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THERE WAS NOT THE SLIGHTEST hint of hesitation in the Novice’s actions as he pushed the door to Dominic’s apartment open, slamming it against the old interior stucco wall. The doorknob smashed a hole into the wall, splattering the crumbling mortar, sending chunks and pieces of it into the air and onto the floor. He did not care if anyone heard him. He was not concerned with stealth. His task was at hand. And he would fulfill it.
His momentum never stopping, he stepped inside and boldly began his march down the short hallway, heading toward the interior of the apartment. He reached the living room, coming out of the hallway prepared to do battle, then stopped.
He listened, cocking his head as a coyote might to pick up the slightest sounds of hidden prey in the grass. There was nothing more than the filtered noises seeping in from the street, and the ever present hum of the electrical motor from the old refrigerator.
He sniffed the air. It had the heavy odor of the beginnings of sweet decay and blood.
The smell of death.
His body shook. Every muscle had been primed to fight. To kill. To do the Lords work. That energy now erupted from him. He tilted his head back, and from deep within a primordial scream welled up and spewed forth.
In one quick movement, The Novice picked up Brother Salvatore’s limp, now bloating body and slammed it against the wall, shaking the interior of the apartment.
Brother Salvatore’s head hit hard, denting the wall. The body fell back to the floor, knocking over a small table, sending a lamp to the floor, where it shattered.
The Novice watched as the body came to a rest against the wall. His rage momentarily quenched. All became quiet.
Suddenly, the crucifix that Dominic had secured to the wall several months before, gave way and fell, sliding straight down the wall, as though it were connected to a track that controlled its decent. The crucifix came to rest on Brother Salvatore’s back. The figure of Christ nailed to the cross, facing up.
Brother Salvatore’s body had landed on his stomach. His head however, had twisted, facing backwards, eyes looking over the shoulders of the limp, broken body staring blankly towards the heavens.
And then he saw.
Brother Salvatore’s arms, bent slightly, were stretched out to either side of his body. His legs were crossed at the ankles. The body lay in perfect imitation to the crucifix that had just fallen onto his back.