THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA

{ PART.  } -  CHAPTER  EIGHT - The next morning, when Christiano arrived at Santa Maria, his first stop was the admin office, where he asked Sister Celeste if he could use the office computer and printer. After printing out three letters, he made his way to the Abbess's office, knocked on the door and waited for approval before entering. I brought you copy of my resignation letter. He placed it on her desk. I have a copy for Father Franco, and I will be giving the Monsignor his letter when he arrives today. He turned to leave. Father Abbadelli, please understand, this is for the... As she spoke, her voice she spoke, her voice trailed away, her eyes fixed down on her desk. He followed her gaze to a pile of letters by a newspaper called, ll Cospiratore. She picked up the paper and scrutinised the front cover before pressing the intercom button at her desk. Sister Celeste, did you drop the mail in my office this morning? Yes, Abbess Rossini. The reply echoed through the loudspeaker.

{ PART.  1 } - A dejected Christiano dragged his feet through the chapel narthex. Suddenly, he experienced a change in him which seemed physical in its strength. An inexplicable feeling as warm as a loving caress consumed his senses. He looked up, and his moistened eyes panned round the room for the source. A delayed image flashed through his mind. He retraced his gaze to the Virgin sculpture where he caught sight of what appeared to be a hand sprawled across the irregular, stone floor in the transept crossing. Father Franco? He sprinted towards the unconscious priest who lay on the ground, knelt by his side and vigorously shook his body. He called into his ear. Father Franco! There was no response. Help in here! he shouted as he placed his index and middle fingers on the Father's carotid artery in searched of a pulse. There appeared to be no life in the old priest. He turned him on his back and made a compression to his chest, followed by a succession of fast and hard pushes, coun

{ CHAPTER  SIX }  -  [ PART.  1 ]                                                       The portrait, which now took pride of place above Christiano's bed, seemed to take on its own persona, like his trapped shadow with its own secrets and longings. He found himself mesmerised by these new eyes; ones that seemed to be telling him a different story from those he saw in the mirror every day. He turned away from them, walked to his yoga mat and took a seat. The unflinching eyes watched as he manoeuvred with deft agility into firefly pose--balancing on his hands and stretching out his legs in front of his body. With resolute strength and an indomitable stare, he held the position as sweat dripped from his rigid frame to form a small pool on the mat. After a few minutes, he dropped his feet and used them to propel upwards, into a standing position. He wiped his face with a towel as he entered the bathroom, where he bathed beneath a shower of arctic cold water. As he dressed in the morni

CHAPTER  FIVE  -  The next day as he passed through the abbey forecourt, he saw the Abbess, Sister Celeste, and Father Cavallo chatting outside the admin office. Hello, Father, called out the Abbess. Are you well today? Fully recovered, thank you! I shall see you in the chapel shortly, said Father Cavallo. He nodded and walked on. A few moments later, he paced the aisle towards the Virgin sculpture. With yesterday's events still weighing on his mind, he dropped limply onto the front pew and heard a faint rustle. He turned to his side to find that he had sat on a piece of paper. He picked it up and blinked as if his eyes deceived him. He was looking at himself. Each boldly drawn line flowed masterfully into the next, flawlessly incorporating light and shade in a complexity of strokes that formed a sketch that was as lifelike as staring into a mirror. With the drawing in his hand, he left the chapel and walked hurriedly into the cloister, where he looked round in all directions. Two