Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online

Authors: Stina Leicht

And Blue Skies From Pain (12 page)

BOOK: And Blue Skies From Pain
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“This will only take a moment. He won’t feel a thing,” Father Conroy said. “I need fresh tissue samples. Larger than yesterday’s. The samples were useless before I could analyze them. Even you must admit that’s unusual, if not impossible for a human.”
“Impossible?” Father Murray blinked. “Slides can be mixed up, mislabeled, or tainted. You know that. It’s happened before and—”
“One live tissue sample is all I need to prove otherwise.”
Shocked, Father Murray felt the corners of his mouth tug downward as hopelessness and desperation set in. The room seemed suddenly colder and Gerry’s focused expression acquired a sinister quality. “I gave him my word that no one would do such a thing.”
“He won’t even notice, given the extent of his injuries.”
“That isn’t the point, and you know it. He’s not one of your lab animals. I’ll not let you dissect him.”
“It wouldn’t require that much tissue to solve the mystery. Then security can bring a gurney, and you can escort him to the observation room for a rest.”
“As far as I’m concerned the agreement is terminated.”
“You can’t mean that!”
Father Murray shifted so that he had a better view of the exit, and his left arm was clear. If the guards heard Father Conroy’s protests and suspected anything out of the ordinary, there would be a fight. The examination room wouldn’t provide much maneuver room.
The best option would be to incapacitate Gerry now before anyone senses a problem, but how to keep security from alerting the others?
Father Murray didn’t want to use deadly force—he couldn’t. At this stage, there was no way of telling if anyone was beyond helping or not, and without being certain his conscience wouldn’t allow it.
Can you be confident of anything anymore? How many have you murdered in error?
He swallowed.
I’m not imagining the contamination and neither was Liam. Be certain of Gerry first. Then decide what to do.
Father Murray took a chance and looked into Father Conroy’s eyes. It was hard to say under the circumstances, but his pupils appeared normal.
Good.
Father Conroy continued his protests. “I can’t let you leave. I—”
“Do you have your rosary?”
“Of course.”
“May I see it?”
Unbuttoning his white lab coat, Father Conroy revealed a hand-knitted brown pullover sweater vest layered over a black priest’s shirt. He dug inside his right trouser pocket and fished out a jet bead rosary. “What’s wrong?”
“Hold up the crucifix.”
Father Conroy followed instructions without hesitation. His pupils remained stable nor did he flinch.
“Is it blessed?” Father Murray asked.
“Every day. According to procedure.” Father Conroy’s face grew pale, and he glanced down at Liam. “You suspect contamination?”
“Put out your hand.” Father Murray brought out his own rosary beads. They were warm from resting inside his own trousers pocket.
Again, Father Conroy did as asked. Pressing the crucifix into Father Conroy’s palm, Father Murray studied the other priest’s reactions and again found no negative reaction.
Thank God,
Father Murray thought.
“Should we proceed to the next step?” Father Conroy asked.
“It isn’t necessary.” Father Murray put away his rosary beads. “That’s enough for me.”
“Please forgive me,” Father Conroy said. “But you’ve been in closer contact with the subject than I have. And I understand you didn’t attend mass yesterday.”
“There wasn’t time. Not after the screening, and you know it,” Father Murray said. “Liam isn’t the source of the taint.” Nonetheless, he put out his hand and accepted the touch of Father Conroy’s rosary crucifix without further protest.
“From the moment your friend entered this facility, I’ve counted no less than three security alarms,” Father Conroy said, pocketing his rosary beads. “Three in less than twenty-four hours. I’d say that was a fairly direct causality.”
“Circumstantial evidence.”
“If you say so. Are you going to explain?”
“This facility’s security has been breached.”
Father Conroy’s expression transformed from caution to scepticism. “That isn’t possible.”
“Have you not heard of Sarajevo? December of 1913? Budapest and Vienna in 1914? How about Munich in 1920? That contamination caused factors which led to World War II. The facility in Rome had to be abandoned until 1945. Remember? Or do they not review the Order’s history with recruits anymore?”
Father Conroy shrugged. “Procedures have been set in place since then and have stood the test. There hasn’t been a recurrence in decades. We learned from those mistakes.”
“And who is to say the Fallen haven’t as well?”
“Don’t be preposterous!”
“I’m bloody serious and lower your voice,” Father Murray whispered. “I’m warning you. The security team outside that door have been contaminated.”
“Your evidence?”
“Is that not evidence enough?” Father Murray asked, pointing at Liam. “Or does it have to be you or me before you’ll admit something is wrong?” He sighed and pushed up his glasses. He was tired, his head ached and his eyes burned. “There’s no time for this. If you’ll not accept the word of a Guardian—”
“A retired Guardian,” Father Conroy interrupted, “who resigned under unusual circumstances.”
“If you’ll not report the breach, then, fine. All I ask is that you’ll give us a quarter hour to get out of here.”
“I can’t do that. Not without Bishop Avery’s approval.”
“Then ring him. Or give an alert about that security team. Do what you think is right. I don’t care which. The longer you argue with me, the less time either of us has to survive.”
Father Conroy paused and then crossed over to the built-in desk. He picked up the phone receiver and dialled a series of numbers. Several moments passed before the phone was finally answered. “Your Grace, we have a problem.”
Father Murray didn’t bother listening. Any member of the Order who spent time serving in the field knew the lowest of demons was capable of out-witting a human being. Even those who never saw field work were aware of what was at stake. Over-confidence could mean death or worse, damnation. However, Father Conroy was right on one point. The Order had learned much since the first Inquisition instigated by Pope Lucius in the late 1100s.
But we’ve been wrong about the Fey. For centuries. Could it be that the Fallen only allow us to think our security procedures work?
