The Blessed - By Tonya Hurley Page 0,57
unstable. Acting out. Talking crazy. Blasphemy. Making himself unwelcome to even the most sympathetic foster family. Because of depression over his grandmother’s death, teenage hormones, or something far more serious, the priest could not be sure. What else could he have done, he thought, but do as he did? Piazza accessed the network of upper-crust physicians he’d befriended over the years on the boy’s behalf. Frey’s reputation was impeccable. If anyone could turn the boy around, bring him some peace, it was he.
The monsignor sighed resignedly. His shoulders slumped as he exhaled, continuing down the aisle. The place was a shambles. The hand-cut and tumbled marble and terrazzo floors were covered in dirt, ornately carved and finished wooden pews torn from their anchors and piled up against the side entrances, scaffolds rose to heights only the voices of the faithful had once reached, skids were piled with gypsum board and plumbing in front of empty pedestals where brightly painted statues of holy men and women were once worshipped. Who could he blame for this? For Sebastian?
Only himself.
The old priest approached the altar, step by step, until he reached the center of the church, where he genuflected, crossed himself, bowed his head, fell to his knees, and clasped his hands in fervent, whispered prayer.
“quia peccavi nimis
cogitatione, verbo
opere et omissione”
“What is he saying?” Lucy asked.
“He’s confessing,” Sebastian explained, eyes fixed on the penitent priest.
Piazza halted and beat his chest with his fist one time, the deafening thud of his arthritic hand against his breastbone like a body falling from a building.
“Mea culpa.”
And again:
“Mea culpa.”
And for a final time, nearly in tears.
“MEA MAXIMA CULPA.”
Father Piazza rose and stared straight ahead at the altar and the silhouette of Sebastian before him.
“Sebastian!” he called out with all his strength.
Agnes panicked. “How does he know you’re here?”
“Quiet,” Cecilia said, bringing her hand to Agnes’s mouth.
“Yes, Father.”
“Your path is a lonely one made lonelier by my acts.”
“I’m not alone,” Sebastian said. “I never was.”
Lucy, Cecilia, and Agnes rose from behind the pew. Confused by the exchange, but no longer feeling the need to hide. The priest could not see their faces, but the chaplets gleamed around their wrists in the dim light.
Father Piazza was overwhelmed. “They will be coming for you.”
“I know.”
“I am sorry,” Piazza said, his voice cracking with emotion.
Sebastian let the words echo around the cavernous space until they faded to nothing.
The monsignor raised his shaking hand in blessing, as he had countless times before within the hallowed walls of Precious Blood, and made the sign of the cross.
“Peace be with you,” Sebastian said.
“And with your spirit.” The priest bowed his head to Sebastian, then to the girls, and turned and walked away. A procession of one. Back from whence he came.
“Father,” Sebastian called out. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes.” The priest stopped, looked at all of them standing there. He would take them and any information about them to his grave. “Everything.”
“That was . . . strange,” Lucy rasped.
“A man praying?” Sebastian shot back tersely.
“You know what I mean,” Lucy pushed back. “For an old man to come out in a storm like this, it must have been important.”
“Yeah, a matter of life and death,” Cecilia said. “He really risked it out there.”
“Who is he?” Agnes asked, her curiosity piqued.
“His name is Piazza. He was the pastor here for many years. He just made the most important trip he’ll ever make.”
“Did you know him well?” Agnes asked gently.
“I thought so,” Sebastian responded, the hurt and betrayal in his voice unmistakable.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Cecilia asked him protectively. “You can tell us.”
She recalled how wary he’d looked at the hospital when they first met.
“He said people are coming for you?” Agnes pressed. “Is it the police?”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“We,” Agnes stressed. “Whatever or whoever it is, we can handle it.”
“Together,” Cecilia said.
Even Lucy joined in. “I know people who can probably help. Whatever it is.”
“That means everything to me,” Sebastian said at their willingness to be there for him, and more importantly, their camaraderie.
A melancholy expression of happiness and regret shone from him. Sebastian rubbed at his temples and stood up, putting a full stop on the question-and-answer session. As if he’d received a cue he’d been waiting for.
“Where are you going?” Agnes asked.
Sebastian didn’t answer, continuing on his way. They watched him disappear into the darkness enshrouding the back of the church and up the staircase, his boot heels scraping as he went along.
“Do you think all this is about the