Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God (21 page)

“That was fun,” said Eduardo. “Thank you, Father.”

“You’re welcome, my son. Now, tell me, how’s that rubber ball I gave you? Putting it to good use I hope.” Eduardo reached in his pocket and removed the ball. “I take it everywhere,” he said. “I’m getting good at catching it.”

“Great,” beamed Father Tolbert. “We’ll have to play sometimes.” He got up, went to the closet and returned with a blue plastic bat and small baseball glove. He gave them to Eduardo, whose mouth opened wide in astonishment.

“Wow!” said Eduardo, so excited he almost fell off of the bed.

Father Tolbert caught him and helped him back up. “Grazie, tante grazie!” He jumped up and gave the priest a hug.

Father Tolbert laughed and closed his eyes. “Prego,” he told Eduardo. “You’re very welcome.”

The priest put his nose to the boy’s hair and took a long whiff, rubbing his cheek to Eduardo’s, then pushed away, his breathing heavy, heart pounding, member hardening. Eduardo, oblivious to anything but his new toys, sat back down tossing the ball up into the air and catching it with the glove.

Father Tolbert sat back down. “Wouldn’t it be nice to do this all the time?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Eduardo, tossing the ball higher. “Could we?”

“Yes,” said the priest. “But it would have to be our little secret.

Grown-ups don’t always understand.”

Eduardo continued to play. “Yes, Father, anything you say.” Father Tolbert sat back and watched Eduardo, enjoying his playfulness as though it were a snort of cocaine or a hit off the crack pipe. The longer he watched, the further he was sucked into the boy’s innocence, and the more excited he became. After a while, he didn’t see Eduardo, he saw Samuel, which only increased his excitement. It took every bit of his will not to throw himself at the boy.
Not now. It’s too
early. Be patient.
A knock at the door slapped Father Tolbert lucid. He sprang from his chair and grabbed the glove and bat.

“We’ll keep these in my closet,” he whispered. “Just a second,” he called out, putting the toys away. He smoothed out his hair, and opened the door. Cardinal Polletto, Father Ortega, Armanno, and another little boy stared back at him. Father Tolbert fell back against a table, knocking the lamp to the ground. “Cardinal Polletto, I didn’t know you were coming,” gushed Father Tolbert. He bent over, effusive, sweating, and kissed the cardinal’s hand.

“Hello,
F
ather. I wanted my visit to be a surprise,” said Cardinal Polletto.

Father Tolbert stepped back, startled. He scanned the faces looking back at him. Nobody smiled. He took a closer look at the little boy. His mouth fell open. He was the spitting image of Samuel too. He looked back at Eduardo, then at Cardinal Polletto.

“Please,” said the cardinal, walking into the room, “may we come inside?”

“Papa,” cried Eduardo. He jumped off the bed, ran to Armanno and jumped into his arms.

Father Tolbert continued to examine the two children who looked like Samuel’s twins. Cardinal Polletto smiled. “Look familiar?” he asked.

“They look like Samuel,” Father Tolbert stammered. “What’s going on?

“All in due time,” answered the cardinal. “But please,” Cardinal Polletto motioned for the two children to come over, “this is Felipe, you’ve already met Eduardo. Children, I’d like you to meet your father, Charles Tolbert.”

C
ardinal Polletto watched Father Tolbert’s eyes dance, as his words sank in deep.

“Their father?” the stunned priest mumbled. “What are you talking about?”

Cardinal Polletto sat down on the bed. “Leave us alone,” he told Armanno and Father Ortega. “And take the children.” The two children stood motionless, their eyes fixed tight on Father Tolbert, their little faces etched with confusion. Armanno took both by the hand, smiling as Father Tolbert continued to sway off kilter, his eyes darting around the room in wonder.

“We’ll wait for you in the car,” said Father Ortega, looking over at Father Tolbert, meanness swelling in his eyes.

“That’ll be fine,” said the cardinal. “I won’t be very long.” Everyone herded out of the room, the children still staring at Father Tolbert, then at each other, mouths open. The door shut, the sound reverberating with a bang off the walls. Cardinal Polletto and Father Tolbert stared at each other, silent.

“Please, have a seat,” the cardinal finally said, motioning the distraught priest toward the bed.

Father Tolbert bumped into a lamp stand on his way over to the bed, and plopped down. Cardinal Polletto gave him the once over.
You fool.

