“I think you’re right about the boy,” Benicio said. He and Father McCallum were in the rental car, which was still parked outside Matthew Younger’s house.
Father McCallum’s pulse quickened. “Really?”
“There’s something different about Matthew. He traced the sign of the Cross on the wall. He said, ‘The fathers have returned from exile. The forsaken must tell the story.’”
“What does that mean?”
Benicio put his hands on the steering wheel. “Let’s get out of here and go somewhere we can talk.”
Father McCallum agreed.
Benicio started the car and pulled away from the curb, then drove them to the highway and headed toward New Haven. Neither man spoke until Father McCallum pointed out a billboard advertising the International House of Pancakes.
“That’ll do,” Benicio agreed. He took the next exit, found the restaurant, and parked. They went in and sat at a booth.
A friendly waitress in a tight brown apron appeared next to them with a pot of coffee. “You boys need some joe?” she asked.
McCallum nodded. “Thank you.”
Benicio pushed his mug toward her.
She poured the coffee, said, “I’ll give you boys a couple of minutes,” and was gone.
Father McCallum finally asked, “Why was Matthew screaming?”
Benicio sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know. I had pretty much decided I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him and was leaving. Without even thinking, I put a hand on his back as I said goodbye. That was it. He started screaming as soon as I touched him, and he wouldn’t stop.”
“You just rested your hand on his back?”
“Yep. I didn’t startle him or anything. Just gently placed it there and he started up.”
McCallum looked concerned.
“It isn’t an uncommon reaction for autism,” Benicio explained. “Frequently, people with autism are extremely sensitive about physical touch. They just can’t bear it.”
“And so they scream like that? The kid sounded possessed.”
“I know. It freaked me out, too. I hardly ever worked with kids when I did my doctorate, so I’d never seen anything like that before. I can’t even say if that’s a typical autistic reaction.”
“But the boy talked to you before he started screaming?”
“Si. He said the fathers have returned from exile and the forsaken must tell the story.”
“And the forsaken are probably the Nephilim?”
“Well, that’s one interpretation,” Benicio agreed. “ Nephilim literally means the ones forsaken by God.”
“What will you do now?”
Benicio was solemn. “I need to report back. I’ll give my impressions to the church and see what they want me to do. I’ll have to tell them about the Voynich being stolen. I don’t know what impact that will have. I was thinking I’d take the boy to the Beinecke to read it, but I can’t do that now.”
“There’s other copies of the book.”
Benicio frowned. “You have a copy?”
“No, no, no,” McCallum said. “I mean that the entire manuscript has been scanned, and there are copies of all the research that’s been done over the years.”
“That’s great!” Benicio exclaimed. “Where can we get them?”
“Anywhere. Every single page of the Voynich is on the Internet.” But suddenly he frowned.
“What is it?” Benicio asked. “I’m not sure the copies are any good. I asked the cardinal why I had to watch the Voynich manuscript when all the pages were available online, and he said only the original can be read. The copies are useless.”
“What? Why?”
“He just said that eyes will look directly on the manuscript and read. I never asked for more of an explanation.”
“I know there is a legend or myth about the Nephilim that they can only read the language written by the hand of another Nephilim. Obviously, a copy isn’t written directly by a descendent.”
“Perhaps that is it,” Father McCallum said.
The waitress slid up next to their table. “Orders, guys?”
They both scooped up plastic menus. Benicio ordered an egg and ham crepe wrap and McCallum ordered pancakes. She thanked them, topped up their coffee, and spun away.
“Have you ever investigated anything like this before?” Father McCallum asked.
Benicio shook his head. “Nope. This one is completely out there.”
“Could this boy really be Nephilim?”
“I don’t even want to speculate. Not yet.”
“Maybe he can read the manuscript because he’s autistic.”
“I don’t really see how — it doesn’t make sense that a child would not develop speech but then be able to talk specifically about the Voynich.”
“Because if he can’t talk, he can’t talk,” Father McCallum said.
“Right. Even in the cases of savants I don’t think this fits.”
“That’s when the child has a real talent for something.”
“Si, like when an autistic child has incredible math skills or can play the piano like a virtuoso.”
Both men were silent for a moment. Then the old priest asked, “Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Clinical psychology. You did your doctorate and then entered the church, where you haven’t exactly practiced as a psychologist.”
“Well,” Benicio said slowly, “That’s true, but I use my training every day. I investigate issues around the world. When I meet new people I have to establish rapport quickly and efficiently. I often have to help people through a crisis just to ask them what’s wrong. I use a lot of psychology without actually hanging up a shingle that says I’m a psychologist.”
“I can see that. I never meant to imply you don’t use your training. I was just curious whether you ever regret the path you took. You must have given up a lot to serve the faith.”
“You get a lot back though,” Benicio said. “You probably know that more than I. How do you manage being so isolated out here? You aren’t working in a church at all.”
Father McCallum’s face lit up. “I couldn’t be happier. I love the library and I love my job there. And I know I’m serving a higher purpose. I know there is a great secret hidden in the pages of that book, and we’re finally so close to it. I can’t believe my good fortune. This has been a mystery for hundreds of years and I may be here when it’s finally solved. I couldn’t be happier.”
The food arrived and they began to eat. Benicio knew Father McCallum wanted to talk about the Voynich, to speculate about the mysteries it held and the Vatican’s role, but he was too tired to listen. The effort of the last few days was rapidly catching up with him. He also found himself thinking about grad school. It had been a great experience: the work, the classmates, and the practical experiences.
When he’d joined the church he’d left behind more than a career. His calling also meant leaving his girlfriend. Seeing Father McCallum growing old chasing the Vatican’s mystery gave Benicio a glimpse of his own future: he would grow old alone. He would have no one.
He missed Jenna.
“What are you thinking about?” Father McCallum asked.
“Nothing,” Benicio said, shaking his head. “Just wondering what’s going to happen next.”