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DOMINIC TURNED THE piece of the page torn from the telephone book over in his hands, twisting it between his fingers, as if he were a magician on a Vegas stage and could make his name disappear from the paper in puff of smoke.
It did not.
A feeling that was at first odd was now gnawing at him and becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. He was beginning to think that all he had experienced in the last day was not just happenstance, and was not just an unfortunate event that had unfolded upon an innocent person. But was something more. Something planned.
None of it made sense.
The thought that there was more to the events of the last hours caused his stomach to lurch and the bile started to rise to his esophagus. He had to choke back the fear that threatened to spill out.
Dominic stood upon the Bramante’s steps, torn paper in hand, and thought back to the circumstances of the day. He was growing surer by the minute that the old man who had died in his apartment had sought him out. He was certain that the old man knew who he was and what he was and had deliberately sought him out. That alone didn’t justify the feelings that were growing and beginning to crawl up his spine. Anyone could have known that he was a priest. Many people did. It was no secret. And the fact that he was on sabbatical was also no secret. Perhaps the old man was one of his congregants or maybe he saw him at mass. After all, even now he went to mass several times a week and met up with the priest of the local parish. And he made regular trips to Saint Peter’s, where he spent hours in contemplation. He wasn’t hiding anything from anyone.
Except Tonita.
He pushed the guilt laden thought away and turned back to the events of the day.
When he jumped into the back seat of the Mercedes, he was calm, confident that he was being called to the Vatican to face a barrage of questions regarding the dead man in his apartment. He could almost hear the first question lobbed at him; How is it that an old man, stumbles in the apartment of a priest, dies there, and you claim not to know him? There have been far too many scandals in the church recently and the Vatican was being very proactive in an attempt to stomp out any scandal before the press got a hold of it.
Now, he wasn’t sure if he was just, seeing things that weren’t there, making things up, putting things together that didn’t really go together, or if all wasn’t just as it should be. Typical of his current state of indecision, he thought, and then reconsidered. He was sure. All was not as it should be.
Dominic casually glanced around the street. Once he was sure—well, as sure as he could be—that he wasn’t being watched, he climbed up Bramante’s stairway. He looked back toward the Fountain of the Gallery. No one waited there for him. He slowed his pace, taking each step carefully, expecting someone at any moment to approach him from atop the stairs. He took several steps quickly, thinking that his random pace would throw off anyone watching. He paused, looked behind him, and then up to the street at the top of the stairway.
Again no one.
At the top of the stone stairway, he turned left and continued heading in the direction of the Pio—Clementine Museum. His heart was beating harder than he would have expected from a short walk up a stairway. But then, it wasn’t the walking that caused his heart to beat ever faster. He pushed the hair off his face and bit on the inside of his lip.
Fuck trying to stop bad habits now.
He could see that there were people milling around the entrance to the Vatican Museums. To the right and beyond were the gate and the walls of the Vatican. Outside lay the city of Rome proper. He continued his casual walk, even stopping to inspect a bit of the Vatican architecture. He almost laughed at himself and the absurdity of it all. He wasn’t fooling anyone, but maybe himself.
“Padre,” A deep voice called out. “Padre, attesa.”
Dominic’s heart skipped a beat and his knees started to buckle. He caught himself by grabbing onto the building and the piece of cold stone architecture that he was just inspecting.
He wanted to turn around to face the man and to discover why someone was calling out to him. To attempt to understand. Instead, a primal fear response kicked in, and without a second thought, just seconds later, Dominic was turning the corner, charging through the Vatican Museum gate and out onto the streets of Rome.
He didn’t look back. He didn’t know where he was going. He just ran. His only thought was that of self-preservation.