Chapter Text
A/N: The main character doesn’t have a name-it’s an inside joke as I’ve never heard any of the clergy refer to me by my own Christian name. :)
Chapter 1: the Bishop
Getting out of my Volkswagen Jetta I shut the car door and hesitated, glancing up at the imposing structure in front of me. The cathedral loomed large over the nearby intersection, half silhouetted in the brilliant moonlight as the snow fell noiselessly around me. All the streetlights were lit, a soft golden halo stabbed up at the dark navy sky as a few cars went by. A faint hint of exhaust smoke drifted to me as I heard people walking by in the semidarkness talking to each other.
There was something about the cathedral. It had stood for over a hundred years and I had only been in it once before. Often times people talked about being called to a place and I knew exactly what they meant. I had been called a few times; my insatiable curiosity had driven me to place after place to know more about it. If I concentrated hard enough I could see the place as it was near the turn of the 19th century, hear the buckboard wagons and horse buggies as people came up to hear the priest of their time.
The wind blew in from off the bay as I adjusted my coat, strode forward, my boots making muted sounds as I trudged on through the snow and opened up the door. The narthex was cold so I hustled through, opening up the inner door to reveal the sanctuary.
Thankfully it was nice and warm in there so I shed my jacket, leaving it on the bench closest to the altar, then eyeballed all the stone effigies that were set into the wall closest to the ceiling. I didn’t have a clue to who any of them were and they were so high up off the ground that even bronze plaques affixed under each one wouldn’t have done me any good. Well, unless they were dusted regularly and I had a good pair of binoculars.
I was way early for mass but that was all right; I’d timed it that way. Nobody was in the cathedral which was how I liked it. Turning, I could see the black piano in one corner needing a dusting in the worst way. Retrieving a few paper towels I dampened one, ran it over the lacquered finish then rubbed off the dust with the dry one. To me it was a crime to let a beautiful instrument get dusty like that; my own piano was always covered.
A wry smile twisted its way onto my lips. Dare I? Of course I dare. Sitting down on the bench, I lifted up the rack over the keys, letting it fall into place behind the front of the piano. The rack thumped back as I tested the keys, my tuning ear told me it was perfect so I began to play.
Without even really knowing it my hands picked out the chords and notes; it was the song Lithium from Evanescence. How appropriate, I thought. Spending December in a long state of depression over past events from a year ago, the season was exceptionally lonely and blue for me. I’d tried to cover it up the best that I could but the mind-body connection retaliated which in turn made me sick for several days.
At least it wasn’t covid; I’d already had that back in June and I didn’t need to get it again. My fingers danced over the keys while my thoughts ruminated on what that illness was. It must have been one of the 48 hour bugs that comes and goes not that I was complaining. My seclusion was starting to get noticed-even the priest was starting to get a little vehement that I needed to come.
He knew that I had a hard time with the holidays and was depressed throughout the month but that was all he knew. Last year I had suffered a tragedy that nearly cost me my own life and I never said anything about it. I did not want to become emotional in front of him or anyone-it still caused me distress to this day to talk about it.
The song ended, I drew comfort from the music and from the fact that my psychiatrist knew all about it. I couldn’t keep him in the dark on any of it. What next to play?
Glancing up to the effigies like they could help me I spied one with what looked like an inverted horn-must have been the trumpet Gabriel carried around with him. My thoughts went back to the cemetery; in section C old side there was a monument with an angel and around the base there were inverted torches to represent a life extinguished. No more fire in their eyes and in their soul, I mused.
Funny how one thought leads to another. I was an Aries which was a fire sign in astrology. My temper, once triggered, could be especially fiery due to the fact I had Scottish blood. Fire was beautiful, it was pure, even cleansing in a way. My fingers picked out the keys almost of their own volition, Adele’s Set Fire To the Rain.
When I was in high school I was part of the drama club and I did all of it, lighting, directing, lead makeup person, acting, singing and some dance. One day I had asked the musical director to play a song while I sang to it and she obliged me. I had sung a piece, I had forgotten what the song was but damn, you had to sing loudly over the piano to be heard!
Just as the song ended the power flickered and went out. That was rare actually in the downtown area. There was only snow no ice on the ground; no reason for the power to be out at all. I couldn’t see the piano anymore to play so I stood up, fumbling in my pockets for my mini flashlight I always had on me. Finally I found it, clicked it on, happy I had replaced the batteries recently then aimed the little beam around me.
At the far end of the sanctuary I could just make out a dark shape near the wall. I edged closer, studying it intently then I saw it streak away into the sacristy.
