Page 15 of The Reaper

I nodded. “Keep your eyes on the prize.”

“That’s right. I’m sorry that happened, but I believe in you. I always have.” He released me from his embrace and placed my face between his palms, urging me to look him in the eyes. “I’m just one call away, brother.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you.”

“I have to go.” He kissed the top of my head before closing the short distance between me and the door.

I nodded and watched him exit the cathedral. You’re born to do this. Andrew’s words replayed in my head moments after he was gone. “I hope you’re right.” How could I forget the past when there was always something to remind me of it?

***

Three hours and ten failed login attempts later, I’d given up. I leaned back in the swivel chair, looking up at the ceiling. I rubbed my eyes; my eyelids felt like they were made of fine grains of sand, dry from staring at my computer screen for most of the day. Memories of the morning flooded my brain. I could’ve handled the situation with the two drunk guys mugging me myself. I was just buying time—until the man in black interrupted with his savage skills. How did he even know I was there? I thought he might have been the same man creeping around the house this morning, but the guy in the shadows was leaner and wore a cap, while the hooded guy was muscular and tall.

I stretched my arms over my head, yawning. After waking up in the manner I did and the stress of my encounter, I was beat. Maybe a shower would perk up my spent body and recharge my fried mind.

I ignored the grumbling of my stomach and went straight to my ensuite bathroom. I turned the shower to hot, stripping until the water warmed up to my liking. I headed out to the hamper in my closet to deposit my dirty clothes and paused. It appeared to be missing a shirt, the one I had worn the other day. I counted the number of garments in the basket and started to question my wits. “I need to calm down,” I murmured, closing the closet door. I pulled my robe from the back of the sofa on my way back to the bathroom.

The steam of the spray had already fogged up the room, and I stood in front of the round mirror, wiping the moisture from it. I’m just tired, I told myself, staring at my reflection. It had been a stressful few days, but everything would be okay. While others were convinced I was the best priest for this mission, it wasn’t in my nature to believe it. Especially after two questionable results. I’d been close both times, but close didn’t count—not in my world. That was the painful truth. There had to be a reason for my presence back here. My superior needed to tell me now.

***

A Week Ago

The unnatural silence of the hallway leading to the room where an archbishop from the Vatican was waiting to meet with me was eerie, adding dread to the outcome of this impromptu ‘visit.’ Was it too late to turn around? I wished Andrew was here to guide me.

This was the second time I’d had the misfortune of being at the receiving end of a ‘visit,’ but the way one of the red-robed deacons urged me to keep walking when I stopped to look back meant the choice wasn’t entirely up to me, if I had a choice at all. So I nodded and kept my pace. My hands were shaking and my palms were sweating.

“Close the door behind you,” Archbishop Lloyd said when I entered his office. I was relieved to see it was him. It felt like a lifeline had been thrown at me knowing he would be the one to deliver my verdict. Archbishop Llyod was a family friend. He knew my uncles very well, and he was my brother Andrew’s mentor.

“It’s you.” A sigh of relief escaped my mouth as I reached behind me to close the door.

“Yes, Father Saint James. How long has it been since the last time I saw you?” he asked, motioning to the chair. The regalia of rings on his hands denoted his rank within the church.

“It would be nine years,” I said, and occupied the seat in front of his ornate desk. “On my twenty-first birthday.”

“That’s right. I forget how young you are.” He flipped the folder stamped with the gold Vatican insignia in front of him, revealing documents with the word CLASSIFIED watermarked all over them. “I asked them if I could deliver the news to you,” he said, as though he was reading my mind. “And they agreed. Considering …”

Considering his connection with my family. I remained quiet, anxious to hear what was coming next. Although I’d expected his visit, it didn’t make what he had to say easier to swallow.

“I owe that to your uncles. God bless their souls.” He signed the cross before continuing. “And your brother, Andrew.”

“Have you heard from him?” I asked. Hearing his name threatened to tear my heart apart. He had been missing for months, during his stay in Texas. No one had heard from him, and I refused to believe anything but that he was alive. He was all I had.

“I haven’t, son.” He shook his head. “Upon negotiating with our connection at the Vatican …” He paused before pulling my files from the folder. “They are willing to put everything that happened behind.” He produced a lighter from his desk drawer and flicked it to life, catching the edge of the papers on fire.

My eyes bounced between the Archbishop and the burning papers. “Everything?” I asked in disbelief.

“Everything.” A knowing look graced his face, and I knew a condition would soon follow. This was the Church, after all. Nothing was given without something in return.

“What do I have to do to redeem myself?” I asked, hopeful at the prospect of a third chance.

“It’s time for you to go back home, Father Saint James.” He tossed the blazing pile into the metal bin, where they continued to smolder until all that was left was singed sheets and embers. “This mission is your redemption. Your chance to prove that you are one of us. Can you do that?”

“Just tell me what I need to do and I will do it,” I said.

“That’s the spirit.” He leaned back, straightening his embellished robe. “Everything is set for your transfer. You’re leaving in two days.” His lips pulled back into an ominous smile. I trusted that he wasn’t planning anything sinister when it came to me, but he still made me uneasy. But if Andrew trusted him, I should too.

“You want me to move from Albuquerque to Boston in two days?” Where would I live? What about my belongings?

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