inthewildwood | Fic: Hagiolatry (Chapter Nine)

The headquarters- or the Church of Our Lady of Christ, as the sign out front called it- was on the outskirts of the city, so far that they had to stop for gas when they were halfway there. Frankie spent the trip with her forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, lost in thought. Andrew tried to start a conversation with her once or twice, but she only mumbled a response, and he had the sense to leave her alone after that.

He’d explained what little they could expect from the tribunal (his words, not hers) as they’d driven up. The traditional approach was for the person in question to be called in and questioned along with witnesses (”so they’ll want to talk to Donna and Patty?” “no, they’ll only want to speak to me”) before giving her a medical exam and looking through all of the evidence to see if it was “theologically sound,” whatever that meant.

“Strictly speaking, they should be either bringing the Consulta here or sending you to Rome for a proper examination,” he’d explained, “but I very much doubt they will. In this case, they’re keeping things under wraps as much as possible. If they use Vatican money to pay for flights to and from Rome- more so than they already have- it would arouse too many suspicions.”

“So the higher-ups don’t known what’s going on?” she’d asked.

He’d hesitated. “A cardinal like Daniel is already a highly-ranked official, second only to archbishops and patriarchs. A cardinal’s job is to advise the Pope on theological matters. Technically speaking, they are the higher-ups. I just don’t know if anyone outside Daniel’s coterie is aware of what’s been happening, or why he’s here.”

They’d fallen asleep- well, he’d fallen asleep- on the couch, with Frankie curled against Andrew’s chest like a cat, eyes wide in the dark. She was filled with restless energy, like the kind that could only be burned off by running a marathon or climbing a mountain. The muscles in her legs jumped whenever she shifted, and she could feel a tingling sensation in her fingers and toes.

She knew where it was coming from. He was still there, and he was excited. The meeting with the cardinals would be his day in court, and he could barely contain his excitement. Her head was buzzing with his anticipation, and it hurt. What are you planning? she asked silently. There was no answer, but she wasn’t expecting one; she just wanted to vent. What are they going to do to me? Are you going to let them? As much as Father Alameida had hurt her over the past few days, he was- in a weird way- her ally against the cardinals. She didn’t trust them any more than she trusted Alameida, but only one of them was stuck in her head, maybe as much as she was stuck in his. She still hated him, but she knew he didn’t like Houseman any more than she did, and whatever they planned to do to her would affect him too. It was the only bargaining chip she had.

Are you listening? No answer. Look- whatever happens tomorrow happens to both of us, whether you like it or not. You know that. So- if I let you out- if I let you do whatever it is you want to do, say your piece- will you leave me alone then?

Nothing.

She hadn’t told Andrew. He’d asked her when she got up that morning how she felt, but she’d only nodded and offered a half-smile and a “fine.” She didn’t know how he’d react if he knew what she’d offered, but she found she didn’t much care. Whatever happened next was up to her, now. She had to decide for herself.

The building itself didn’t look much like the headquarters of an evil organization- it looked old, sure, but not the kind of old that involved stone pillars and gargoyles sitting on the room. If anything, it looked like a museum, complete with the sign out front: “CHURCH OF OUR LADY OF CHRIST. Masses 5pm, 8 am, 10 am. He is risen!”

“Is it an actual church?” she asked as they got out of the car. She’d been expecting that the building would be empty, aside from the cardinals and whoever else worked there. She hadn’t expected a . . . cathedral.

Andrew glanced up at the sign. “Masses are held for those who work here and don’t wish to drive into the city to attend a different church. But it’s not open to the public.” He looked at her sideways. “It’s . . . exclusive.”

She nodded.

There was a hall inside, covered with red carpet so thick that her feet sank into it when she took a step. She’d forgone her platform shoes for today, and worn her only pair of sneakers instead- her feet didn’t hurt too badly anymore, but it was better safe than sorry, especially if she started to bleed again. Or, she reasoned, if she had to make a run for it. Not that she could run very far this far outside the city.

How was this her life?

“Hello, Miss. Paige,” Cardinal Houseman said, approaching her with that same affable smile glued to her face. She met his eyes, but refused to smile back. Something about this place just smelled wrong- like it was soaked in some kind of chemical perfume that made her nose itch. Looking in his eyes only confirmed it- though maybe that was Alameida’s presence in her head, restless and pulling like a dog at the end of a leash. Like he was trying to say it’s time! Let me go!

“It’s Ms,” she said curtly, clenching her hands inside her jacket pockets. He ignored her, turning his attention to Andrew instead. “Father Kiernan. And how are you this morning?”

Andrew’s smile looked just as forced. “Anxious for this to be over with.”

