James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (34 page)

“I’ll get it,” she said, rising from the dinner table. He heard the door open then his mother gasp. It was a gasp of fear, not a happy surprise. He jumped from the table and rushed to the front door, his father, recognizing his wife’s sound of distress, immediately behind him. They found her standing in the doorway, the door partially opened, their view blocked of who was on the other side.

Acton grabbed the door and yanked it open, stepping between his mother and whoever he might find. His heart hammered in his chest at what it may be. And what he found wasn’t what he expected.

A lone woman, wearing a cloak resembling that of a monk, only black, stood on the doorstep. He glanced behind her, and saw an SUV idling on the road in front of the house, several more pulling up. At the sight of Acton, the woman looked up, revealing a face far younger than he had been expecting. And far more beautiful.

“Professor Acton?”

He nodded.

“I am Sister Maria, may I come in?”

“What do you want?”

“Jim, is that any way to talk to a nun?” admonished his mother. “Of course you can come in, dear.” She stepped back but Acton held his ground, blocking the door with both his arms.

“You’re from the Order of the Blessed Virgin, aren’t you?”

Laura gasped behind him, then he heard footsteps pounding in retreat, up the stairs.

The young woman nodded. She held out her hands. Empty. “I assure you I am unarmed, and am not here to hurt you in any way.” Acton flashed back to the story Laura had told him of the battle on the streets of Rome. “Please, Professor Acton. I swear to God, to the Holy Virgin, I will not harm you.”

Acton nodded and stepped aside.

The young woman crossed the threshold and Dorothy conducted her to the living room where she took a seat facing the large bank of windows extending across the back of the house. Acton and his parents sat in front of the windows as Laura rushed down the stairs, her satchel clutched to her chest. Acton jumped up as he realized what she had. They exchanged glances, her eyes begging a question, and he nodded, knowing exactly what that question was.
Do I give it to her?

The young woman looked at Acton, then at Laura who rounded the chair she was sitting in.

“I’m Laura, Sister Maria. And I think I know why you’re here.”

Maria smiled and nodded at the satchel still clutched to Laura’s chest. “Is that it?” Acton could hear in her voice the excitement that her face refused to display.

Laura nodded.

The woman’s hands slowly rose from the arms of the chair, toward the satchel. “May I?” she asked.

Laura started to open the satchel when Acton held his hand out to stop her.

“You tried to kill her last time. Why not this time?”

“It isn’t necessary.”

“What do you mean?”

“We vastly outnumber you, and you are stationary.”

“Outnumber…” Acton’s voice trailed off as he spun toward the windows. Laura shrieked behind him, and his parents jumped from the couch, rushing to the other side of the room when they looked. Extended from one end of the set of windows to the other, standing shoulder to shoulder, were almost a dozen robed figures, their heads bowed. Acton’s father stepped into the kitchen then back out again.

“Looks like they’re at every window.”

“We surround your entire property.”

“You said no harm would come to us!” said Laura.

“No, I said
I
would bring you no harm.” She motioned at the window. “They might.” She waved her hands in the air, as if wiping clean the sight of those surrounding the house. “Let us not get ahead of ourselves. I have no desire to take what is ours by force. None of us do. There has been enough death. Too much death.” She pointed to the satchel. “Now, may I see it?”

Laura looked at Acton, who nodded. She flipped open the satchel’s cover, then pulled the book from within. Maria gasped, and Acton watched as a single tear rolled from both eyes, down her cheeks. A sound from behind him caused him to look. Several of the figures outside were pressed against the window. All were women. And all appeared just as excited as Maria. He turned back to her, the book now held in her hands, as gently as she could.

“Have you read it?” she asked Laura.

Laura shook her head. “There was never any time, then I forgot I had it.”

Maria nodded, her hand slowly, softly, running over the cover. “Finally, after almost two thousand years, the Word of Mary is restored to its rightful owners.”

“My understanding is that there are no other copies.”

Maria looked up at Acton. “No, this is the only known copy to have survived.”

“Then how do you know what’s in it?”

“We don’t. We know pieces that were remembered and passed down through the ages, but, no, we do not know what it contains.”

Acton nodded, unsure of whether or not he should push the issue, but the archaeologist in him had to know what it contained. “The Keepers of the One Truth said you were wrong about what you thought it contained.”

Maria’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, whatever you
think
that book has written in it, is not what
is
written in it.”

The front door alarm chimed and footsteps were heard in the hallway. Acton placed himself in front of Laura as his father did the same for his wife. Two robed figures entered, both carrying large cases. Without a word, they both knelt on either side of the living room table, then cleared it of its contents. “Let me do that,” said his mother, but his father held her back with an arm and a look.

One of the women opened her case and pulled out another case that she opened and laid flat on the table. It had a black, velvet like interior. Maria stepped forward and placed the book inside. The other woman pulled out a laptop computer, a portable printer, then a hand held scanner. The first spun the case toward her, then the second scanned the cover. Acton watched as a perfect image appeared on the laptop screen, then two copies spooled from the printer. The woman nodded, and the first carefully opened the cover, then moved back so the first could scan both pages. They repeated this for several minutes, carefully turning the pages, scanning them, and printing them. Within ten minutes they were done, the book was closed, then sealed in the case.

