“Oh, come on.Morepriest stuff?”
As my ordination grew closer, I’d been spending more time in consultation with my spiritual director at the seminary, Father Raphael Reyes, discussing what to expect once I’d dedicated myself fully to a life in the Church. Finch, who sometimes seemed ill at ease with my upcoming ordination, had become more sullen about the meetings as time went on.
“It’s important,” I said, and I tried not to sound like I was pleading. I loved Finch like a brother, but my calling—my vocation—always had to be my priority. Surely he could see that?
“Whatever,” he sighed. “I’m starting to think some kinky shit is going down between you two. Does he hold the key to your chastity belt or something?”
My cheeks heated. I was used to Finch’s salty mouth and barbed sense of humor, but I still wished sometimes that he wouldn’t say things like that in front of other people. In front of Teo Vitali, for example.
Teo cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow.
Finch scrunched up his mouth, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Teo. “Sorry, Aidan,” he said after a short pause. He sounded as sincere as he ever did. “I’m sure there’s nothing sexy at all happening between you and Father Whatsisname. I just wish I could spend a bit more time with my bestie before he goes off to spend allhistime with God.”
I was so touched by him calling me hisbestie, a title that he used to reserve for Celia D’Amato, that I forgave him on the spot. “It’s okay. I know you’re only teasing.”
“Yep,” Finch said, eyes wide and guileless. “Just teasing. Anyway, if you can’t come tomorrow, how about Sunday?”
“Well, we have Mass on Sunday,” I began delicately, and Finch threw up his hands.
“Fine. After Mass. Come around for lunch or whatever. The Church doesn’t own youyet, does it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Sunday lunch,” I confirmed. “Though you’re very welcome to come to Mass on Sunday morning with Luca.” Luca D’Amato had taken to regularly attending along with many other members of the Family, including the man who stood next to me. “I hope you’ll be there, Teo?” I added, hoping my voice didn’t sound as squeaky to them as it did to my own ears.
Teo gave a nod and a slight smile.
“I’ll come when Hell freezes over, maybe,” Finch said with a wide grin, and he really was back to teasing now. He gave a head jerk. “Come on, Teo. Luca’ll be waiting on us.”
* * *
Once I was alone again,I put away the dishes and tidied the kitchenette as quickly as I could. I didn’t like being in the community hall alone. It made me start thinking of things that were best left in the past: of the time Finch was almost killed here by an evil man; of the sound of that man’s neck breaking as Luca D’Amato stormed in like an avenging angel.
That day had been nightmarish. But it had also made me rethink my attitude to a few things. Father Benedict O’Sullivan, for one—the head priest of Our Lady at the time. His cavalier attitude to letting Sam Fuscone take Finch away at gunpoint with the intention of murdering him had shocked me to my core.
In some ways I thanked God for that day. It had opened my eyes. At other times, I prayed the memory would leave me. Whenever I was alone in the community hall, my attention strayed back to the place Sam Fuscone had taken his last breath, and though I was not in the least superstitious, the quiet emptiness of the community hall seemed more foreboding than usual these days.
I hurried down the hallway into the church proper, where I always felt less alone. God was everywhere, but most particularly there in the vast open space of the nave. I loved Our Lady of Mercy and I would be sad to leave it. Built in Gothic style with vaulted ceilings that echoed with swelling organ music and voices each Mass, it made my soul sing as loudly as my lungs.
I turned off the main overhead lights, then lit a candle for Fuscone’s soul, as I always did when I thought of him. I went on to say the evening prayers for Vespers. Since Father Benedict had been removed while an investigation was held into charge of corruption, and I had taken on more responsibilities in the church, I’d found myself slipping in my more traditional diaconate duties, including the Liturgy of the Hours.
But today I felt a great need to observe, because I sought peace in my heart. I was disturbed not only by the memories I had of Fuscone’s death, but also by a much more recent incident. At first, I couldn’t pin it down, but then Teo Vitali’s striking face swam up from my memory. The way our hands had collided when he caught the plate I dropped…
I shook off the thought and turned my mind to God instead.
I was mid-prayer when I heard someone walking slowly down the aisle of the nave. It was not unusual for parishioners to come in, although we no longer had regular Friday night Mass since Our Lady was still waiting for a new permanent senior priest. But something about those ambling, uneven footsteps seemed unfamiliar. Odd.
The back of my neck prickled.
I finished my prayer and turned to greet the visitor, but my words died before I could speak.
“Hullo there, Aidan. How are things?” The man’s grin revealed stained teeth, one missing at the side. He wore a low-brimmed red baseball cap and a scarf pulled up around his face, but even so, I could see the side of his head was mangled and missing an ear.
Something about him seemed familiar, but I was too on edge to interrogate my memory. “C-can I help you?” I stuttered.
The man came closer, and I could smell his sweat, a sharp stinking waft of it. He limped as he walked and his eyes were rheumy and sticky and he was missing several fingers on his left hand.
His right was curled around a switchblade.
“We have no cash on the premises,” I told him. If all he wanted was money, he’d come to the wrong place. Our Lady, despite being in the center of Manhattan, seemed to always suffer from financial constraints. I’d asked to look over the budget and the books since Father Benedict had been suspended amid accusations of corruption and embezzlement, but I’d been told by the Office of the Archdiocese that they were being held while the matter with Father Benedict was concluded.
