The Vatican Children - Chapter 2: Niccolo Arrives

His stomach ached with hunger. He hadn't thought to bring any victuals or water with him on the drive, and hadn't even imagined that he might need it.

As he drove up, Arthur sat on the porch in a rocking chair, and if anything, Arthur looked even more frustrated and annoyed than him. The man stood and walked down the stairs of the porch while Niccolo parked.

"You're late," Arthur said as soon as Niccolo climbed out of his car.

"I know."

"Like, very late. A lot later than I anticipated. I had honestly begun to think you had changed your mind and wouldn't come at all."

"Do you know how difficult this place was to find?"

"That's the point," Arthur said. "If my cabin proved easy to find, then people would find it. I figured you would get here, though, because I gave you explicit instructions."

"Terrible instructions. I missed the same turn three times," Niccolo said, dryly. "I didn't realize the 'giant cottonwood tree' you used as a marker had been cut down. I kept backtracking and driving past the turn."

Arthur shrugged, and then stretched. He walked back up the steps and over to the door. "I'll have to remember not to let you navigate if we have to go anywhere."

Niccolo decided to ignore the jab, at least until he had eaten a good meal. Right now, hunger outweighed his pride. Instead, he followed him into the cabin.

It looked quite a bit bigger than he had expected from the outside. A fire blazed in the living room off to the left, and warm air enveloped him. Even better, the smell of cooked food wafted through the entire place.

"Dinner is ready," Arthur said, heading to the right into what appeared like a kitchen. "I figured you'd be hungry when you got here."

"Starving."

"I hope you like canned beans and Vienna sausages."

"I hate both," Niccolo said, "but, right now, I'm hungry enough that I don't care."

Arthur chuckled and led him over where the food cooked. A gas stove had a pan simmering atop it, and he scooped them each out a bowl. Niccolo took it with a nod and then followed him back into the living room to eat. It had only a huge coffee table about knee height, so he held the plate on his lap as he ate.

The only sound for the next couple of minutes came from them eating. The stew had sat simmering for a long time, and it tasted well seasoned. Niccolo couldn't tell if the food was good or if starvation made anything palatable.

Finally, he set his bowl on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. Arthur followed suit a few bites later.

"Want more?"

"Not just now. Maybe in a bit."

"No problem. We don't have a lot of options, but we do have a lot of stuff."

"Canned goods?"

"Mostly. It gets tough bringing anything else out here with the long drive."

"Did you build this place?"

"Yeah. Took several years, and I only finished it recently."

"No one else knows about it?"

"Nope. Wouldn't be that well hidden if a lot of people knew it existed. Frieda and a few Hunters know, but that's it."

"It looks quite impressive."

"The government owns the land, and it lies buried inside state and national forests. Only a handful of access roads even come out this direction, and none of them pleasant to drive on. It provides my haven out here in the middle of nowhere."

"You built it by hand? Did you have any help?"

"My brother, mostly."

"Brother?"

"Yeah, he lives in Ohio. I started the foundations a long time ago but never had the time to work on a consistent basis. I would pick at it now and again, expanding constantly. Then, after my wife and daughter got murdered, I settled down and finished it. I didn't want to move back into my family's home. It brought a constant reminder of what happened."

Niccolo nodded. "Of course."

"So, more or less, I've lived here or on the road for the last several months. Finished building the place not long before I went to Everett, actually. Rough, since I'm always on the move."

"Rarely have I traveled, myself. Not an enviable lifestyle," Niccolo said. "I've always had a sort of desire to become a world traveler. A wanderlust. But, now, I wish I were back home in the comforts of my apartment."

"I hope you haven't grown homesick already," Arthur said. "Because we're getting started."

***

Arthur showed Niccolo to a small bedroom in the back of the cabin—a lumpy twin mattress and spotted covers, the bed smelling of sawdust. Before Niccolo could ask any questions, Arthur disappeared into the basement without explanation.

Exhausted from the drive, Niccolo unloaded his bags—his Stole, a new rosary, crosses, Bibles, and every religious symbol he could gather at short notice—and lay down. Sleep claimed him before he could fight it.

A door slamming jolted him awake in darkness. He dragged himself to the living room, where Arthur leaned against the wall with his arms folded.

"A pleasant nap?"

Niccolo splashed water on his face in the bathroom, and when he returned, Arthur handed him a cup of tea. No label on the bag, and it certainly didn't smell like Earl Grey. They stood in silence for a moment, sipping their beverages.

"What about the woman that Bishop Glasser spoke of in his letters? Desiree something."

