THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA

[ CHAPTER.  15 ] - Steaming walnut-coloured liquid dripped from the spout into an espresso cup eagerly waiting to be filled with the intoxicating brew. Marcello drew. Marcello drew the delectable vapour into his nostrils where it circled his head with its invigorating scent. He placed the cup before Agostina who sat at the kitchen table staring into oblivion. He gently massaged her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. Are you okay, Gosti? His caress awoke her from her mesmeric state. She batted her eyelids and platted his hand; an affectionate glint in her eyes that shone with relief. When you're around, I'm always okay. Christiano appeared at the door impeccably dressed in his priestly garbs. I'm off to Santa Maria to see if I can be of assistance to Father Cavallo. Okay, Father. I spoke to him this morning. He knows I intend to stay home with Agostina, today, said Marcello. He has arranged an early evening service. We will be there of course. Christiano nodded.   ...

[ CHAPTER.  FOURTEEN ]  -  { PART.  1 }                                      The wails and whimpers had reduced to woeful sniffles and hushed tears as the business of police and medical procedures took priority. The Abbess lay on a stretcher; her skin cold to the touch. The medic pulled the body bag across her corpse with the indifference of plank of wood. As the stiff, plastic cover reached her face, calm in repose, Angelica saw the last of the woman she had grown to love and value like a grandmother. She looked on, helplessly, shuddering as the ambulance doors slammed shut. She buried her head in Father Cavallo's shoulder. Christiano, shocked and pallid, with his clothes drenched in the Abbess's blood, stood next to them using disinfectant wipes to erase the dried red mass caking his hands and arms. No matter how assiduously he wiped, he could not remove the crimson tint ...

( CHAPTER  THIRTEEN )  -  { PART.  1 }                                        Sister Celeste ran desperately along the beach until her knees gave away under her. Though she had distanced herself from the tragedy behind her, she had laboured for every cumbersome step. The sand had swallowed one foot after the other in a relentless battle. To muffle her wailing, she cupped her face with her hands and bent low to press them in the sand. There she remained until a wave lapped at her fingertips and wetted her face. The water's chill quietened her crying. The soothing sounds of the rippling tide acted as a natural sedative, filtering through her body and numbering her senses. She started into the darkness at the veiled night spreading infinitely before her. The moon poked its head through the misty sky. No sooner had she registered its light, it was gone; claimed by a drifti...