“I think that’s something we’re all hoping for.” Houseman extended his hand, and Frankie watched as Andrew shook it mechanically. Both of them were smiling like their teeth were clenched. She let her attention wander as Houseman made mindless conversation, looking up at the arched ceiling over her head and the paintings on the walls. There was floor-length triptych to her left, with three bright red panels of Jesus dangling from the cross, gore dripping from his wounds. I know how you feel, buddy. If God was in the church, he wasn’t in this one. This was- this was pain, seeping from the walls and lining the inside of her mouth and nose like dust or fog. It made her want to cough. God was love, she remembered from her grandparents’ church; if there was any love in this building, she couldn’t sense it.

“Shall we meet in my office?” Houseman asked, dragging her out of her reverie. She glanced sideways at Andrew, who shrugged slightly. She looked back at Houseman. His lip was curling. “If you say so.”

At his gesture, she and Andrew followed him down the hallway, into the main body of the church. A peaked roof soared overhead, and the stained glass windows let a little light in- not much, though. It was raining outside, and she could hear the patter of droplets against the walls and the bleak roll of thunder in the distance. It seemed to fit the mood. The electricity in the air was in her now, too, crackling at the ends of her fingers whenever she brushed against something and tingling along her skin.

Come on, she urged silently. You’ve been waiting for this. If Alameida responded, she couldn’t feel it; all she could feel was the air pressing down on her, like a hand clapped over her nose and mouth. She came to a stop in the aisle, struggling to bring words to her mouth, but they wouldn’t come. She couldn’t breathe.

She grabbed at her throat, trying to cough and only succeeding in making a croaking noise. Andrew turned at the noise, frowning and taking her arm. Ahead of them, Houseman began to turn around. “Frankie?”

She wrenched her arm out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.”

“I-” Andrew started, but she spun away from him, arms flying up in front of her face. Her throat had loosened, and words were pouring out like they had before in her apartment. “You wanted to silence me, Daniel?”

The blood had drained from Houseman’s face, save for twin red spots on his cheeks. “Miss- Miss Paige?”

“No,” She could breathe again, but not under her own power; Alameida was working her throat and nose. “Ignore the girl. She means nothing. Speak to me, Daniel.” She felt her lips stretch into a contortion of a smile. “You can’t deny me any longer.”

“Miss. Paige, I-”

“Don’t!” Andrew shouted, but Houseman wasn’t listening. Frankie felt her feet leave the floor as she flew at him, arm swinging out in a slap. Houseman ducked, and she fell past him, scrambling back to her feet almost as soon as she hit the carpet. She, her- only none of it was actually her, but Alameida pulling her arms and legs in whatever direction he wanted. He was still pulling her face into a smile. “Still don’t believe me, Daniel?”

“I-” Houseman had begun to edge backward, still ashen-faced. “Who am I speaking to?”

The laugh that Alameida ripped out of her throat felt like fire. “Will you deny me three times, Daniel? But more- how often did you lie to see me thrown from the church? Too many lies. They’ve come calling for you.”

Frankie tried to relax inside her own head, pulling back from the need to wrestle control of her body back from Alameida. She’d asked for this; she couldn’t back out now. But it wasn’t easy. Everything in her was screaming at Alameida to get out of her head and give her her body back before it was too late- before whatever was going to happen, did.

Ignore the girl.

Fuck that.

No one else in the church was aware of what was going on in her head- Andrew and Cardinal Houseman were both staring at Alameida-Frankie as he rambled on. “You thought you had me silenced, didn’t you? Cast out and forgotten. But I didn’t lose faith. I brought the gospel with me. And now it’s translated and finished- my life’s work- and you can’t stop it. Your church will fall.”

“Why Frankie?” Andrew said, so softly that she thought it might escape Alameida’s notice; it seemed to escape Houseman’s. But he turned her head around to face Andrew, slowly. She could feel his confusion roiling at the forefront of her mind. “She was where I needed her to be. The gospel needed to be told. How else was I to speak?”

You could have spoken for yourself she tried to say- think- but she was interrupted by a sharp stab of pain driving through her ribcage. She wanted to bend over and grab the wound, but she still couldn’t move on her own, and Alameida didn’t even seem to have noticed. She could feel a hot wetness spreading down her side and through her shirt, and while she couldn’t look down to see what it was, she could guess from the looks on Andrew and Houseman’s faces. Blood.

She felt the cuts on her forehead and back split, and the burning flow of blood soaking through her hair and skin. She didn’t know what she expected Alameida to do, but it was anything but what he did- laughing, a hyena’s bark of glee as her blood soaked the carpet beneath her feet. “You can’t deny me, now Daniel. Can you?”