"Desiree Portman."

"Yes. What about her? Have you considered talking to her about the bishop?"

"Yes. And no," Arthur said. "I spoke to her, but she turned out a dead end."

Niccolo nearly spat out his tea. "What do you mean did?"

"Don't worry; I didn't hurt her. I spoke to her at length and I'm confident she doesn't know where the bishop has hidden."

"You spoke to her? When?"

"This morning," Arthur said, without missing a beat. "I have her in the basement."

Niccolo's jaw hung open. Fear mounted in the pit of his stomach. "She's what?"

"In the basement." Arthur sipped his tea. "Rather unhappily, I might add."

Niccolo's hands trembled, and he set the tea down on the counter. "Arthur … what did you do?"

"Nothing we can't undo," Arthur said. "At least, mostly. I haven't harmed her, only questioned her."

"Here?"

"It seemed the best place."

"With her consent?"

Arthur shrugged. "I didn't ask."

Niccolo's voice rose in pitch and timbre, "You mean you kidnapped her?"

"That's one way of looking at it."

"You can't kidnap people," Niccolo shouted, shaking his head in disbelief.

He rubbed his face while his mind attempted to process what Arthur had told him. The man had kidnapped a woman and brought her here, and that made Niccolo an accessory to his crime.

"You know, kidnapping people isn't that hard," Arthur said. "As long as no one sees you take them, and you get them over state lines in a hurry, it's not that difficult at all."

"The bishop had men watching her house, but they kept a lazy rotation—same car, same spot, same schedule every night. Frieda drew them away with a bogus domestic disturbance three streets over, and I had Desiree out the back door before they returned."

"I don't mean you can't. I mean you can't."

"I can, and I will, when necessary," Arthur said. Even while Niccolo raised his voice, Arthur's remained calm and even. "Don't worry; she remains perfectly safe and well taken care of. I wouldn't dream of hurting her, and I intend to return her home as soon as we have this ordeal over with."

Niccolo shook his head and walked toward the door to the basement. He needed to fix this problem … somehow … before it got out of hand.

"That isn't the point. It doesn't matter that you don't intend her harm. The fact that you did it at all is unacceptable."

"Catching the bishop has more importance than obeying social norms."

"You mean laws."

"Those too. We don't have time to debate issues of morality."

"Issues of morality remain the only thing separating us from the evil we fight against."

The basement had a deadbolt on this side, but the handle didn't have a lock of its own. Niccolo wrenched it open and headed down the stairs. Arthur followed behind, but the Hunter made no move to stop him.

"A much greater divide exists than you might imagine, and stopping to consider what you will and will not do to achieve your mission offers the quickest way to an early grave."

The basement was dim, lit by a single overhead bulb, and the air turned cold and damp as he descended, carrying the stale tang of concrete and old wood. Niccolo held the handrail as he rushed down the risers. Only a small window led to the outside world from down here, far too small for even a small child to fit through.

Three small prison cells lined the walls, each about ten feet wide and with several feet of separation between them. Heavy metal bars, relatively new.

Inside one of the cells sat a middle-aged woman, dirty and disheveled. She looked as though she hadn't slept in days. She stared at the floor but climbed to her feet when she saw Niccolo standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Thank God!" she said. "Please, can you help me …"

Her voice trailed off, though, and a moment later, her eyes went wide with fear.

Niccolo thought, at first, that she'd spotted Arthur on the staircase behind him, but then realized she looked directly at him.

"You're not …?" She looked at Arthur. "He's not …?"

"He isn't with the bishop." Arthur stepped forward to stand alongside Niccolo. He held up his hands in a non-threatening manner, trying to calm her.

"But, he's with the Church!"

"He didn't even know Bishop Glasser," Arthur said. "And, like me, he wants to stop him from hurting anyone else."

"What is she talking about?" Niccolo asked, caught off-guard by her response. He turned to her. "What do you mean?"

The woman jerked back when he spoke to her. Arthur tapped his shoulder and gave a curt shake of his head. Niccolo took a step back from the cell, and then turned to the woman.

"I'll get you out of here. I promise."

She backed away, shaking her head and still looking terrified. "I don't want anything from you. Please go. Please, just go!"

Her outburst took Niccolo by surprise, but he did as she said. He backed up toward the stairs, walking slowly, and then rushed all the way up. Arthur followed, and a moment later, they stood in the living room.

Arthur shut the door behind them, bolted it, and then headed toward the sofa.