You very necessary fool.
“So, how have you been holding up? Are the urges as strong as ever, or have you managed to keep control?”

“Don’t toy with me,” cried Father Tolbert, shaking. “Why did you tell those children I’m their father?”

Cardinal Polletto smiled. “Because you are,” he said.

“But, I don’t understand. That’s impossible,” said Father Tolbert, confused.

Cardinal Polletto watched Father Tolbert’s confusion grow. “How much of your childhood do you remember?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Father Tolbert had grown up alone, teased and made fun of as a boy, ignored most of his adult life. Cardinal Polletto had tried to place him with good families, but nobody would agree to keep him permanently.

So, the weak man sitting before him had developed into a pedophile.

“I try not to remember,” said Father Tolbert. “As you know, my childhood wasn’t pleasant.”

“I know,” said the cardinal. “After your mother died, I tried to make things normal. Please forgive me for my failure.”

“Oh no,” said Father Tolbert. “You did the best you could, protecting me all these years. It’s more than I deserve. But I still don’t understand about the children.”

Cardinal Polletto sat forward. “Father Tolbert, I’ve waited a long time for the right time to tell you this, but you and I are more than colleagues. You’re my sister’s first and only child. We’re family.” Father Tolbert’s eyes widened. Gasps of air puffed out of his lips.

“All these years,” he stammered, “you told me I had no relatives, no family.”

“It was for the best at the time,” said Cardinal Polletto. “The circumstances surrounding my sister’s death were tenuous at best. I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to keep you safe.”

“But, you’ve lied to me all these years.”

“For the greater good, Father, a good you’ll soon witness for yourself.”

“How could you look at me all these years, knowing what I’ve gone through, what I’ve become, and not say anything?”

“And where do you think you’d be right now? Certainly not here, a priest working at the Vatican,” said Cardinal Polletto.

“I’d have a family! A life, a normal childhood!” screamed Father Tolbert.

“Calm yourself,” the cardinal said, forcefully. “There would’ve been no normal childhood for you.”

Father Tolbert broke down and cried. “I don’t understand.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “What about my father?” Cardinal Polletto stared at Father Tolbert, angry, seething, remembering the betrayal. “Your father’s dead.” Father Tolbert adjusted himself on the bed and leered at the cardinal with meanness and smoldering hate in his eyes. Something Cardinal Polletto had never seen in him.

“Who was he?” demanded Father Tolbert.

“A member of the Church hierarchy. A cardinal here in Rome.” Cardinal Polletto watched Father Tolbert’s surge of strength cave.

“How did he die?”

“Cancer,” the cardinal lied, with little emotion. “While you were an infant.”

Father Tolbert’s head dropped. “Did he know about me?”

“Yes, but he denied you were his. That’s why your mother, my sister, killed herself.” Father Tolbert’s head snapped up. “Yes,” the cardinal continued. “I tried to get him to take responsibility but he refused, so I stepped in and took care of you myself.” Father Tolbert slowly stood, confusion draping his already weathered face. “Why did you say those children are mine?” Cardinal Polletto stroked his chin, and considered just how much he should reveal. He decided to tell it all. “Because eleven years ago, during your back surgery, I gave the order to have your DNA harvested.” Father Tolbert collapsed back down to the bed and sat frozen in a shroud of disbelief. “The Order commissioned scientists from Germany, Japan and South Africa, to engineer the first cloned human being. We believe the process has yielded our leader, the true savior of the world.” Father Tolbert’s eyes watered. “And those children are the result?”

“Yes,” said the cardinal, standing. “They’re triplets.”

“But they’re only two of them.”

As soon as he uttered the words, Cardinal Polletto saw illumination crush down on Father Tolbert. He walked over, sat down next to the priest and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Samuel is the third,” he said.

Father Tolbert sprang to his feet. “No, that can’t be true!”

“Please sit down,” Cardinal Polletto ordered.

Father Tolbert, frothing at the mouth, crashed backwards against a chest-of-drawers, knocking everything on it to the floor.

“Father, calm yourself and sit down,” Cardinal Polletto ordered.

“Now!”

Father Tolbert, eyes glassed over with confusion and horror, looked down, opened the top drawer and removed a revolver. He pointed it at Cardinal Polletto, who stood and slowly backed away. “It’s your fault!” he bellowed. “You did this!”

