Father McCallum paced in his room. It’s the CDF, he thought. The CDF is monitoring my phone calls. Now they think I’ve betrayed them. I was never going to tell Thomas anything. I just needed to talk to someone.
He thought about calling Cardinal Espinosa to explain or apologize, but he knew it was too late.
So he prayed. He asked for guidance. He asked for forgiveness. He asked for hope.
Evelyn and Fred would be home soon from grocery shopping. Maybe he should go out, take a walk. Something. He didn’t want to stay in his room.
He nodded. A walk would clear his head. He went to the bathroom, turned the tap on and leaned heavily on the counter while he let the water run. Sometimes it took a while for the old plumbing to push hot water up to the second floor.
Did I really betray the church? Is it my own pride and vanity that make me feel so upset?
“Hello, Father McCallum,” a voice said.
The old priest turned and saw a large, rough-looking man with an old-fashioned eye patch standing in the doorway. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“Come on out. Let’s have a chat.” The man spoke casually, as though they were greeting each other on the street. Old friends.
“Get out. Get out of here right now.”
“Grandpa,” scolded Jeremy from behind his brother. “That’s no way to talk to us. We’re all part of the same big, happy family.” He moved so Father McCallum could see him. He had the same leering grin as the one-eyed man.
“Let’s just go have a seat,” Maury said, and turned to look across the hall. “This your bedroom over here? Mind if we sit in there?”
Father McCallum was too shocked to respond. Who were these men?
As if in answer to his question, Jeremy said, “Cardinal Espinosa sent us. You don’t have to freak out.”
“The cardinal?”
“Yep,” Maury said. “Came here directly. On orders right from the horse’s mouth.”
“For what?” Father McCallum asked. The situation still felt wrong and dangerous.
“We’re here to help on the whole book thing. You know, the Voynich manuscript,” Jeremy said. Both men were in the bedroom now. Jeremy waved for the priest to follow, then Maury motioned him to sit on the bed. “We’re going to have a chat with you and then go visit the little retard kid.”
“Matthew?” Father McCallum said with concern.
“So who else have you talked to about the Voynich?” Maury asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s a tough secret to sit on all these years,” Jeremy offered. “Who else have you told?”
Father McCallum was aware of a strong smell, a sickly, sour odor like rotting food, but with a hint of perfume, as if someone was trying to mask it. “I didn’t tell anyone. I wasn’t even going to tell the archbishop.”
“The archbishop, eh?” Maury said and raised an eyebrow. “What’d you tell him?”
“Nothing. Just that things were coming to a head.”
“You gave the archbishop head?” Jeremy blurted out and then laughed.
Maury glared at him then turned to the priest. “Did you write down your thoughts about the Voynich anywhere? Do you keep a diary?”
“Just so you know,” Maury said. “We’re going to search this place. We’re going to rip it apart, so you might as well tell us if we’re going to find something. It’ll make things much easier.”
“I never wrote anything down. I never told anyone why I was in New Haven. I’ve been loyal.”
Maury and Jeremy stared at the priest. Then, “Why don’t you get started,” Maury said to Jeremy.
Jeremy turned to the dresser, pulled a drawer out, and overturned it. He kicked at the contents.
“Hey! That’s not necessary.” Father McCallum noticed that the younger man was missing fingers on both hands. He turned to the one-eyed man.
“Who did you say you were?” Father McCallum asked.
“We didn’t say.”
“Tell him,” Jeremy said over his shoulder as he pulled the dresser apart.
“Tell me what?” the priest asked. Fear rose in his throat like bile.
Maury slowly moved a hand up to his eye patch and lifted it to reveal the ruined eye socket. “We’re the bastard children of the angels,” he said. “The forsaken. The Nephilim. We’re the reason you’ve been guarding that book all these years. It’s our secrets that are recorded there.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
Maury shrugged.
“Nothing in this dresser,” Jeremy announced, and kicked the contents of the last drawer across the room. “You wear some really fucked-up underwear.”
Maury nodded then addressed the priest again. “Roll your sleeve up,” Maury ordered.
“Why?”
“Just do it, old man,” Jeremy said, and stood next to his brother.
“No.” The priest stood.
The younger man lunged, and Father McCallum raised his arms defensively. As they struggled, a voice called from downstairs. “Ronnie, that you?”
Evelyn and Fred. “Get out!” Father McCallum screamed. “Call the police!”
“Shut him up,” Maury barked and took a step toward the bedroom door.
“Get —” McCallum began, then Jeremy hit him hard right on the nose. The priest stumbled. As he fell, the back of his head slammed against the corner of the bedside table with a sickening crack.
“Ronnie?” a voice called from downstairs.
Jeremy crouched beside the fallen man and touched his neck. “Nothing.”
“Fuck!” Maury announced. “Let’s go. We have to take care of the lady and her husband. We can search in here later.”
They ran down the stairs.