“I’m sure you are going to find a lot of unusual things inside that place. Look at the Templar parchment you just told me about.”
“This one . . . this one is different. I don’t want you to jump to conclusions and start weaving your conspiracy theories,” Mario warned, his tone getting serious.
“Now you have to tell me. Spill the beans,” Roberto urged, his eyes wide with anticipation.
“Alright, but promise me you’ll keep your conspiracy theories in check.”
“Enough with the suspense. Out with it already,” Roberto demanded, his patience wearing thin.
“I discovered a strange package hidden behind some books on a shelf,” Mario revealed, his voice barely audible.
“And . . .?" Roberto’s hand gestured for Mario to continue, his impatience growing.
“It appears to be a book wrapped in brown paper, sealed with a wax stamp.”
“Ooooo. Oooo. It was Professor Plum in the library with a book wrapped in brown paper,” Roberto teased, pointing his finger at Mario in mock accusation.
“Enough with the jokes,” Mario retorted, his tone stern.
“Alright, alright. So, what’s inside this mystery package?”
“Remember, whatever I tell you stays within these four walls.”
“I swear,” Roberto promised, raising his right hand in a solemn vow. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know. I put it back on the shelf,” Mario confessed, his voice filled with regret.
“Dude! Now you have to open it,” Roberto demanded, his anticipation teetering on the edge of mania.
“’Dude’? Really?” Mario retorted, his face scrunched in disbelief.
“Okay, buddy, friend, pal—whatever. You gotta tell me what’s in the package,” Roberto implored, his voice laced with a raw desperation to know.
Mario hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a sudden surge of fear, a fear his esteemed position might be put in jeopardy by revealing too much to Roberto. “You’re making me nervous. You can’t blow this position for me by using what I tell you to spout off conspiracy theories around others.”
“I’m sorry. My imagination goes wild sometimes. I’ll let the matter go.” Roberto had already decided to back off after seeing the panic on Mario’s face. He’d pushed the envelope too far this time. His friend was visibly uncomfortable.
Mario felt only a little relief. He was torn between his loyalty to the Church and his loyalty to his best friend. Roberto had been there his entire life; he’d backed him against the bullies at the orphanage, supported him during the rigors of seminary, and now helped steer him to this honored position in the Vatican Secret Archives. On the other hand, the Church has also been there Mario’s entire life. It had raised him, educated him, led him to his calling. He had taken his vows and became a priest, a decision he held dear. Now, carrying out his esteemed position within the sacred walls of the Vatican Secret Archives, his loyalty was coming into question.
Roberto, sensing the tension he’d caused, tried to diffuse it. “You know, it’s probably nothing,” he said, his voice filled with regret. His mind often ran away through a whirlwind of theories, most of which never materialized. However, this never stopped him from dreaming and imagining the impossible.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mario agreed, taking another bite of his lasagna. “The Vatican is meticulous in its cataloging. It’s probably just an oversight.”
“Hey, you’ll find out on Monday, right?” Roberto kept his banter light the rest of the night. He was filled with hope that Mario might change his mind in due time.
Chapter 7
May 3, 1982
Monday
Santa Maria Orphanage
Rome, Italy
Alistar took careful aim with the BB gun, his gaze locked onto the pigeon defiling the sacred basilica wall with its droppings. The honor of being assigned extermination duties by Mother Superior was not lost on the fourteen-year-old. As the oldest and biggest child in the Santa Maria Orphanage, Alistar reveled in the sense of authority this task bestowed upon him over the other children. With a steady hand and a sharp eye, he pulled the trigger, nailing the bird with a single precise shot. This marked his fifth pigeon of the morning. His total count had now soared past a hundred since his arrival at the orphanage.
From her vantage point in the window above him, Mother Superior Maria Francis watched with a satisfied smile as Alistar dispatched another pigeon with deadly accuracy. She knew she had chosen the right student for this task. Even though she had bent Church rules by procuring the BB gun for the young boy, she felt justified. Ever since she had assumed the role of mother superior, the pigeons had been a constant nuisance, their presence an affront to her need for cleanliness, not to mention the sanctity of the basilica. The arrival of Alistar at her orphanage had been a serendipitous event. The young man was proving to be a valuable asset in her battle against the pigeon infestation, in addition to his contributions to the orphanage’s daily operations.
“Brilliant execution, Al,” Mother Superior applauded, her hands resonating throughout the stone-laden courtyard. His knack for shooting the despicable creatures had not gone unnoticed by her. She saw opportunity in the young man, had recommended him to the cardinal who was always on the hunt for promising young recruits for the Vatican’s elite Swiss Guard academy. The hefty donations that always found their way back to her church was a bonus that did not go unnoticed.
Alistar remained impassive, his gaze fixed on Mother Superior. He wasn’t seeking praise or validation. What he yearned for was liberation from the chains holding him back from purging the world of beings he deemed worthless. This realization had dawned on him after he’d taken his own father’s life, a man who had surrendered to his crippling addiction to alcohol.
His father, a man who had once been the family’s pillar of strength, had become a pitiful creature staggering home in a drunken stupor night after night. One fateful evening, he’d overstepped the bounds of decency, his alcohol-fueled fury driving him to beat his wife to death. The haunting image of Alistar’s mother, lifeless and sprawled on the cold kitchen floor, was forever seared into his memory. As Alistar’s finger hovered over the trigger of the BB gun, the chilling memory of his intoxicated father advancing towards him resurfaced. With a steely resolve, he trained the Walther P38 Ruger on his oncoming father.
“Whatcha gonna do, boy?” his father slurred, a malicious grin twisting his drunken features.
Alistar’s hold on the pistol intensified. His finger pulled on the trigger relentlessly, the bullets penetrating his father’s body but failing to stop the inebriated beast. The fatal bullet to the forehead brought the monster down, spilling a gruesome torrent of blood across the stark black-and-white linoleum floor.
Alistar stared at the lifeless body sprawled before him, a sense of grim satisfaction washing over him. He had finally rid the world of the vile creature. This final act of retribution landed him in the custody of the Santa Maria Orphanage.
The tolling of the church bell echoed through the air, signaling the much anticipated 10 a.m. recess for the eager students of Santa Maria Orphanage. With a thunderous bang, the door leading out to the school yard burst open as a wave of children cascaded down the stairs, their laughter and chatter filling the playground with a lively energy. Alistar, however, took a more measured pace across the school yard, focused solely on returning the BB gun to Mother Maria. He held the weapon discreetly by his side, mindful to shield it from the younger students’ curious eyes. Mother Superior had given him explicit instructions not to flaunt the weapon, threatening to confiscate it if he disobeyed. The mere thought of forfeiting this privilege was unbearable to him—it was simply not a choice he could entertain.
Nearby, Mario, his heart filled with the joy of freedom, dashed towards the playground, his best friend matching his stride. Ever since they had come to the orphanage as infants, Mario and Roberto had been inseparable. Lost in the thrill of the moment, Mario didn’t notice the older boy striding directly towards him until it was too late.
“Move it, wimp,” Alistar growled. Mario tried to run around him but the towering figure sidestepped, blocking his path, and a collision ensued. The blow sent Mario sprawling backwards. The impact of his head hitting the ground was sharp and immediate; his hands instinctively reached back to cradle it and soothe the pain. The sight of blood on his fingers made his heart pound, but he clenched his jaw, determined not to let tears fall.
Roberto stepped up to the much taller boy to defend his friend. “Back off, Al.”