In a flash, she understood. The stigmata had never been a punishment, not to him. He’d wanted this. He’d wanted this because in his mind, where endless pain meant God’s love, the stigmata signaled that he was special, chosen. It was a sign that Houseman had been wrong, that God really did love him best.

Was that all this had been? Some kind of bizarre cosmic sibling rivalry?

The blood draining from her wounds left her cold and shivering, so much so that she almost didn’t notice when her feet left the ground. She only noticed it when one of her sneakers fell off her feet and landed on the wet carpet with a soft plopping noise. Andrew shouted his alarm, and Houseman gasped, but Alameida- still wrapped up in his joy- didn’t seem to hear either of them. “Do you hear me, my Lord? Can you see me? I am not afraid to die.”

And strangely, Frankie realized, neither was she.

“Frankie?”

She blinked once, then did it again just to make sure she was doing it of her own volition. Sure enough, she was- but something still seemed off. She held her hands out in front of her, flexing her fingers to see if they still moved properly. They did. She wiggled her toes. Same thing.

It was then that she realized what was wrong- she wasn’t standing on anything. For some reason, that didn’t see nearly as weird as it should have, but it was still weird. She looked around. She was still floating near the roof of the church, though she was considerably less blood-covered than she had been, and-

Was that her?

“Frankie,” the woman’s voice said again, drawing her attention away from the Frankie-figure that was floating a few feet away from her. In front of her was a dark-skinned woman, also floating- because why the hell not, really- dressed in a coarse brown robe with a long blue piece of fabric draped over her head. She was barefoot- not that it much mattered, since they weren’t standing on anything- and smiling at Frankie in a way that put her at ease, though she wasn’t sure how.

“I’m so proud of you,” the woman said softly, step-floating forward to cup Frankie’s cheek with a gentle hand. “You’ve borne my son’s wounds with more bravery than he ever could have asked for, these last few days. We’re all so proud.”

My son. “Mary?” Frankie said incredulously. It made no sense. What was she to the Virgin Mary? And yet . . . she was floating outside her body inside a cathedral. Weirder things had happened.

The woman- Mary- smiled at her gently. “I wish I could have taken your pain away, as I wish I could have taken my son’s. But it had to be you. And you fought so hard. It’s time to let go.”

Frankie glanced back over her shoulder at where her body was still floating, arms flung back, head tipped towards the ceiling. “Wait. I have questions first.”

Mary smiled again. “You’ve earned them.”

“What-” Frankie stopped. God, what was she going to ask first? She wanted a million answers, and she didn’t even know what to ask. “What’s all this been about? Was it just because Alameida got thrown out of the church? What’s going to happen to him now? Is he going to hell? Do I need to have an exorcism? Am I dying?”

Mary held a hand up. “You’re confused. I understand. God-”

Frankie interrupted. “I know you’re God’s wife or whatever, but please don’t say that He works in mysterious ways.”

Mary threw her head back and laughed. The sound reverberated against the walls of the church, and Frankie glanced down to see if Andrew and Houseman had noticed. Neither seemed to. “I promise, I won’t say any such thing. What I meant to say is what God’s plan- God’s love-” She paused. “He is misunderstood by His children, often. I’m afraid Father Alameida was one of them. He started out well, but he was lost for a long time.”

Frankie’s head swam. “So . . . Cardinal Houseman was right to kick him out?”

“No,” Mary shook her head. “Paul-” It took Frankie a moment to realize she meant Alameida. “-was pure in his intentions, though he grew warped over the years. Daniel is . . . small. Afraid. They both are. And they’ve both allowed their fear to lead them to terrible places. But in the end, neither really understands God’s plan. Well- few can. But their interpretation . . . misses the point.”

“So what’s the point?”

Mary let out a soft sigh. “Paul fought for the gospel’s translation because he believed it held the key to salvation. Daniel fought against it because he was afraid of what it meant for his position, for his church. But the truth is, the written path to salvation means very little in the end. Neither of them can lay claim to God’s secrets, because He does not reveal himself- even to me.” She smiled again. “Love is mysterious, sometimes. Alameida will have what he wants, but perhaps not in the way he expected. Look.”

She turned her gaze upward, and Frankie followed suit. Scrolling across the roof of the church, in flowing god cursive, was the gospel Alameida had been translating- all in the original Coptic, which Frankie sound she could still somehow read. The kingdom of God is inside you, and all around you. Not in mansions of wood and stone. Split a piece of wood, and I am there.