Although fallible, demons were immortal. They had the advantage of the broader perspective immortality brings and were known to plan accordingly. It was one the many aspects of demons that made them such a formidable enemy.
Where else might we be mistaken?
Ask one question and there came twenty more. It was understood that demons had no power over the faithful. Hold fast to purity, the grace of God and belief, and you were safe. No demon could withstand the grace of God. But were human beings actually capable of remaining in a perpetual state of grace? He’d had enough experience to think otherwise. Six months retired, and he wasn’t familiar with the roster anymore. Who could he trust? What could he believe?
There is always God,
Father Murray thought.
Jesus, his son, Mother Mary, and the saints. No matter the frailty of human beings certain things remain steadfast.
Right?
This isn’t the time for a crisis of faith, Joe.
The bang-ring of the receiver clattering against the telephone base brought Father Murray back to the present situation.
“The Bishop is on his way,” Father Conroy said.
Lowering his voice, Father Murray asked, “And did you warn him?”
Father Conroy glanced to the door, nodded and whispered, “Better to be safe than sorry, I suppose.”
Relief loosened the tension in Father Murray’s neck a notch. A Level Three lock-down alarm sounded, but another quarter of an hour passed before the anticipated knock on the door finally came. He stopped Father Conroy from answering with a hand on his arm.
“Best let me,” Father Murray whispered. He moved into a defensible position next to the door and gripped the pistol he’d hidden under his jacket. Bullets didn’t differentiate between humans and the preternatural—even blessed ones, but it would have to do. He’d left his blade with his sister for fear of it being reclaimed by the Order when he’d entered the Belfast facility. “Yes?”
“Guardian Murray?” The question, phrased in Latin, resonated with authority.
He recognized the sonorous voice with its Limerick accent and unease displaced relief.
That explains a few things.
He answered in the Latin as well. It was customary since members of the Order originated from all over the world. Latin was often the only language anyone had in common. “I’ve retired, Monsignor Paul.”
“So I’ve heard,” Monsignor Clarence Paul, the Grand Inquisitor for all Catholic dioceses within the Northern Hemisphere said. “However, your actions would speak otherwise.”
Father Murray hesitated. If the Grand Inquisitor were present, then matters were serious indeed. It explained Father Thomas’s trepidation and Bishop Avery’s fear.
“Are you going to let us in?” Monsignor Paul asked.
“That depends. Has the previous security team been relieved of duty?” Father Murray asked.
“They have,” Monsignor Paul said.
Upon opening the door, Father Murray saw that the guards had indeed been replaced by a new, unfamiliar group. They were accompanied by one hastily dressed Bishop Avery, an armed and bullet-proof-armoured Father Thomas, and one Monsignor Paul whose frayed bath robe and worn slippers belied his lofty and most independent status. Leaving the security team in the hallway, the others entered the examination room. Father Thomas nodded a greeting after assuring himself that Liam was unconscious. However, he didn’t seem to relax his guard and kept his dagger at the ready.
“All right, Joseph. We’re all here. Would you mind telling us why it was necessary to call us out of bed?” Monsignor Paul asked. “After the mess in Jerusalem, I was rather hoping for some undisrupted sleep. I assume the issue is serious?” With wispy, thinning white hair and a thick well-trimmed beard, there was something about him that reminded Father Murray of an aged Richard Harris. He supposed it was the aristocratic nose and the deep, theatrical voice with its English school polish not quite disguising the Irish West Country.
Father Murray said, “Re-screen those guards and everyone who has had contact with them.”
“That will take considerable time and resources. You’re certain of this?” Monsignor Paul asked.
“When were they last screened?” Father Murray asked.
“A month ago,” Father Thomas said. “They were scheduled for relief on Friday and haven’t left the building since.”
“Shite. Then we’re later in catching the problem than I’d hoped,” Father Murray said. “Unless… is there someone new that they came in contact with?”
Father Thomas tilted his head down and peered over the top of his round, wire frame spectacles. “Besides yourself and your charge?”
“I know what this looks like. But if it were so, why would Liam Kelly have waited until we entered a high security facility? Until he was alone? Wouldn’t it have been better to have murdered one and all at the Giant’s Ring?” Father Murray asked and made a silent plea to St. Francis for patience. “You don’t have to agree with me to see the necessity in clearing—”
“Take it easy, Joseph. The security team will be screened,” Bishop Avery said. “However, you’re asking us to shut down operations for an entire day. We need to know the specifics of what triggered the incident report. What did you see?”
“The security team which arrived in answer to an earlier alarm was agitated and violent. And then there was the deciding factor.”
“And that was?” Monsignor Paul asked.
Taking a deep breath, Father Murray hoped he wasn’t betraying a confidence. “Simply put—Liam sensed the problem before I did.”
“What?” Father Thomas asked. “How?”
“He said they smelled… wrong,” Father Murray said.
“Smelled?” Father Conroy asked.
“You’ve not mentioned this ability before,” Bishop Avery said with a frown. “It isn’t listed in any of your reports.”
“I did tell you his senses were more keen than average, Your Grace,” Father Murray said.
“You’ve had several interactions with that security team,” Father Thomas said. “Why didn’t he notice it before?”
“I’m not certain he didn’t,” Father Murray said. “However, he didn’t tell me about it until after the beating.”
“He can smell demons?” Father Conroy asked.
“Are you certain?” Bishop Avery asked.
“Liam is,” Father Murray said. “Think of it. How useful would it be to detect demonic presence or contamination without lengthy screenings? How much easier to know our enemies from our friends?”
BOOK: And Blue Skies From Pain
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