“And what if I don’t?” Alistar challenged the younger boy, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.
“I’ll kick your ass,” Roberto shot back, standing on his tiptoes while trying to meet the older boy’s gaze.
Alistar slid the BB gun into his left hand before landing a punch on Roberto’s face with his right. Roberto staggered backwards, blood streaming from his nose, but quickly regained his footing. With a roar, he lunged at Alistar, toppling the bigger boy to the ground. Roberto rained down punches on Alistar, blood from his nose splattering onto the older boy’s face.
The sight of the brawl sent Mother Maria rushing out the door, her ever-present ruler brandished in the air like a weapon. “Stop it! Stop it!” she commanded, her voice echoing across the playground. As she reached the boys, she grabbed Roberto by the collar, yanking him off her favored pupil with a strength that belied her age.
“Roberto! To my office, this instant!” she commanded, her voice slicing through the air like a whip. She brandished her ruler and swatted Roberto with a fervor that echoed throughout the courtyard.
“He started it,” Roberto protested, shielding his head from the relentless blows with his arms.
With a final resounding smack on the crown of his head, Mother Maria said, “I’ve had enough of your lies, Roberto. To my office, now!”
Blood staining his pristine Catholic School uniform, Roberto stormed up the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.
“And you, Alistar?” Mother Maria’s tone softened as she turned to help the boy to his feet.
“I’m fine, Mother Maria.”
“You’re covered in blood. Go to the nurse’s office and get yourself cleaned up.”
“Thank you,” Alistar responded, extending the BB gun towards the reverend mother.
“Put that in my office on your way to the nurse.” She gestured with her head, nodding towards the building.
Her gaze then swept over the crowd of students who had gathered to watch the spectacle. “The rest of you, recess is over. Return to your classrooms.”
A chorus of disappointed groans filled the air as the students trudged up the stairs to return to their lessons. Mario blended in with the crowd, eager to avoid any blame for the altercation. He was aware of Mother Maria’s favorable opinion of him, but he had no desire to explain his involvement with the new kid. If he confessed to the reverend mother and Al found out, Mario would become his relentless target all their remaining years at the orphanage.
Once the school yard was deserted, Mother Maria Francis discreetly reached under her habit and retrieved a hidden flask. She took a generous swig of brandy, the liquid burning a trail down her throat.
Chapter 8
March 6, 2000
Monday
Vatican Secret Archives
With a sense of trepidation, Mario’s hand cautiously reached for the four books that served as a veil hiding the enigmatic package. “It’s still there,” as though he half-expected it not to be. As he delicately placed the quartet of books on the adjacent worktable, his eyes remained riveted on the cryptic parcel. His hand, acting with a mind all its own, reached up to take hold of the mysterious package.
His heart hammered against his ribcage, a silent drum echoing the back and forth of his internal debate—to open or not to open. He was fully aware of the delicate balance of his position within the hallowed halls of the Vatican, a privilege he had no intention of risking.
His fingers traced the edges of the package, curiosity gnawing at his resolve. I’m just doing my job, right?
With a deep breath, he placed the package on the cold steel worktable and prepared himself for the delicate operation. He untied the twine with meticulous care before setting it aside. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the wax seal bore the imprint of a signet ring. He quietly repeated his mantra, “I’m just doing my job,” then took a deep, steadying breath.
His finger slipped under the brown wrapping and gently lifted the wax seal to free it from the paper. To his surprise, his finger slid under the seal with ease. It had already been opened.
A wave of relief washed over him. He wasn’t the first to discover this package. It was merely another document that needed to be scanned for digital storage.
As he unwrapped the contents, a beautifully crafted journal came into view. Its leather cover was adorned with intricate artwork depicting flowers, patterns, and faces. He carefully picked up the journal, his fingers tracing the soft leather. His heart nearly stopped when he noticed a handwritten note scribbled across the interior of the brown wrapping paper:
Beware!
Do not read!
Your life will be in danger!
GAB
As the journal slipped from his grasp, a shiver of fear slithered down his spine. What’s this mean? Who is GAB?
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each more alarming than the last. Roberto’s constant chatter about conspiracy theories had seeped into Mario’s consciousness, now fueling his wild imagination. The eerie silence of the Secret Archives only amplified his growing fear. Roberto’s tales of intrigue and danger painted vivid, spine-chilling scenarios in his mind, scenarios where his own life was at stake.
STOP IT! he internally reprimanded himself, trying to shake off the haunting thoughts. He was in the Vatican Secret Archives, for Pete’s sake—one of the most secure places on earth. There was no conceivable way he could be in danger.
GAB? He mulled over the cryptic note. “Someone’s initials?” he whispered, speaking quietly aloud. His mind immediately went to a certain deceased priest. He tried to recall Father Guiseppe Benedetti’s middle name. “Alberto? No. . . . Alfredo? No, that’s white pasta sauce.” He grimaced, Roberto’s culinary meals intruding on his thoughts. “Alphonso? Yes, that’s it. Father Giuseppe Alphonso Benedetti.”
He shook his head in disapproval at his predecessor’s unprofessionalism. What was Benedetti thinking, defiling an integral part of this fragile document with cryptic graffiti?
Driven by a surge of curiosity, Mario found himself teetering on the edge of disobedience, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through his veins. Ignoring the ominous warning, he dared to open the journal. As he did so, a new wave of shivers swept over him; he’d broken his long-standing streak of unwavering compliance to the rules.
His eyes darted nervously over the words etched atop the first page.
Chapter 9
Personal Journal