What was that? I had read of dark figures and none of it was very good; but I was never any good at following the rules either so off I went, tailing the creature while completely disregarding my own safety like usual.
**
Into the sacristy I went, my flashlight emitting a pitiful little beam which got me to where I needed to be. Interestingly enough when I entered I could see a golden light emitting which didn’t make any sense to me at all. If the power was out then what was that? Things weren’t adding up as soon as I set foot in the church then I had to wonder why exactly that was.
Clicking off the flashlight I stood in the doorway, seeing several men standing there, all dressed in the Victorian style, three piece black or brown suits, brown derbys, mustaches galore. Probably the mid 1890s at least, I guessed while watching one of them lean against the counter with a bottle of wine in one hand.
“Where is he?” one of the priests demanded, turning to the stairway. “Come on, he takes a long time to get ready now!”
“Hold your horses, chuckers,” the guy with the wine bottle drawled lazily. “maybe he had too much wine last night.” several of the men giggled as the floorboards creaked ominously.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw who had descended the stairs. Bishop Mason! He was a tall almost fragile looking man, dark hair, dark eyes in his bishop getup. I’d spent a good number of days researching his life. This gentleman had been quite a ‘trailblazer’ as a priest I’d worked with had deemed him. Bishop Mason had been quite a man before his time in many ways but as he attired himself to lead the mass there was something else about him that I couldn’t quite place at the moment.
“Where have you been?” one of the men demanded angrily. “You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago!”
Bishop Mason appeared to wince for a moment then kept his face neutral. “I was sleeping upstairs,” his voice was light and mild mannered; I had no doubt he could convey authority if he needed to. “but no matter, off to mass we go.”
Properly attired, the bishop and his helpers(I guess that’s what they were), began to walk towards me. I automatically moved out of the way while my mind puzzled over what I was seeing exactly. It was a restored scene of the past certainly but how exactly did I come to witness this?
The men all moved off down to the sanctuary, I was watching Mason’s every move, standing near a pillar, knowing that none of the men would be able to see me when Mason’s head turned and he looked directly at me. What the actual hell? If he was a figure from the past then he wouldn’t be able to see me at all so what was the game here? I saw him conceal a grimace, one hand covertly going to his waist as he walked on by to the altar.
I knew that look all too well. I would figure that one out as soon as I solved the mystery why I was seeing a scene of the past. The easy answer was that I must have settled down to take a nap before services started but I didn’t remember doing that. I’d been playing piano that much was clear to me then the power had failed. In a spiritual place like a church, especially as old as this one, the energy must have been concentrated. If the foundation of the place had been granite that would explain it. Granite had mica and clear quartz crystal fragments in it and they were known in the metaphysical world to supercharge spiritual energy, concentrate it, etc.
Then it came to me-the entire church was a ley line. A ley line was a link to the past, connected with other historical sights. The observatory wasn’t far off, neither was the eastern cemetery so the cathedral had its own network of ethereal energy.
Bishop Mason had taken his position and began to lead the mass after the readings were read. The bishop was a soft spoken man but in his element his voice was a little harder with an edge to it, almost commanding in his own way. The parishioners were hushed as they followed his every word, he did everything that a bishop would do (so I thought in my own limited experience). I had never seen a bishop inside the church and never witnessed one actually lead mass.
Mason dismissed the congregation and in a way I was happy to have seen him lead a mass-my first bishop led mass in a pretty liberal use of the words. The middle aged man stepped down and was walked away by his helpers. As he walked past me he again turned his head and looked at me. This was getting weird.
Another piece of the puzzle slid into place. Mason was buried where I worked and I had long held the notion that the dead are present in many spiritual ways. I had bestowed upon him a wreath during the torturous month of December as a sign of remembrance. Perhaps he had taken notice of me after I did that and knew that I was open spiritually to receive this scene of the past or vision, or whatever you wanted to call it.
He wanted me to see the mass, I knew that at least. Maybe he thought I needed more church and knew I’d been slacking off in December due to personal mental health problems. Anyway I was glad to see it; he was an amazing orator. Why did he keep looking at me though?
As I watched, Mason and his helpers disappeared gradually, fading into the ethereal abyss. The paranormal or spiritual atmosphere was so thick it was almost cloying here, I thought as I turned on my flashlight again. My gaze went to the window-I crossed over and looked out of it to see a clear summer day, carriages going past and children playing in the street corners while passerbys were out for a stroll. Before I could peer further up the street to see what was different the whole scene wavered and blurred right out of focus.