"I suspected she wouldn't take it well," Arthur said, "but I didn't anticipate that response. It confirms a lot of my suspicions."

"What the hell happened?" Niccolo asked, bewildered.

"She wasn't the bishop's accomplice," Arthur said. "She was his plaything. His victim."

"What? That's crazy."

"It's true. The bishop spent years mistreating her and ruining her life before he ever started his attack on Everett. It started when she was a little girl."

Niccolo couldn't believe what Arthur told him. "No, no, that's not right. That can't be right."

"It's true."

"If something like that had happened, she should have reported it to the Church."

Arthur stared at him. "She did. Multiple times. Why do you think she has so much fear of you?"

The words hit like a sucker punch. Niccolo sank into an armchair, staring at the fireplace.

"To her, you are another priest here to abuse her."

Honestly, it didn't seem hard to believe once the initial shock faded. Somewhere along the Vatican's chain of command—from local diocese to the Roman Curia—someone had chosen to protect the bishop rather than his victim.

"You brought her here because of me," Niccolo said, an insidious thought worming its way into his mind. "You wanted me to see her, and you wanted her to see me."

"Yes."

"You won't even try to deny it? You wanted to manipulate me. You planned to turn me against the Church."

"Never," Arthur said. "I wanted to open your eyes to the world around you."

"You think I don't know about evil? I went to Everett, too."

"I think what happened in that house in Everett and what we're dealing with now are two entirely different things. In Everett, we faced something beyond our understanding. But the bishop? He's a man who chose to be evil. I needed to make sure you were up to the challenge of facing someone like that."

"And what is your assessment?" The bitterness in Niccolo's voice surprised them both.

Arthur studied him for a moment. "That yet remains to be seen. However, that wasn't the only reason I brought her here. I truly do think she might have valuable information we can use to find Leopold."

"What information? She's a victim."

"It's a long shot, but she provides the only lead we have."

"And, has she turned up anything?"

"Not yet."

"Then, let her go."

"I can't."

Fury and confusion warred inside Niccolo. "You told me that if I helped you, we wouldn't hurt people. That you wouldn't hurt people. You swore to me that you had changed."

"I swore to you that I would change. And I have. I haven't harmed her, and I won't harm her. I haven't even scared her," Arthur said. "And I don't intend to. You have my word that as soon as we deal with the bishop, and have him safely in the Vatican's custody, I will return her to her home."

"Then, why not now?"

"She won't be safe."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that when I kidnapped her, I didn't know if she had information against the bishop, and I doubt he does either. He probably thinks she's a liability."

"So?"

"We exposed the bishop and sent him on the run in Everett, and now he knows about us searching for him. If Desiree knows something about him that could help us catch him, then what's the first thing he would do to her when she got home?"

Niccolo's eyes widened. "He would kill her?"

"Bingo, and if only to tie up loose ends," Arthur said. "I didn't have a choice. If I hadn't kidnapped her, the bishop might have killed her when he realized the letters remained in his manor. If we let her leave now, he most certainly will, if only to punish her for speaking with us."

The logic trapped Niccolo. On the one hand, what Arthur had done infuriated him, and he believed with all his heart that it was wrong and horrible …

But, on the other hand, it made sense, if only from Arthur's perspective. Arthur had taken a lot of liberties in his assessment, but it remained possible he had it right.

It also terrified him to think from Arthur's perspective. Niccolo hadn't yet grown used to thinking so poorly of people, and he didn't enjoy imagining the things someone like the bishop might do to keep them from finding him.

It gave yet another reminder that this wasn't his world.

As much as he hated it, Niccolo could do nothing about this situation. Still, he didn't think Arthur had it right—the man had got it wrong when he kidnapped her to begin with—but what was done was done. He stood and walked back toward the basement.

"Where are you going?" Arthur stood and moved to follow. Niccolo held up a hand to stop him.

"I'm going to talk to her alone. You kidnapped her, so we might as well make the best of the situation we find ourselves in."

"I told you. I questioned her already. She doesn't know anything."

"I have no intention of questioning her about anything."

"Then, what? Why do you want to talk to her?"

Niccolo stopped at the basement door and looked back at Arthur. "You said that she came to the Church for help on multiple occasions and that we turned her away."

Arthur hesitated, and then nodded. "Yes. That's what she told me."

"Then I'll go and apologize to her and beg for forgiveness."

"It wasn't your fault," Arthur said. "You didn't even know her or her situation."

"I'm a servant of God," Niccolo said. "And a servant of the Church. It was my duty to protect her, and my duty to know."

