Raphael (Deadly Virtues 1)

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” Father Murray said to Raphael, triumph flooding his face. “It’s the hair.”

Father Murray quickly closed the door and raced to Father Quinn’s office. He burst inside just as Father Quinn hung up the phone.

“Father Murray, I told you to wait in the car,” the high priest snapped.

“I know how we get him,” Father Murray said breathlessly. “I know how we capture Raphael.” Father Murray smiled, his body radiating pure joy. “And I know it will absolutely not fail. He’ll be ours. He’ll finally be ours.”

Chapter Three

The loud clang of the bell broke through Maria’s sleep. Hymns sung by the sisters walking the hallways drifted under the gap at the bottom of the door. It was still dark outside, the Massachusetts winter still holding tightly on to its final chilly breaths. Maria sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She blinked into the dark and reached over to switch on her lamp. The light bathed the room in a warm glow. Maria smiled as she heard the birds beginning to sing outside the curtain-less window. The owl that nested in the nearest tree surrendered his night song to the early-rising jays’ serenade.

Maria kneeled on the cold wooden floor and clasped her hands in prayer. Closing her eyes, she whispered into the silent room. When she was done, she got to her feet, moved to her closet, and dressed in fresh robes. Finally, she retrieved her headdress. She laid the white garment on the edge of the bed and sat down at her desk. A small mirror was the only thing on the desk. That and her comb. Maria glanced at her reflection as she ran the comb down her thick strands. As with every morning, without fail, she didn’t see the reflection of now, but that of years ago. Of that girl. The one who still cowered in a corner of her soul. The girl she couldn’t reach to heal. To soothe or convince that all would be okay.

After all the knots were freed, Maria brought her long hair into a ponytail, then wound it into a low bun at the base of her neck. Pins held it in place. With a deep breath, meeting her own blue eyes in the mirror, Maria placed her headdress over her head and dusted out any stray creases that might have crept onto her black robes.

As Maria walked to the door, a sense of duty and peace washed over her. Convent life had given her a freedom she’d believed she would never find. The rigid schedule and deep, silent prayers were a balm to her soul, a Band-Aid to her ever-bleeding heart.

The second Maria set foot in the hallway, she cast her eyes down and clasped her hands, tucking them into the sleeves of her robe. Her feet led the way to the refectory for breakfast. Maria focused on the stone floor beneath her. Soon she would pledge her final vows to the church, committing herself to a life of sacrifice and servitude. A life loving God and thanking Him for saving her, for singling her out of the many who had perished before her.

Maria recalled her first vows. She relived the sense of happiness and joy she’d felt rain over her body and mind as she donned the white dress, as she kneeled before Father Quinn and took her first step in becoming a dedicated bride of Christ. Something happened to her on that day. Something pulled at her heart. Her gut. Something that told her she was about to embark on the journey that would explain why she had been spared. God was warning her that her reason for surviving was about to be revealed. And she was ready to receive the message and give all of herself to the task. Mind, body, and soul if needs must.

Breakfast passed quickly. Today was a day of reflection and chores. Father Quinn’s lessons would recommence the following day. A heavy mist hung in the air, making it difficult for the rising sun to sneak through. As Maria stepped outside to tend the garden, the morning dew kissed her face. This, Maria thought. This is all the evidence I need to know You exist.

Maria thought upon the people in the world who took every new sunrise for granted. They simply didn’t understand how fleeting life could be. They didn’t know the gift they were awarded every day by simply opening their eyes and seeing the sky. Breathing in the fresh air, igniting life in their lungs.

But Maria did. And she’d vowed years ago to never take the simple things for granted again.

A hand pressed on her shoulder. Maria spun, caught off guard. Mother Superior’s face was before her. “I’m sorry, Reverend Mother,” Maria whispered, trying to calm her racing heart.