“It’s true. And they will be stopped. One way or another.”
Bishop McGuiness sat straighter in his seat. She knew he recognized her words as a threat. “You have names?” he asked.
“Father Quinn leads the Brethren—the group’s name. I know Father Murray is a member too. You can start with them.”
Bishop McGuiness ran his hand down his face. He sighed, and Maria’s heart beat rapidly as she awaited what he would say. The bishop nodded his head. “I’ll look into this.”
Maria exhaled a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
“You look like you need food,” Bishop McGuiness said and rang a bell under his desk. The woman who’d opened the door appeared in the office. “Margaret, see that the sister gets some food.”
Maria smiled, but then asked, “Could I visit your chapel first? It’s . . .” She forced a cordial smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in chapel.”
Bishop McGuiness regarded her curiously, but he nodded. Maria got to her feet and went to follow Margaret. When she glanced back at the bishop, his head was tipped back, and he sighed. He appeared to be in great distress. Her heart lit with hope. He had been told. He could put an end to the shameful abuse. Good could now be done.
Maria followed Margaret down a long hallway, and they came to a stop at the end. “The chapel,” Margaret said. “When you’re done, the kitchen is the third door on the left back that way.” She pointed down another hallway. “There’ll be food waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” Maria pushed the door open and stepped inside the chapel. The familiar and comforting smell of wood seeped into her senses and calmed her nerves.
Maria walked down the short aisle, past three sets of pews, and stopped at the altar. She dropped to her knees and stared up at Jesus on the cross above her. She exhaled a long breath. “My savior, I hope you understand why I have done what I have. I hope you understand that I couldn’t let him be hurt anymore.” Maria smiled. “I know you do. I know it’s what you would have done. You were the most compassionate man to have ever lived.” Maria closed her eyes and laid her hand over her heart. “And like you, I have chosen a difficult path.” She laughed a mirthless laugh. “Or, I believe you chose it for me.” Maria opened her eyes and looked Mary’s statue. “He deserves forgiveness for what he has done. They all do,” she said, picturing each of the Fallen’s haunted eyes. Gabriel most of all, the good man broken by the burden of his duty to his brothers. “Men are sinning and doing evil acts in your name. Using their power and positions to hurt young boys.” She sighed. “I have broken my vows. I have abandoned my vow of chastity. But I cannot feel regret.” Maria tried to feel guilt, feel shame at what she had done. But none came. “Taking Raphael into my body was my ministry. Caring for the sinner was my prayer.” Maria’s body filled with warmth and love, such strong, passionate love. “And loving him . . . loving him was both his and my salvation.”
“Whore.”
Maria froze as she heard the angry slight spat from behind her. She jumped to her feet and spun around. Father Murray was in the center of the aisle. There was darkness in his eyes that seemed to shine like the North Star. His brown hair was wet. It was early; Maria assumed he had just come from the shower.
Father Murray’s eyes ran over her clothes. His jaw clenched. “We believed you dead.” He stepped closer to Maria. Maria tried to back away, but there was nowhere for her to go. Fear ignited in her stomach and began to disperse through her limbs. “When he took you, when you never returned, we all assumed he had finally gotten his greatest wish.” He gestured to her long hair.
Gabriel was right. They knew about Raphael’s obsession with long hair.
Maria’s hands shook at her sides, but she tried in earnest to keep calm. “I know what you did.” She moved to a pew, putting the wooden seat between him and her. “I know about the Brethren. I know what you do to young boys.” Maria’s gaze became steel as she said, “I know what you did to Raphael. I know how you tortured him. How you abused him.” Maria let her anger take hold. She lifted her chin. “How you raped him over and over, trying to make him repent, to bring him to heel, to bend him to your will.” Father Murray’s face grew red, and he practically vibrated with hate, with fury, and, if the look in his eyes spoke the truth, with the wish for Maria’s slow death.