Chapter 6
1800 Words
6
SISTER ROSALIE REACHED UP to light the candles at the back of the chapel, her concentration focused on the depth of the flames as they caught.
The main door to the street swung open with a creak, the sound echoing through the church. It was a little early for any worshippers to be arriving for the service, but the church was always open as a place of contemplation. In her forty years of service, the city had been a backdrop to her own daily devotions and she welcomed those who worshipped at any time. Sister Rosalie liked to try and guess what people did when they came in, wondering what troubled them and why they sought out the Lord in the middle of their day.
She crossed herself and sent up a prayer of thanks that she could serve the community here, then turned and walked to the chapel archway to see who had entered.
Three men strode down the center of the aisle carrying holdall bags, their long dark coats disguising what might be beneath. They walked towards the altar, menace in their echoing footsteps. Sister Rosalie glimpsed one of the men as he passed, his eyes narrowed with a determined expression, his features pinched with a hunger that wasn't of the corporeal kind.
She quickly ducked behind a column, hoping she hadn't been seen. Her breath came fast and she stifled it with one hand. These were not penitents seeking the Lord's grace – these were men bent on violence.
After the disappearance of the Reverend Mother, the Sisters of the Order of the Guardian Angel had been reminded of what to do if they were ever under attack. As citizens of New York City, they weren't alone in preparing for invasion, but the nuns were also trained in spiritual warfare. The prayer of the breastplate of Saint Patrick came to Sister Rosalie's lips now. I armor myself today with the power of the Most Holy Trinity, she said under her breath.
She peeked out again from behind the column, watching as the men strode towards the doorway that led into the convent area behind the church. The long coat of the man at the back fluttered open and she spotted a handgun in his waistband. As the men stepped through the archway out of sight, Sister Rosalie scurried to the opposite side of the church, where another door led into the convent rooms. Her heart thumped in her chest as she considered how she could help the Sisters within, as well as safeguarding the secret at the heart of the convent. The Reverend Mother had protected it, and now that task fell to her. She pushed open the door carefully and stepped inside, her footsteps almost silent on the marble floors.
A scream came from the rooms beyond, followed by the shouts of the men rounding up the Sisters.
A banging noise resounded, as if something had been knocked over. Then, all was quiet.
Sister Rosalie pushed away her feelings of guilt as she navigated the hallways towards the inner rooms of the convent. The Sisters would be safe for now. Most of them knew nothing of the relic and the old ones would hold their tongues against the invaders.
The truth behind the name of their order was obscured by over-engineered religious metaphor, but a chosen few were aware of what lay beneath. This great city was protected by the relic of a Guardian Angel, and it was held here in the convent, passed down over the years by women of faith who were able to resist the temptations of what it might offer.
Sister Rosalie reached the tiny chapel on the edge of the private quarters. It was here that the Reverend Mother had visited daily, saying prayers that she reserved for this sacred place. The altar was simple, a rectangular block of stone covered with a white cloth; a carved wooden crucifix on top, the figure of Christ twisted in agony as his eyes beseeched Heaven for release. Two heavy copper candlesticks flanked the figurine.
On the wall behind the crucifix was a wooden cabinet, the real focal point of the room. It was painted with the figures of angels, binding another of their kind in the center. Its face was stricken with guilt and pain, and from its pale flesh, blood flowed onto the earth. Shoots of new life sprang from the dark stain, with tendrils of leaves and buds that bloomed into flowers.
It was faintly blasphemous to think that an angel could supercede the worship of Christ, but legend told of the power of the relic and perhaps that made it more real than the figure of Christ crucified.
Sister Rosalie edged around the altar and reached for the cabinet.
"Stop there, Sister." The gruff voice came from behind her, and Sister Rosalie instinctively put her hands in the air, turning around to see who spoke.
It was the first man who had walked into the church, his eyes scanning the chapel around her. Thank the Lord she hadn't yet opened the cabinet. There was still a chance he would move on from this place.
"You're welcome in the Lord's house," she said softly. "But we don't allow laymen in this area. It is reserved for the nuns. Shall we go out into the public area of the main church?"
The man snorted with laughter.
