Page 3 of His Solace

“Wh-what are you talking about?” His façade easily shatters, but I’d like to play with him some more.

Glancing back at him over my shoulder as I follow the same path as the nun. “That was not the church screaming out the pain of its confessions. That was a woman afraid, terrified.” I watch him closely.

When his eyes drift to a door down the hall, that’s where I head. “There are no women afraid in my church. We are open to all and provide love and faith to those who need it.”

“That so,” I mutter as we approach the door, and I notice the nun and man in an office across the hall from it. Turning the doorknob of the one the priest glanced at, I find it locked. “Open it,” I demand.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot,” he replies stubbornly.

“Can’t, or won’t?” I challenge.

“Both.” His chin raises in challenge.

Facing the priest fully, I allow my gaze to travel up and down his body before a sadistic grin spreads my lips. “Perhaps I should introduce myself properly.” Cassio’s eyes seek out the nun. “I’m Pace Cardarelli. Natale Morello sent me.”

His face pales so quickly, I think he’s going to pass out. “Morello,” he repeats in a hushed tone as I nod. “Wh-wh-what does he want?”

“Morello?” The person in the office comes forward. “I know Carlo; we’re old friends. How is he?”

I don’t need to look at the man to know he’s no friend of the Morellos. Anyone who is, wouldn’t be asking about them, and they wouldn’t be admitting to knowing them in a place like this. “Ask him yourself…” I leave the sentence hanging.

Clearing his throat, I feel his eyes on me. “Albert Liani.”

“Albert Liani.” I repeat his name and commit it to memory for future use. I have the feeling I’ll be seeing this guy again. “What are you doing here, Albert?”

“Making a donation.” His grin is slick, just like his greasy hair.

“I’ll be back, Father Cassio. I suggest you be here when I do.” Walking away with that scream still haunting my ears, I stroll casually to my motorcycle sitting on the street outside.

I fully intend to return. But not right away. I want them to grow comfortable in the assumption that I’ve left and forgotten about them. Only then will I figure out what I missed today, because my presence won’t be felt the same way it was now.

CHAPTER2

Pace

SEVERAL DAYS LATER.

She looks pretty today. Real fucking pretty.

Her long, dark hair is left wild with natural waves and sprigs of baby’s breath sprinkled throughout. Instead of the potato sack she ordinarily wears when she’s sneaking in and out of the church to hide from the wicked nun who drags her around by the hair or arm, she’s wearing a stark white dress. It almost appears like a wedding dress, but I think it’s for a baptism. The style is similar to what Domino had for his own child on special day.

She’s clean, too. No dirt smudges on her hands and face. Her feet aren’t black either.

From the frantic way she’s searching outside, holding onto the gates to enter the courtyard, I watch her from my spot across the street, hidden in the trees. Even though the gates are unlocked, she doesn’t open them, doesn’t try to flee. She’s stuck in place by an emotion more terrifying than fear.

Noticing the nun I nearly mistook for a man because of her size and stature come from around the side of the house, the girl freezes, trapped in a state of panic for every passerby to see, but they do nothing. As the nun leads her inside with a forceful hand on the girl’s back, I grow suspicious. This isn’t simply a case of them needing to corral the young woman into doing what they want. Something is happening.

Pulling the sleeves of my Henley up my arms, I step out of the trees and onto the sidewalk. Busy traffic prevents me from crossing the street immediately, so when I hear the first scream, I dart out, ignoring the honking horns, screeching breaks, and cursing drivers as I jump the fence and race up the stairs to enter the church.

The sight before me turns my blood cold in ways I’ve never experienced. Nothing has ever affected me the way this girl, who is on her knees, nude from the waist up, belt marks across her back, wrists secured by a nun on either side holding her arms wide, does. The priest is standing in front of the altar, muttering something in Latin that I doubt even exists anymore as the man from the other day lashes her back with a leather belt.

My first instinct is to shoot every single one of them between the eyes. Their deaths would be swift and painless. My second is to see how this plays out before I decide to be executioner. As another scream tears through the vaulted ceilings and echoes around the corridors, I realize that it was her I heard the other day. Streaks of blood now sully her once white dress, and my eyes are riveted as they follow the drops to the ground, staining the wood between her legs.

They’re all so focused on hurting the girl that none of them see or hear my approach until the man lifts his arm to lash her again, and instead, I catch the strap, allowing it to wrap around my arm as I grip it and yank it from his grasp. He falls at my feet as I stand over him. Shock renders the room silent, aside from the girl weeping. Ignoring the sting of impact from the leather snaked up my forearm, I glance from one person to the next.

“Father Cassio, care to explain what’s going on.” It’s an order not a question. The bigger nun moves towards the girl, presumably to grab her up and hide her away again. “Don’t do that.” My calm tone belies my rage. Her movement stops mid-step, and I see her look to Cassio for direction. “Father…” I prompt.

“The devil is inside her.” He sneers down at the innocent little lamb shaking in her binds with her head bent.

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