Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(76)

But Maria couldn’t sleep. She looked over at the coffin. Maria knew it was the Brethren’s fault that Raphael was like this. They had taken the memory of his mother dying and made it part of him, made him need to do the same thing as her killer.

With every minute Maria lay in the bed, holding Raphael, her anger built. They had to be stopped. The church had to be told about the monsters that hid in their parishes. Maria began to shake with the fire their actions inspired. She rolled Raphael to his side so as not to wake him with her ire. She padded across the room to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. And she knew what she had to do. She could only face herself if she helped stop them. If she exposed them to the church and more.

She couldn’t see any more children being hurt.

Slipping into Raphael’s closet, Maria dressed in the sweats, hoodie, and sneakers he had let her wear to the rose garden. She moved to his desk, pulled out a piece of paper and pen, and wrote Raphael a note.

She left it on the desk for him to easily find. Softly so as not to wake him, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, promising, “I will be back, my lord. I promise you, I’ll return to you . . .” Maria fought back tears. “For you.”

Maria crept out of Raphael’s rooms. With every step away from him, her heart grew heavier. It was a veritable magnet; she had to force herself not to go back. Maria understood what God wanted of her. She would die to heal the darkness in Raphael’s soul. What Jesus had done for mankind, she could do for one broken man.

Maria found her way through the house and to the back door. When she exited into the bitterly cold night, she fled across the fields of the estate, following the sounds of a road in the distance.

She ran. She ran as fast as her feet would take her, her lungs burning as they inhaled and exhaled the cold night air. She broke through a gate in a high wall and ran through an enclosed wood until she cleared the trees and found herself at a road. She began to walk, praying someone would come by and stop. She had no idea which direction she was traveling in, but she prayed it was the road back to Boston.

Maria had been walking for what felt like hours when she heard the loud sound of tires and saw the blinding light of a truck. Maria held out her hand, hoping they would stop. The screeching of brakes made her heart leap in her chest.

The truck stopped and the window opened. An elderly truck driver leaned across the passenger seat. “Are you okay, miss?”

Maria wrapped her arms around her chest. Her breath made white puffs of smoke as it hit the frigid air. “Are you by any chance heading into Boston?”

“Yeah,” the driver said. He looked around them at the deserted dark road. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Could I catch a ride downtown?”

The driver nodded, and Maria opened the door. As the truck pulled out, she memorized the way back to the mansion. She would never tell a soul where it lay. And as they passed by the thick wood that disguised the manor, she understood why no one ever knew it was there.

The driver made small talk, but Maria gave short, vague answers. She knew where she had to go; she wouldn’t be distracted from her purpose. The sky began to lighten in the distance, a greeting of pinks and reds. By the time the truck pulled to a stop outside the bishop’s residence, morning had broken.

Maria thanked the truck driver and made her way to the door. As she rapped on the wood, all she could think of were the Fallen. And Raphael. Her stomach sank when she thought of him waking and not finding her there. Especially after last night, after how she had seen him so torn apart by his past.

It was because you mentioned Father Murray at dinner. You brought those horrors to his mind.

The door opened, pulling Maria from her guilt. A woman stood on the threshold. “Can I help you?”

“I need to speak to Bishop McGuiness. It’s urgent,” Maria said.

The woman went to shut the door, but Maria held her hand out. “It’s about priests engaging in abusive behavior at Holy Innocents. I am Sister Maria Agnes from Sisters of Our Lady of Grace, and I won’t leave until I’ve been seen.” Maria felt her chest swell with courage, with what was right and just. “Or I can go to the press. I have it on good authority that many journalists will want to hear what I have to say.”

The woman looked around her to check no one was listening, then ushered Maria inside. “Come in and stop with the threats. I’ll speak to the bishop and see what he says.”

Maria entered. The door slammed shut behind her.

“Stay here.” The woman moved out of sight. The confidence Maria had gathered en route waned some. But she stood tall and waited to be seen. Minutes later, the woman reappeared and showed Maria into an office. Maria sat at the desk and waited for the bishop. She thought she would be nervous. Anxious at meeting the important man. But she wasn’t. She was confident and ready to expose the priests who were straying so far from the church’s path.

When the bishop walked in, he was dressed, but he had a tight scowl on his face. He sat down. “Sister,” he said coldly. “If you wanted to speak with me you should have gone through the proper channels.” His eyes darkened. “Not threatened my staff with tabloid stories.”

Maria bristled at his dismissal. At his tone toward her, no doubt because she was a woman.

His gaze roved over her clothes. “If you are a sister, why aren’t you in your habit?”