"I don't think so, Sister. It seems you have something here that my boss wants badly. I don't think that would be out in the public area, do you?" He walked towards her, eyes narrowing. "I think it might be in here. If you just stay quiet now, I won't have to hurt you."
Sister Rosalie dropped her head in the very aspect of a devout nun, assuming the mantle of the downtrodden woman of God this man would expect. But her soul burned with the passion of her Lord, her dedication to protecting the heart of the convent, and with the righteous anger of the saints.
The man stepped closer and bent to lift the altarcloth, checking underneath. Sister Rosalie grabbed one of the metal candlesticks and with all her strength, slammed it down on the back of the man's neck. The thud of metal against flesh shocked her but before he could recover from the first blow, Sister Rosalie raised the candlestick again. She couldn't let him up or he would finish her.
Grunting with effort, she smashed it down again, her breath mingled with sobs.
The man slumped to the floor, and Sister Rosalie stood over him, her fists tight on the metal raised high above her head. As blood trickled from his unmoving mouth, she dropped the candlestick as if it burned her. It clanged to the floor and rolled to the side of the room.
She fell to her knees in front of the altar.
"Oh Lord Jesus, forgive me," she whispered as she crossed herself repeatedly, fearing that she was now tainted with the blood that she had shed.
A scream rang out from the rooms beyond and Sister Rosalie looked up at the sound. It wouldn't be long until the other men came to look for this one.
She had to get out of here.
Rising again, she went around to the wooden cabinet and opened it, her fingers shaking. Inside was a glass vial, its clear sides revealing a viscous dark red substance. Was this really the blood of a Guardian Angel, Sister Rosalie wondered, or was it all just a myth?
Another scream and then a moan from the gathered nuns.
"No, please!" The voice was Sister Mary Clare's.
Sister Rosalie froze, the vial in her shaking hands. The young girl was one of the most attractive of the novitiates and her violation would not be difficult for the men. She looked down at the vial. Was this really worth the sanctity of the Sisters? Surely the Lord would desire the protection of his daughters first, the real treasures of the convent?
She glanced down at the prone man. She had already sinned enough today, and her vow to keep the relic safe seemed worthless in the face of real suffering. Her Sisters needed her. She stepped out of the chapel and walked towards the main convent room, the vial clutched in her hand.
She pushed open the door and almost wept at what she saw.
Sister Mary Clare was bound, her habit pulled up and one of the men had his hand between her legs, pulling aside her underclothes as he unbuckled his belt. The look of lust on his face was like the fiends of Hell that Brunelleschi had painted on the dome of Florence. The other nuns were herded into a corner, while another man stood with a gun in each hand.
"Tell me where it is," he said, his quiet tone all the more menacing. "Otherwise she'll only be the first to be violated."
"Stop." Sister Rosalie spoke from the doorway, her voice calm with authority. She held the vial up. "This is what you want. Take it and leave us in peace."
The armed man kept his guns trained on the Sisters.
"Check it," he said to the other man, who hesitated a moment, disappointment in his eyes as he left Sister Mary Clare bound on the floor.
Sister Rosalie held the vial out as the man approached.
"This is the blood of the Guardian Angel," she said.
He took it from her hand, holding the vial to the light and tipping it slightly so the contents swirled inside.
"How do we know it's real?"
Sister Rosalie smiled coldly. "Faith of course, something perhaps your master lacks. This relic has been the heart of the Order for as long as records have been kept." Her eyes flicked to the cowering Sisters, to the weeping Sister Mary Clare on the floor. "But the real heart of the Order is the Sisterhood."
She pushed past the man and knelt next to Sister Mary Clare, pulling the weeping nun into her arms and rocking her back and forth. Sister Rosalie's eyes blazed as she looked up at the invaders. "You have what you came for. Now get out."
The man backed away from the group of nuns, his guns still trained on them.
"If this is some kind of trick, we will be back, Sister."
The other man spoke, his eyes on Sister Mary Clare. "And I'll enjoy finishing what we started."
They turned to leave, but a roar of anger stopped them. Sister Rosalie paled as she realized that she should have carried on beating the man in the chapel. He stumbled along the corridor, his colleagues rushing to help him back into the room.
"You bitch." He pointed the gun at Sister Rosalie with a wavering hand, clicked off the safety and took aim.
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