The Sister(16)

‘Mrs Flynn, it is Doctor —’

She stopped him short. ‘You can’t speak with her!’

‘Wait, I didn’t ring to talk to her. I rang to find out if everything was all right.’

‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ she growled.

‘She didn’t show up for her blood test, and I just wanted —’

‘Mr Ryan, she doesn’t need any medical test, and she doesn’t need the likes of you. Anyway, she’s gone now.’

He hesitated a second. ‘What do you mean...gone?’

‘She’s joined the sisterhood,’ she said.

‘That’s impossible, she’s too young!’

‘She’s an exceptional case, Mr Ryan,’ she said with pride. ‘Accept it. Let it go and leave us be!’

The phone banged down.

Cut off, he scowled at the receiver. At the time of his last visit, he’d sensed animosity between them, and now he was unlikely to discover what it was.

He did as she asked and let it go.





Chapter 12



Sent initially to a convent for further study, it didn’t take long for Vera’s unique gifts to manifest themselves. The preliminary assessment reported: The girl appears to have the ability to read the past lives of people, to see deep into the very soul and nature of those subject to her scrutiny, indeed, even going so far as to predict the future – without evidence of trickery or deception.

When word of Vera’s supernatural abilities reached bishop level and beyond, it was inevitable the Vatican would take an interest. They sent two emissaries for her.

Once in Rome, specialist doctors hooked Vera up to EEG sensors and took electro-encephalograms while she slept to measure her brainwaves. After conducting psychiatric tests, polygraphs and other neurological evaluations, the investigators found no evidence of fraud or deception, and reported that the abilities she displayed were inexplicable, and beyond scientific understanding. A great deal of secrecy surrounded their conclusions and, with special dispensation from the Holy See, the church accepted her as a novice nun. She became Sister Verity and spent the next few years in the Vatican, where she studied, and was herself studied by theologians in supernaturalism.

Prior to the burgeoning sex abuse scandals of the eighties and nineties, the Church was keen to keep its own house in order, to avoid scandal and negative publicity. In Sister Verity they'd found someone who was capable of sniffing out and identifying the rot, God’s own bloodhound. Sister Verity became widely known as simply 'The Sister' within the inner circles of the church.

In this role, she’d attend confession in selected parishes, and it was there in the confessional that she was able to establish the veracity of the priests. Her exposures were kept in-house in most cases, but some were too big to contain.

The newspapers ran headlines over the next few weeks: Priest accused of child molestation – More victims come forward – Accusations going back decades – Bishop knew of allegations – Priest commits suicide!





At first, she’d been only too willing to assist, later becoming unhappy, not only at the way in which the Church handled things, but also at the regularity with which she uncovered these people. 'Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone', was stretching the point. Although she was not without sin herself, the extent of sin she found in those holy places alarmed her. Inevitably, she came up against priests she had reported to the Church authorities the first time around, only to find them transferred to another parish in the hope they would mend their wicked ways.

Her last case had been the final straw.

One of the things she needed to do while waiting in the confessional was de-tune herself from the box itself, or she’d be hearing how Mrs Dalton or some other poor soul, had confessed to stealing eggs and potatoes to feed her starving family, while shame kept her from telling the priest that she’d also been sleeping with the milkman and the coalman while her husband was in prison, and her conscience had guilted her into thinking half a confession was better than nothing.

Well-worn hollows, formed by many different elbows, dished the shelf by the screen. The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive. It wasn’t right. Placing her hands onto the wood, she focused beyond the fabric of its construction. So much guilt, unhappiness, sorrow and pain, had been absorbed. The image of a choirboy came to her, sitting on the pew outside, deliberately timing his arrival so he’d be the last in the queue.

‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, it’s been too long since my last confession, and since then you have had me indulge in vile practices with you, Father, and it has to stop!’

The priest was calm. ‘You want to turn your back on all the special privileges your position brings? You no longer want to be in the choir?’

The boy blurted out, ‘I’ll not be doing those things anymore; it’s against God and nature!’

The priest hissed through the grille, ‘It stops, when I say it stops!’

‘No, Father, it ends now or I go to the police!’

‘Then go to the police! Do you think they’ll take the word of an illegitimate orphan against the word of a priest?’

He could have only been thirteen, his voice newly broken. Unsure, he rose suddenly and dismissed himself.

Father O'Donohue swept out of the confessional behind him.