Fated. Morgan Rice

him, a cold breeze rushing on his back. He felt an immediate chill – and it was not just from the weather.

      He sensed that something dark had entered the place.

      The father, his heart pounding, quickly gained his feet and turned around, facing the entrance, wondering what it could be. He squinted into the light.

      In walked the silhouettes of three men in their sixties, with white hair, dressed in all black, with black turtlenecks and cassocks. He examined them in wonder; there was something different about them, something sinister. They did not look like any priests he had ever seen.

      “Father McMullen?” one of them asked.

      The father stood his ground as they approached, and nodded back shakily.

      “Who are you?” he asked. “How may I help you?”

      “You sent for us,” one said.

      The father looked at him, puzzled.

      “I did?”

      They reached him and as they did, one of them held a piece of paper out.

      The father took it. It was from the Vatican.

      “They’ve sent us to investigate,” one of them said.

      The father felt some relief, yet still, he examined them with apprehension, taking in their stark appearance.

      “I am honored that you’ve come all the way from Italy,” he said. “Thank you for coming. Can you help?”