Both women rose, bowed to Maria, the second handing one of the copies to her, then they left. The front door chimed as it was closed, and Acton watched as the women surrounding the house filed past the window. Maria remained seated however. She looked at Acton, then motioned for them all to sit. They all complied, and she turned back to Acton. “You said the Keepers of the One Truth said we were mistaken about what this contained.”

Acton nodded.

“Well, they were wrong. Wrong about what they thought we believed. This book
is
a Gospel of sorts, the first, and only true, Gospel. It contains the Word of Mary herself.”

“You mean—” started Laura, who stopped herself, tears filling her eyes.

Acton didn’t get it. “What? What does it mean?”

“The words written here”—she shook the sheaf of papers—“were originally written by a mother, and a son. They are not about the teachings of Jesus, or the telling of his exploits. They are letters from her to him, and from him to her, over a lifetime. They are a record of correspondence between the greatest man to have ever lived, and the mother who gave birth to him. They are written proof that he existed, that she existed, that the New Testament is true!”

“Then why hide it?” asked Laura.

Maria frowned. “Because men of the Church decided that the masses should think of Jesus as the son of God, and not the son of Mary. That they should think of him as a god walking amongst men, as opposed to a man. A man with emotions, with not only knowledge to give, but love. This book reveals the man, as he revealed himself to his own mother, while he travelled the land spreading the word of God. He is flawed, he has doubts, he falls in love, he cries, rants, and questions. It is all in here. And the Church didn’t want any image of Jesus that wasn’t perfect to be shared with the masses, so they banned the book, and destroyed all copies but this one.”

“And what will you do with it, now that you’ve got it?”

Maria rose. “We will share it with the world. Not at first, of course, we have to have the book authenticated so when we are questioned we can defend our beliefs, but in time, all will be shared.” She held out the copy to Laura. “But
you
will be the first.”

Laura took the pages and looked up at Maria. “Why me?”

“Because you are the reason we have it now. You rescued it from its hiding place, and kept it rather than give it back to those who would conceal the truth.”

“But I simply forgot I had it!”

Maria smiled. “Did you? Or did your conscience tell you that these words were not evil, that these words were meant to be read by the world, and that these words should never again be hidden away in the vaults of the Vatican?”

Laura said nothing, simply stared at the bundle of pages she now gripped.

“I’ll be going now. Thank you all for your assistance.”

Maria walked toward the door, Acton and his father following. She flashed them a quick smile with a turn of her head, then almost skipped with excitement to the SUV waiting for her.

As soon as the vehicle was out of sight, Acton closed the door and bolted it. He felt his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“These past few years have been eventful.”

Acton chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it.” He looked at his father. “Sorry for getting you guys involved.”

“Well, at least this time there were no guns.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Something tells me if we hadn’t given up the book, there would have been a whole lot of guns showing up.”

His father frowned. “You’re probably right.” He patted Acton on his back. “Let’s see how our women are doing.”

They walked into the living room and found Laura translating the text, in a low tone, to his mother. Both were crying.

“What’s wrong?” asked Acton.

They looked up, both shaking their heads.

“It’s so beautiful,” said his mother.

Laura nodded, wiping her nose with a tissue, then holding her hand out. Acton took it and sat down beside her.

“What is it?”

She looked at him, with a smile on her face. “I no longer fear evil.”

Acton put his arm over her shoulders and squeezed the back of her neck. “In just a few pages?”

She smiled, running her hand over the page. “This will change the world.”

“Why, what does it say?”

“Let me read it to you, to you all.”

Acton leaned back and closed his eyes as the love of his life began to read.

Before the first page was done, he felt his eyes burn with the tears he was keeping at bay, and his heart filled with hope.

This
will
change the world.

THE END

Thank You!

Thank you for choosing and reading my book. If you enjoyed it, I would be grateful if you could write a review and post it on Amazon.com and / or Amazon.co.uk.

Acknowledgements

The concept for Broken Dove was born from a discussion with my father during a family visit. We were spit-balling ideas for another Acton adventure, and as one outrageous idea after another were batted back and forth, an idea leapt to mind, and I stopped.

“I’ve got all I need,” I said. “A murder at the Vatican.”

The result of that one idea is this book. The concept of the female Pope wasn’t even considered, as I wasn’t aware of this part of hidden history until researching something else for the book. And once I stumbled upon that, more of the concept took shape. I hope you enjoyed the effort, regardless of whether or not you buy the concept of a female pope.

As usual people need to be thanked. My parents, my wife and daughter, Brent Richards, Christian Leroux, Mario Giasson (who I couldn’t figure out how to kill) and his family.

And to the tens of thousands of fans out there who have helped make a dream come true, my humble gratitude endures.

About the Author

J. Robert Kennedy wrote his first story when he was five.

Everyone in it died.

Things didn't get much better from there. After horrifying his teachers in creative writing classes he took an extended hiatus, returning to writing on a whim, haunted by the image of a woman standing in tall grass, the blades streaming through her fingers. The result was a short story,
Does It Matter?
, written in a single evening.

And then he let it sit.

A couple of years later he let several friends read it and they encouraged him to try and get it published. He submitted it to
The Sink
and it was immediately accepted. Encouraged, he wrote a second story,
Loving the Ingredients
, and it too was accepted, along with a reprint of
Does It Matter?
by
The Writers Post Journal
.