THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA

{ PT.  1 } - The incessant ringing woke Johan. It was 6 am. He grimaced with annoyance. The caller ID was that of the cardinal. He sat up like a soldier caught slacking on duty and swiped the display screen. Your Eminence. He tried to disguise the morning croak in his voice. I am at the door; about to knock... Yes, Your Eminence, as soon as she's in the car... Yes, Your Eminence, everything was quiet last night... Thank you, Your Eminence. I will, Your Eminence. Goodbye... The phone went dead. Your Eminence, he said sarcastically and with a look of disdain. He placed the phone in his face in the rear-view mirror and used his finger as a toothbrush to scrape the front of his teeth. He slapped his cheeks, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and left the car. As he walked to the convent doors, he tucked in his shirt, put on his jacket and fixed his tie. He gave the door two hefty knocks and seconds later, noticed the doorbell. He pressed it. Moments later Father Cavallo came to his call cl

[ CHAPTER.  SEVENTEEN   ]  { PURSUIT }                                      { PT.  1 } - Angelica awoke to a blaze of fiery beams spearing through the waning darkness. Beautiful, isn't it? She had almost forgotten where she was. She turned to her left to see Christiano focused on the road ahead. His face mirrored the colours of the dawn. She nodded appreciatively and made a quick yawn and a stretch before she removes her sketchpad and pencils from her bag and put graphite to paper. Christiano's head turned back and forth from the road to her. He marvelled at the skill of her hand. Minutes later, she held a completed sketch that resembled the glory before them. A talent I envy, he said. She tore it out of her book and gestured it as a gift. I can't accept it. He returned his attention to the road. Bewildered, Angelica placed the page back in the book and looked to the scenery outside her window. The ocean stretched to infinity boats lined the length of the dock, and a skein

[ CHAPTER.  SIXTEEN ]  -  { PART.  1 }                                          Christiano paced his bedroom like an expectant father; his phone pressed to his ear. An open suitcase lay empty on his bed. The monotonous ring remained unanswered before it finally switched to answerphone. Mama, I need to speak with you ungently. Don't bother calling me; I'm on my way home. He slipped the phone into his trouser pocket, removed a bundle of clothing from his wardrobe and unceremoniously threw the items into his suitcase. In the bathroom, he swept his toiletries into a bag, showing no care for breakages. The bag was thrown into the suitcase just as haphazardly, and the case slammed shut. As he looked round the room, he noticed the portrait Angelica had sketched for him. He ripped it off the wall and examined it for a moment, staring at the face of a man he no longer knew. He tossed it in the bin, zipped up his luggage and left the room. At the top of the stairs, an anxious Marcello an