more of a right to be up
there?"

           
 
Dan couldn't.

           
 
"All right. But I don't like this."

           
 
He passed her and walked down the center
aisle, genuflected, then stepped over the chancel rail and approached the
altar, a huge block of Carerra marble. It stood free in the center of the
sanctuary so the celebrating priest could say Mass facing his congregation.

           
 
This was strange, really strange. What was
this going to solve or prove? Carrie didn't expect the Virgin to come alive or
anything crazy like that, did she?

           
 
The thought rattled Dan as he stood before the
altar. His life had been so full of strange occurrences lately that nothing
would surprise him.

           
 
As he set the Virgin gently upon the gleaming
marble surface of the altar, he heard a metallic clank at the far end of the
church. He turned in time to see Carrie pushing open the front doors.

           
 
"She's here!" he heard her cry to
the Mary-hunters gathered outside. "You don't need to look any further.
The Blessed Mother is here! Come in! See her! She's waiting for you!"

           
 
"Oh, no!" Dan said softly as he saw
the Mary-hunters edge through the doors. "Oh, God, Carrie. What are you
doing?"

           
 
They crowded forward, candles in hand,
hesitant at first, the curious at the rear pushing those ahead. They were
older, mostly female, with a few younger men and women salted among them.
Plainly dressed for the most part, but they had an eagerness in common. He saw
it in their eyes. They were searching for something but not quite sure just
what.

           
 
And when they saw the body stretched out on
the altar they hesitated, but only for a moment, only for a heartbeat. Then
they were moving forward again, surging ahead like some giant, single-celled
organism, filling the center aisle and splashing against the chancel rail.

           
 
Dan listened to the talk within the
Mary-hunter amoeba.

           
 
"Is it her?" . . . "Do you
think that's really her?" . . . "That's not what I expected her to
look like" . . . "Aren't you forgetting the Assumption? Can't be
her" . . . "Right. She was assumed into heaven, body and soul" .
. . "Besides, she looks too old, all dried up . . ."

           
 
And then the crowd was parting like the
Red Sea
to make way for a pinch-faced old woman in
a wheelchair. She wore a fur cap despite the heat and was propelled from behind
by a burly orderly in whites.

           
 
"Let me through," the woman said,
swinging her cane before her to clear the way. "I'll tell you if it's her or
not, but I can't see from back here."

           
 
Her orderly wheeled her up to the brass gates
of the chancel rail and she stared across at the altar.

           
 
Over and over Dan hear voices murmur,
"What do you think, Martha?" and "Martha will know," and
"What does she say?"

           
 
Apparently this Martha was an authority of
some sort among the Mary-hunters.

           
 
"I . . ." she began, then stopped.
"This shouldn't be but . . . Get me closer, Gregory."

           
 
Her dutiful orderly unlatched the chancel
gates and pushed them open. Dan didn't want them in the sanctuary and was
stepping forward to stop him when he felt a restraining hand on his arm.

           
Carrie was beside him.

           
 
"Wait," she said. "Let her
look."

           
 
Gregory wheeled old Martha through the gates
and parked her next to the altar where she was almost eye level with the
Virgin. She peered closely through her bifocals, then, tentatively, she reached
out and brushed the Virgin's cheek with her fingertip.

           
 
"Oh!" she cried and threw herself
back in her chair as if she'd received a jolt of electricity.

           
 
Gregory was standing beside her, hands clasped
behind his back, unprepared for the sudden convulsive movement. Martha and her
chair went over backward.

           
 
For a moment there was mass confusion in St.
Joseph's with people shouting and crying out in alarm, and then utter silence
as Gregory righted the chair, turned to lift Martha back into it, and froze.