“Put that gun down,” snapped Cardinal Polletto, pointing his long bony finger at the priest. “Soon, you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted. Don’t fuck it up!”

“I’ve done things! Terrible things!”

“And God has forgiven you. Believe me, you’ll be rewarded for your struggles.”

Father Tolbert’s eyes reddened, his face contorted with rage. He pulled back the hammer on the gun and straightened his aim at the cardinal. “Please forgive me,” he whispered.

The door exploded into splinters as Father Ortega crashed inside.

Father Tolbert closed his eyes and fired.

T
he morning air, crisp with the aroma of seawater, fish and algae, assaulted Samuel’s nostrils and coaxed him out of sleep. His body felt numb and tired. He’d spent most of the night tossing, turning and crying.

Frustrated and despondent, he laid there sprawled out on his cot, staring at the water stained ceiling, wishing he were home.

News that his father had been killed in a car crash left him devastated. The Chicago Sun Times given to him by Sister Bravo said his father was injured beyond recognition, and had to be officially identified using dental records. The article also stated that Samuel’s godfather, Robert Veil, and his Aunt Nikki, who were present at the scene, were unable to ID the drivers or get the license plate numbers of the vehicles.
Beyond recognition
. Samuel closed his eyes and conjured up his father’s image, unable to imagine not being able to recognize a man he loved and admired.

Lethargic, his head spinning, Samuel rolled over and let his arm dangle over the side of the bed.
No one knows I’m here. Nobody knows
I’m in Rome.
The sound of the sea splashing against the castle lulled Samuel him into a soothing twilight sleep, welcome after a fitful night of unrest.

Four hours later, he awakened to find lunch waiting for him on the table, and the newspaper article gone.
Fine with me, I was tired of
looking at it anyway.
He stood, stretched, massaged his thighs, and lumbered over to the chipped gray chair and let his body fall hard down on the aged wood. He sat there and stared at his food for five minutes. A tuna fish sandwich on his mother’s favorite, a croissant, a bowl of mixed fruit, and a welcome can of cola.

Samuel bit into the sandwich, barely able to taste it, and then washed down the mass, now stuck in his throat, with a swallow of cola, the caffeine and sugar giving him a jolt strong enough to slowly entice him out of his funk. With each bite and swig, his thoughts became more lucid, and by the end of the meal he felt more like himself. When Father Clancy came in to retrieve the tray, Samuel asked and received another can of soda. This time he sipped it slowly, savoring the refreshing burn in his throat, relishing the speck of the familiar.

Samuel looked around the room, which seemed to be closing in on him a little more each day. He went over to the window, leaned out, and sucked in air. The small square, his only entrée to the outside world, had lost its soothing effect, and the expansive green lawn of water only teased and prodded his desire to escape. He often imagined himself on a boat floating away, sailing all the way back to Chicago, where everyone would applaud his return. Even his father would be there, alive, the whole episode of his death a cruel joke.

I have to get them to let me outside.
As soon as that thought hit, Samuel knew his past escape attempts would make it near impossible, but he had to try or lose his mind. He knocked on the door for several minutes. Nobody answered. He knocked again, this time harder.

Father Clancy snatched the door open. “Yes.”

“I’d like to speak with Sister Bravo, please,” said Samuel, mustering his best sad, broken expression.

“What do you want? I’ll tell her.”

Samuel looked up, his eyes pleading. “It would be best if I spoke with her directly,” he continued, careful not to sound defiant or insulting.

Father Clancy’s eyes narrowed. He glared at Samuel sideways, then slammed the door. For thirty minutes, Samuel dangled outside and gazed at his small portrait of the sea, then abruptly turned back inside when he heard approaching steps. A set of hard soled shoes stopped at the door.

Sister Bravo stepped inside.

“You wanted to see me. Well, I’m here. What is it?” she asked.

Samuel ambled over, head down, and stopped just short of the nun.

“I, I’m, I need some air,” he mumbled, not looking up.

“So, look out the window.”

“I have been, but I need to get out and walk around.”

“Not a chance,” said Sister Bravo, laughing. “You’ll just try and run away again.”

Although escape was the first thing on Samuel’s mind, tired and claustrophobic, he also wanted out of the damp, depressing cell, to walk around with the sun on his face. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I just want to go outside, that’s all. Please, I feel like I’m going crazy.”