***

As he came down the stairs, Niccolo heard the woman sobbing. He didn't know what he would say to her, but he had to say something. Or, at the very least, he had to listen.

He strode across the dim room and stopped next to her cell. His hands shook, and in many ways, this was worse than when he'd gone into the home of Rose Gallagher to face the demon. Desiree didn't look up at him, just kept sobbing, and the sound of her cries broke his heart.

He refused to be the first to speak, allowing the silence to drag on. Instead, he simply stood there, waiting. Maybe she didn't even know he stood there; a long few minutes passed before she spoke. "Why … why are you doing this?"

"Arthur … we want to keep you safe."

She gave a hollow laugh, glancing up at him from the cot. "Safe? Since when does anyone care if I'm safe?"

Niccolo didn't have a good answer. "I care," he said. "I'm impossibly sorry for what has happened to you."

"You? Sorry? It's a little late for that."

"I know. The Church failed you, and as a representative of the Church, I want to offer you my deepest condolences and apology."

She didn't respond, just looked back at the floor. Then she said, "Thanks."

"I know it doesn't mean much, but—"

"I said thanks. And I'm sorry about earlier. I … it's been a long day."

"Tell me about it," Niccolo said. "I've spent all day driving."

"Your accent—are you Italian?"

"I am. Born in Rome and lived much of my life in the Vatican."

She nodded. "I never made it to Italy. Always wanted to go, never worked out."

He didn't know how to respond to that without useless platitudes. They stood in awkward silence for a minute. Finally, Niccolo changed the subject.

"Arthur said he spoke to you about the bishop?"

"He did. He is quite direct."

"Did he behave cruelly to you?"

She shook her head. "No. But, as I told him, I don't know the bishop's whereabouts. I don't know anything. I haven't spoken to Leopold in months. I thought maybe I had broken free of him and that, maybe, he had finally let me go when this happened."

"Do you still have the letters he sent?" Niccolo asked. "We only saw your letters, not the ones he sent to you."

"I destroyed them," the woman said. "He made me swear I would get rid of them. Occasionally, he would send his goons to check. It all meant a game to him. I gave him something to pass the time."

"I'm sorry."

She chuckled. "What good is your sorry to me now? What the hell do you care? I've spoken to many priests. They fall into two groups: one wants to tell me sorry, and the other wants me to tell him sorry. All they ever cared about was making sure I didn't speak to the press."

"I am sorry. I truly am. If I had known …"

She waved her hand, cutting him off. "If you had known, you would have done nothing. No one ever does anything, and that's how it is. It'll stay like this forever, and nothing will ever change."

"There are good people out there."

"Good priests, you mean? Of course, there are. But also bad ones. You can tell yourself that they cancel each other out, but when all I've ever seen are the bad ones … you might be a good guy, but forgive me for not wanting to find out. Please, just leave me alone."

Niccolo frowned. He wanted to fix this problem, to solve it, but the depth of it overwhelmed him. Bishop Glasser had ruined this woman's entire life. No words or gestures would solve that.

Not unless he could give Desiree back her life.

"I'll return," he said, finally. "To speak with you. If that is all right with you."

She waved her hand. "I don't know anything."

"Not for that. Just to speak with you."

"Not like I have a choice."

"Yes," he said. "You do. If you would prefer that I never return, then you will not see me again. But, I would like to, if that's okay?"

She hesitated, and then shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Are you hungry?"

"A bit," she said. "Your friend has only given me disgusting food, though."

Niccolo half-smiled. "I'm certain that's all he has. Would you like anything in particular?"

She hesitated, and then said, "Chicken? Real stuff, not from a can."

"I'll see what I can do."

He turned to leave and sensed the woman come up to the bars behind him. She reached through and grabbed his shirt, though she did it gently. He turned to face her.

"Please, I know he's your friend, but I want to go home."

Niccolo promised, "You will. I swear to you that we will stop the bishop, and then we will get you safely back home. You have my word."

Then he turned and hurried back up the stairs before the woman could say anything else. Guilt gnawed at him. Two weeks ago, he would have called the police. Now, his entire world had flipped. Arthur had brought Desiree here to show Niccolo that stopping the bishop would cost more than his convictions could comfortably afford—and had done it on the first night.

"We will return her home safely," Niccolo said to Arthur as he bolted the basement door once more. "As soon as this has finished, we will get her home."

"Of course we will," Arthur said. "I'll drop her off back in her bed as though nothing ever happened, and she will never have to hear from the bishop or us ever again. She can go on with her life."