“Father Houseman might try to scrub that away,” Mary said mildly, “but I doubt it will come off. As I said, neither man holds the path to salvation, but it is worth the reminder. The building blocks of his church should not be hidden from view.”

“Sounds Protestant,” Frankie said, still gazing upward. Mary laughed. “What is there to protest, really?” Her smile faded, face growing serious. “But now I need to offer you a choice.”

Frankie looked back at her. “Which is?”

“I can take you with me now,” Mary said gently. “You will leave this world behind, and with it all the pain you have suffered. You will enter the kingdom of Heaven as one of God’s beloved children, but you will die in order to do so.”

Frankie swallowed. “Or?”

“Or,” Mary said. “I will leave you here. Father Alameida will be leaving with me- your body will be your own again. I’m sure you’ve missed that.” She smiled wryly. “I know a thing or two about having one’s body re-purposed for God’s work. I cannot promise you an easy road, should you choose to stay. Daniel Houseman will not back down, even with what he has witnessed today. You may need to leave your home, your friends. Should you choose to accept my offer and continue carrying out God’s work, you will be subject to whatever harm may befall you. I cannot protect you from that. But you will live. As I did.”

It wasn’t a question, not really. She’d been fighting all week; why stop now? “I want to live.”

“I thought you might,” Mary said. “Remember God- and I- are always watching over you, no matter how dark things may seem. He loves you. As my son does. As I do.” She step-floated past Frankie, towards her still-suspended body. “Paul?” she said quietly. “I’ve come to take you home.”

“Wait,” Frankie said. Mary turned, one eyebrow raised quizzically. Frankie swallowed. “Why me? I mean- I’m not special. I’m not even Christian. I have to have broken at least, like, seven commandments. Why would God want me doing His work for him?”

Mary shook her head. “What or who you are doesn’t matter. Remember the gospel- the kingdom of God is inside you, not in the paths you take to find it. Look to your friends. Look to your family. You have been a child of God all along, as we all are. And you’ve been kind, and brave, and selfless. God notices these things.” She smiled. “Was that your last question?”

Frankie nodded, and Mary turned away again. Then Frankie’s head spun suddenly, and everything went dark. She was floating, still, but now she was aware of it, and the pull of gravity against her arms and legs and head. She was also sinking.

She opened her eyes. She was in her body again- she could feel the drying blood. She was drifting slowly towards the floor, like a feather in the wind, until her toes finally brushed the carpet. She stumbled as she landed, and felt Andrew catch her by the elbow. With her free hand, she reached around under her shirt to touch the spot where the phantom spear had pierced her. The wound was still there, ragged-edged, but it had closed. She ran her fingers across her forehead. Same with the cuts. Her wrists, she couldn’t see through the gauze, but she couldn’t feel any new blood seeping out.

She looked up. The gospel was still written across the ceiling, shining in the reflection from the stained glass windows. She looked to Houseman and smiled. “I don’t think that’s coming off.”

Houseman was still blanched white, with spots of colour in his cheeks and a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. “Miss. Paige, I don’t know what you’ve done here, but the question of divinity remains unanswered-”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Do you think Satan graffitied your church?”

“I- I don’t-” He looked like he was a few seconds away from flailing his arms. “This is not- proof of supernatural phenomena is not proof of divine intervention. I don’t know what tricks you used for this display, but-”

“Cardinal,” she interrupted, stepping forward. He stumbled back like he thought she was going to blast him with lightning. “I don’t really care if you believe me or not. I don’t want to bring down your church. I don’t want anything to do with your church. I just want to be left alone.”

She glanced up again. The thunderclouds outside were blocking the sunlight, but the letters were still shining anyway, reflecting light she couldn’t see. She looked back to Houseman. “You’re going to leave me alone,” she said firmly. “You’re going to leave my friends alone. You’re going to leave Andrew alone. I don’t care what else.”

He all but bared his teeth over her shoulder at Andrew. “Father Kiernan, if you leave with her, you know you won’t be accepted back into the church. The Pope will never allow it. I will ensure-”

Frankie let his words drift into background noise and turned to look at Andrew. “You don’t have to follow me,” she said softly.

Andrew’s forehead was creased, his eyes fixed on Houseman like he was looking at something rotten. He pursed his lips. “Actually, I think I do.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t been sure she was holding, and held a hand out to him. “I think it’s time to go.”

He looked back to her, and his face relaxed into a smile as he nodded. He took her hand, squeezing the fingers slightly- he felt warm and dry against the flaking blood- and they walked towards the exit. Frankie glanced up one last time, but there was no sign of Mary or Alameida. The only thing that signified that they’d ever been there was the gold letters shining on the ceiling.

Previous | Next