The Angel (The Original Sinners 2)

“Mister Dimir,” the butler said in his perfectly snooty accent. “The mistress requires your presence.”

Michael’s heart leapt in his chest. Thirteen months since he’d been with Nora. Thirteen months since he’d been with anybody. And now, right now, the one and only Nora Sutherlin had summoned him.

He turned to Griffin, who flashed him such a wicked grin that Michael, not even standing, felt his knees buckle.

“Go on, Mick. It’s showtime.”

11

Once she arrived at Sacred Heart, Suzanne tried to figure out what the hell she was doing there. Her brief encounter with Father Stearns had only stoked her fascination with the man. As a reporter she had a highly sensitive internal bullshit meter. Father Stearns said he could spot a lapsed Catholic at a thousand yards. Maybe so. But she could tell the truth from a lie just by watching someone’s eyes.

I haven’t performed an exorcism in  weeks.

Bullshit.

My office is always open, Father Stearns had said with far more sincerity.

Truth.

After dark on a Saturday night, Suzanne doubted anyone, including Father Stearns, would still be at Sacred Heart. Maybe she’d peek into his office and see if she couldn’t get a little insight into the target of her investigation. She parked on the street about fifty yards from the church. As she walked toward the side entrance she studied her surroundings. A lot of New York commuters lived in Connecticut towns like this one—they were safer, cleaner and had better schools. Wakefield seemed like a charming little suburb, the perfect place to raise a family. Small but well-appointed houses, orderly streets, historic shops and no real crime of any kind…such a perfect little town. Too perfect, Suzanne decided.

Suzanne didn’t trust perfect. Adam had been perfect—perfectly happy, perfectly content, perfect life—until he’d committed suicide.

Closing her eyes, she pictured Adam’s face, something she tried very hard never to do. They looked alike, really. Everyone always said that. But apart from their shared dark brown eyes, red-blond hair and oval faces, they had almost nothing in common. She was the skeptic, the cynic, the hot-tempered pistol in the family. Adam was the angel, her parents’ perfect firstborn. Sweet, kind, even-tempered and so devout she didn’t even tell him when she stopped believing in God, knowing how much it would break his heart. And all that time he had this horrible thing inside him that someone else put there…a darkness, a contamination, as the note he’d left behind called it. God, the note.

I’m unclean, contaminated. I can’t face  taking one more shower knowing that no matter how long I stay under the hot  water, I’ll still be dirty when I get out.

Suzanne forced the memories away. For Adam she would do this…for Adam and Michael Dimir and any other kid who’d been hurt by the Church.

She slipped through the side door into Sacred Heart and made her way past small classrooms. Even in the low light she could read the notices on the bulletin board:

Choir practice—7:00 p.m. on Tuesdays—Don’t  forget your sheet music, Gina.

Suzanne laughed a little through her burning tears. Poor Gina.

The Knights of Columbus wants you! Email  [email protected] for more information.

Her dad had been a Knight of Columbus. Such an imposing name for a group of usually overweight fathers who didn’t do much more than have charity barbecue cook-offs.

All couples planning to marry must meet  with Father Stearns at least six months prior to their wedding. Make an  appointment with Diane.

A celibate priest doing marriage counseling? Suzanne shook her head. What on earth would a Catholic priest know about sex or marriage or romantic relationships of any kind?

At the end of the hallway Suzanne found a closed door with an engraved nameplate on it. Father Marcus Stearns SJ, it read. SJ? She’d seen those initials before but couldn’t quite remember what they stood for. Pulling her notebook out of her bag, she jotted them down. With almost shaking fingers, Suzanne reached out for the door handle. It turned. So he had been telling the truth. His office really was always open.

For safety’s sake she left the lights off. From her bag she took out a small flashlight and shined it around the office. Immediately she gleaned Father Stearns was a neat freak. Nothing appeared out of place. Not a stray book or a single sheet of paper. A beautiful office really, Suzanne decided. The big rose window must cast glorious red-and-pink light into the room on sunny days. The ornately carved desk looked like old oak to her—probably weighed as much as Patrick’s Saab. The books on the shelves were lined up with military precision. She studied the titles and discovered she could read very few of them. How many languages could Father Stearns read? It appeared that in addition to the usual Biblical languages—Hebrew, Greek and Latin—Father Stearns had books in French, Spanish, Italian…and a lot of books that seemed to be in a Scandinavian language. She didn’t know two words of Swedish, Danish or Dutch but she could recognize the distinct characters—the a with a little loop on the top or the o with a slash through it. Suzanne picked up what appeared to be the oldest book on the shelf. From the shape and size of its worn leather cover, Suzanne guessed it to be a Bible. She opened it and saw an inscription on the front pages written in a woman’s elegant hand.

Min Søren, min søn er nu en far. Jeg er så  stolt. Jeg elsker dig altid. Din mor.

The only word in the inscription Suzanne recognized was the name Søren. She’d taken a few philosophy classes in college and learned of Søren Kierkegaard, the Danish philosopher and theologian. But if she remembered correctly, Kierkegaard wasn’t Catholic. She pulled out her notebook again and carefully copied down the inscription inside the Bible. In addition she made a note to look up Søren Kierkegaard. Why would Father Stearns have a Bible inscribed to someone named Søren? A relative maybe? she wondered. He certainly looked as though he had Scandinavian blood. But her research had indicated he had an English father and a New England WASP mother. Another mystery.