It was like looking at something underwater for a long moment. At any rate I was tired by the long day and wasn’t sure if my mind could take much more of this. I put my back to the wall and shut my eyes for a long moment while I puzzled over what I’d been shown. The whole cathedral was at my disposal now and even though I didn’t have any keys it wouldn’t be hard to get access to a few places. Glancing over at the window I could see the snow had stopped falling but the street was 21st century again; cars went by at a leisurely pace. Or as leisurely as the city ever got really.
How did Mason knew I was a spiritual person? Did he have the power to read my energy and know instinctively that I could be a good ally for him? Why did he let me see a mass he himself had led? The questions were starting to bug me and I found myself wanting more information but nothing was coming clear. Perhaps this was some sort of bizarre ritual for spirit sensitive catechists like me.
Maybe it was a distraction designed to pull me out of my depression but I could not be sure of that. The black figure was back, I shined the flashlight beam on it where I could see a pair of golden eyes leering at me. My hand hovered over my left pocket where I usually kept my jack knife for self defense. In the city men still assaulted girls with their misogyny and a girl better fight back to keep herself safe and I would know. The world just wasn’t safe for women; it never really was in the first place.
For some reason the creature didn’t see me as a threat which was probably a good thing. I tailed it upstairs into the front rooms where I could see a china cabinet with stemware and gold rimmed dinnerware were sitting.
The hoity-toity rooms as I called them. It was elegance of the 20s combined with dark redwood paneling and mahogany furniture which gave me an immediate feeling of claustrophobia. There was even a chandelier over the table. A small china hutch stood on one side with hobnailed decorative vases and small accoutrement scattered all over it. By some bizarre coincidence I owned a small hobnailed perfume decanter, given to me by my grandma years ago and it would have fit in with the décor here nicely.
It was a little musty smelling but I didn’t mind that too much-I was allergic to dust and there didn’t seem to be any around here. Relieved on that front I strode to the windows and looked out. The city block seemed to have power so why didn’t the cathedral? I took out my phone, saw I had zero bars and no reception at all. There was no signal. Strange-I was in the downtown area which usually had 100% reception even when the power was out. Things were getting weirder but I loved a good mystery so I would see how it played out.
Whoever put the big room together sure loved the dark wood and paneling; I’d have gone for maple-light wood and colors gave the illusion of more space. My own personal critique: it was gaudy and overdone for what it was. No wonder the media of the day were pretty derogatory of the place. Evidently the church did so well it could afford top of the line stemware for visiting clergy it seemed. I understood putting the best foot forward or making a great impression but it was a bit too much.
Just then I heard a sound like someone putting down a wine glass. At the far end of the room I saw a little light like a candlestick and a silhouette that gradually came into focus. A pale looking face, bespectacled that I recognized. Bishop Frederick.
He was looking pensive at the moment, perhaps thinking about what had gone on that day or not. I racked my brain; I’d been writing up some historical famous people in the cemetery and Frederick was one of them. He’d presided on the Vatican II council I think back in the sixties. In spite of my thirst for knowledge I had not touched upon the subject of Vatican II and did not know a thing about it. For some reason it didn’t interest me at all and there was always something else I let get in the way of me leaning about it. Maybe it was just too recent for me to get into, I thought with a smirk.
I peered down at the table and chairs; people thought that they were more of a Chippendale style but to my eye the entire set looked more like an Ethan Allen set which was hugely popular at the time; my grandparents had owned something similar.
Whoops my mind wasn’t supposed to go there. I leaned against the doorjamb as I watched Frederick’s ghost for a long time. He didn’t turn towards me at all like Mason had so I had the sense I was watching a residual haunting. It was like a video being played over and over as he didn’t seem to notice me at all. Not that I was offended mind you. He was a welcome distraction as I tried not to think of how much I missed my grandfather.
Finally Frederick’s ghost blinked once and disappeared. The cathedral was almost ominous in the silence amid the noisy city spread out around it while I wondered what was going to happen now. Was the figure going to come back and menace me or guide me somewhere else?
Blithely I turned away from the rather ostentatious long room, wondering if the cathedral had a solarium or atrium where I could sprawl out on a luxurious couch and relax until the power came back on. Turning on the flashlight again I caught a glimpse of myself in a hallway mirror. I looked like I always did, curly brown hair, dark eyes, wearing my gray pants, black t-shirt and my new cardigan, white bedazzled with gems. The black t-shirt was actually a band t-shirt, the Queen logo was at the back. My makeup, a gray smoky eye was still holding on well throughout the day; my lips had a thin coat of gloss on to keep the moisture in which was tinted a little bit with color.
The atmosphere began to change as I checked to make sure my stud earrings were still in; I could feel the changes in the air but chose to disregard them as I took the butterfly clip out of my hair. Straightening up and clipping the butterfly clip to my t-shirt I saw the figure again. It was right behind me, golden eyes smirking openly. What was it going to do next? If I turned around it would vanish but it was creeping me out to look at it so I stupidly shut my eyes.
Something cold slid down past my neck and over my clavicles; I had the grim impression that was it, the ghost was going to snap my neck in one swift motion and all that was going to be left of me would be shoved onto the altar. What a rude awakening for the priest and inconvenient to say the least.
“I have not done much with my life,” I muttered, remembering Sidney from A Tale of Two Cities. “get it over with-no one would miss me anyway.”
A hissing laugh sounded in my ear while I imagined the Jackal from Thirteen Ghosts, the psychotic one with a cage on his head and unhealthy obsession with lust. Even though I was no stranger to horror and had seen some pretty horrible things in my life, I still felt my pulse speed up as a flash in my mind showed me the caged menace skulking up behind me. A cold breeze tickled the back of my neck while I tried to quell the foreboding feeling that flared up in my brain. A hysterical insane laugh came to my ears while my brain told me I was being overstimulated and to stop it immediately-my mind would shut down if it continued.
Shut down it did-that sickening feeling of falling down a dark tunnel completely took over then blackness.
**
Some time later I became more aware of what was going on. Piano music drifted over to me for a moment then it stopped as if it knew it’s task in awakening me was done. I was freezing cold, lying on my left hand side somewhere. Footsteps walked over, a hand brushed through my hair as if in admiration of how curly it was. The only thing that registered in my mind was how cold the floor and my body was. What the hell was going on around here? My eyes opened up, I sat up a little too fast which triggered some momentary dizziness while I got my bearings.
“What?” the piano was still being played but faintly. I last remembered that mental image of a fictional character coming after me but that definitely wasn’t real. Then again who knew for sure? I had struggled for most of my life with fragile mental health-my nerves were completely shot. Glancing down I saw I was wearing a white dress-I hated dresses! My surroundings became more visible-I was lying right in front of the altar in the church. If there was symbolic meaning behind that, take for instance I was one of God’s own lambs that strayed far from the fold, I didn’t comprehend it.
My head hurt abominably, one hand went up to my temple while the other was in the act of moving up when a hand stopped mine. Bishop Mason’s kindly face smiled down at me, offering me a hand up which I accepted. “Dresses look horrible on me.” I complained, never satisfied on that front.
“Never you mind about that,” he admonished quickly. “you’re wearing the color of your spirit.”
“So my spirit’s pure then?” both hands went up to hug my shoulders-it was so cold!
“Like the driven snow. I’ve been visiting here and the cemetery where I was buried off and on for longer than you’ve been alive and I saw you give me a wreath for Christmas. I wanted to thank you in my own way.” we walked to a pew and sat down. “You’re very receptive to friendly spirits and I wanted you to figure out the cause of my death.”
“Oh right,” I remembered him in pain from the earlier vision. “you had what I have now, don’t you?”
“Yes indeed. You don’t die from indigestion.” he echoed my words of some months ago when I had gone over his burial record. Some accounts listed it as a heart attack but the burial record officially listed indigestion. “You’re the only one who didn’t like the answer you were given and I knew I could trust you.”
“Makes sense. What happens to me now? Did that thing kill me?”
“No. There’s a lot left in your life for you to figure out and conquer. I wanted to tell you that you can trust the priests here and their compatriots absolutely. You don’t want to let more people into your inner mind which is a natural defense but you can trust them. I know you’re very leery of the parish priests; no sooner do you trust them when they get reassigned. They won’t harm or betray you.”
“I’m sure they think of me as an oddball amongst other things.” I rubbed my shoulders in a futile effort to stay warm as the breath condensed in front of my face. I was going to get sick very quickly if I kept being exposed to the cold temperature like this. “Besides I can’t seem to connect with him.”
“No they don’t. They don’t know how to react to you, you keep them away so well. But living your life the way you have been, you need a few confidantes and they are the perfect candidates. You being you it’s hard to open up and you’ve been betrayed by people who don’t deserve you,” Mason observed poignantly. “time to let the old abusive ex lovers go now.”
“All right.” I sighed. He’d evidently read every page of my life. Mason had the most attractive dark eyes I’d ever seen before. They conveyed goodwill, amusement, but gentle benevolence with the overlay of wisdom to boot. A man before his time, a chaplain in the Civil War, a quiet life but a remarkable one with quite a body of work and lasting legacy.
“There’s a good girl. Now I know I overtaxed your strength giving you those visions so why don’t you settle in for a nap here with me? You’ll have to forgive me on that front..” I didn’t realize how drained I was until I realized my body wasn’t just cold-it was tired too. Mason was right on the money, looking amused as my eyelids started closing involuntarily. The dizziness came back; Mason took my hands then guided me over a pew, sitting me down.
I hadn’t felt so tired since I’d been pregnant; it seemed like back then my mind turned itself off at 4 PM every day-it was very hard work building life itself. “Any chance you can make me forget what happened to me a year ago?” I asked hopefully. Life would have been better without all the physical and mental scars.
“Unfortunately no but there are good hypnotists in your time if that’s what you really want..” the former bishop took my left hand and with his long digits pressed down on a white scar on the underside where nobody knew it was there. Without saying a word he leveled his gaze with mine, subconsciously telling me he knew absolutely everything-scars told a story. Shame surged through me, bringing a momentary flush to my cheeks and I had to look away.
Typical. I could probably force myself to forget at some point but not right now. Mason was right, he’d overloaded me with prolonged scenes which had drained my energy reserve. A little siesta was what the doctor ordered anyway so I lay down on the uncomfortable pew while ignoring the cold.
“It’s not shameful to need help now and then; it’s not shameful to feel the way that you do,” that melodic voice told me. “you have the strength that no one else does.” the mental fatigue, much more draining than any physical, dragged me down into a cold blackness.
**
Foggily I came back to myself; I was lying in a pew, my coat was drawn up around me like someone had put it there. How did I get there again? I last remembered standing outside the hoity-toity rooms and being a little snarky when there had been something lurking in the mirror.. My mind was so scattered I wasn’t able to remember anything that had happened after that point. At least I felt warm now which was a great relief-hypothermia didn’t sound appealing.
“That’s strange I’ve never known her to do this,” a masculine voice sounded. “I knew she was sick over the holidays but I thought she was over it. No, she’s fine-I checked her over. When will you be here? OK, bye.” he must have hung up his phone.
The priest was in the sacristy; he must have come in a little while ago. I blinked, realizing that the power had come back on so I sat up, taking my coat and wrapping it around me while the priest appeared and gave me a piercing stare. Father Robert Hugh was a nice guy at heart, all the priests were, but this guy was the one who never failed to make me tense under any circumstances.
“I don’t know about you sometime,” he teased as he sat in the pew in front of me. “do you feel sick at all?” a hand went to my forehead. “You’re a little warm.” I flushed a little bit under his gaze, my tenseness coming back.
“I’m not sick,” I dismissed his concern. “when did we get the power back?”
Robert looked taken aback now. “We never lost it. I came in here about twenty minutes ago and saw you sleeping on a wooden pew. You haven’t moved. Are you sure you feel all right?” those steely gray eyes pierced right into my own. What was he seeing when he looked at me? A skittish lady with a damaged past most likely; but if I asked him that question he’d lapse into using generalized platitudes none of which were personally fitting. He didn’t know me at all-of course, I had never talked to him! Hoisted by my own petard as they say.
“I came in here at 3, what time is it now?” I checked my phone. It was only 3:30! The priest watched me as I tried to make sense of what I’d seen but gave it up quickly-he’d never believe me anyway so why should I try?
“Time for you to go home,” he told me firmly. “you’re sick and I don’t want you here if you’re not feeling like your best self. Head on home and get some rest, all right?”
He could probably see something that I couldn’t. What right did I have to impede on his time with ramblings that he would dismiss as just dreams? It wasn’t going to be taken seriously anyway so I gave up on that front. Robert watched me as I gathered up my things, stood, then told me to take care of myself.
“I want to see you back here when you’re well, understood?” he was a good six inches taller than me, clad in the perpetual black of the priesthood. Robert gave me a tight smile but his eyes belied a little concern. I had to see it from his angle-a parishioner coming in and falling asleep on a pew while her mind was subjected to vivid dreams did kind of spell out illness.
I sighed deeply, knowing that I wasn’t really sick but there was something else that Robert should know. “You won’t see me for a few weeks, maybe three.”
He looked bemused. “All that time for a simple cold or flu bug?”
“No,” I kept my tone light, conversational. “I’m going to have surgery.”
Robert’s smile faded quickly. “I’m so sorry to hear that. What are you having done?”
Fortunately I was an open book when it came to all things medical so I didn’t think the question was impertinent at all. “I have a benign tumor that needs to come out. It’s been making my life very difficult for the past few months. I’m going in tomorrow to get it done.”
“That soon?” Robert put his hand on my shoulder comfortingly. “You’ll be in my prayers.”
“Thanks, Father Robert.” he offered me a hug for good luck which I was more than happy to accept.