Chapter Text
High above the balcony, like a soul tearing free of its corporeal restraints, a luminous pyre of flame erupted from the camerlengo’s center. The fire shot upward, engulfing his entire body instantly. He did not scream. He raised his arms over his head and looked toward heaven. The conflagration roared around him, entirely shrouding his body in a column of light. It raged for what seemed like an eternity, the whole world bearing witness. The light flared brighter and brighter. Then, gradually, the flames dissipated. All that was left was a butt of smoke spiraling skyward over Vatican City.
Down below, improbable silence rang out through the huge crowd gathered in St. Peter’s Square. As quickly as the spectacle above disappeared, the shouts and cries from the crowd rose to mingle with the sound of the wind. The smoke on the balcony was swirling then dissipating into the night. There was movement at last, a breath too late, it seemed, as six uniformed men could be seen rushing toward the spot where the camerlengo had stood only moments ago. They were brandishing fire extinguishers.
Unconcerned with the crowds below, a figure fled the halls of the basilica unseen, concealed in shadow and lamp oil. The distraction of the fire had been simple genius. Virtually the entire world was watching an angel ascend to heaven, but it remained to be seen whether or not the angel’s work on this Earth was finished. This was why the fleeing man was descending unnoticed into the Square.
He clutched his stomach through his plainclothes, taking care not to disturb the searing pain on his chest. His other arm was held out firmly across this tender area for protection as he pushed his way through the mass of people who had, minutes ago, been below looking up at him. He had one thought alone in his mind: he needed to get out of the Vatican and to a secluded area before he passed out.
All eyes were on the Vatican. The crowd grew more massive despite the efforts of the authorities. And yet, the man ran in the opposite direction. He ran away from the chaos and blindly through the streets of Rome. Dodging people and bright lights, he kept to the darker, dimly-lit paths.
It was in a shadowy alleyway that the man finally halted. He staggered, reaching out for the support of the stone wall of a nearby building and gasping for air. An autumn breeze blew chillingly through the alleyway as his breath caught in his throat, launching him into a violent fit of dry coughs that ended with him retching and shuddering in the cold. He allowed himself to slink to the ground and slowly lose his grip on consciousness.
This was it. If he could just survive this night in the alleyway, he would be free. He would be free from the authorities in the Vatican, and he would be free of death for a little longer. He understood that there was no place but Hell for him to go, so he would not leave the Earth without knowing that, at the very least, he had accomplished was he had set out to do.
Another breeze fluttered by. This time, though, its dank scent carried a surprising undertone of citrus. Hearing soft footfall, the man wearily lifted his eyes. Someone was standing only meters away from him in the street adjacent to the alleyway he currently occupied. The figure was blurry, and he was too exhausted to focus his eyes, but the voluminous mass of long, dark hair made him assume it belonged to a woman. He hoped with every fiber of his being that she did not see him, that she assumed he was just another beggar on the street. He hoped she would leave him alone.
But she did not. She let out a startled sound into the night, followed by a loud shout of, “Help!” in Italian. The shout was painfully piercing to his ears, but no one else seemed to hear. The world began to spin. The woman was suddenly kneeling at his side. His body involuntarily doubled over in pain as he felt pressure from her hands being applied to his chest.
“Don’t worry. I’m a doctor,” the woman was saying. More Italian, although her voice was becoming distorted. Something warm was muting the freezing cold in his shivering shoulders. He realized it was her arms wrapped around him as she gently laid him down on his back. Her fingers were cold, though. They were probing his neck, then his left hand and wrist.
“You may have some serious injuries, sir. You must be taken to the hospital.”
He hadn’t lost all of his strength just yet. At her words, he panicked and pushed her arm away with a sizeable force given his condition. “No, no, I’ve already been treated,” he said. Then, in English before he could stop himself, “No hospital. Leave me alone.”
“Oh my god, are you a tourist?” the woman asked, this time in English as well. If he wasn’t so discombobulated, he would have easily pinpointed her accent as American. She rubbed her arm absently where he had pushed her and reaffirmed her hold on him. With three fingers, she pressed lightly into his abdomen.
“I could feel your bandages earlier, but you’re still in bad shape,” she said. The man coughed vigorously in reply. In his mind, he calculated his chances of escape. If he could only muster the strength to run, he was certain she wouldn’t follow.
“Please, no hospital,” he said pleadingly. She frowned for a moment, apparently thinking over her options. He wondered if she was regretting ever getting involved in the first place, but the next thing he knew, she was shifting him into an upright sitting position against the cold stone wall of the building.
“Fine. Where are you staying?” she said resolutely, rummaging unabashedly through his pockets.
“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not safe to be out on the streets alone at night?” he managed to say through occasional gasps for air. “And I’ve nothing on my person,” he added as she turned out his empty coat pockets.
“Then tell me your name and where I should take you.”
He wanted to yell out his frustration and demand she leave him alone, but his lungs wouldn’t allow it. “Just- Carlo. My name is Carlo,” he said, using the first name he could think of.
The woman looked unconvinced but weary of debate. “Very well, Carlo. Since you avoided the question so nicely, I’m taking you to a hotel.”
“No money,” he rasped. She paused and slipped her hands into her own jacket pockets.
“No money,” she echoed. “Damn.”
She looked sternly back at him as his eyes were slipping shut again and shook him by the shoulders. “Hey, stay with me. I can’t just leave you here.”
“Looks like… you’ll have to.” The man closed his eyes and smiled triumphantly, darkness taking him at last.
Crap. Crap. The woman looked around in vain for anything that could help her. What was she supposed to do now? Just get up and walk away like there wasn’t a random unconscious man sitting in the alleyway? Something in her medical mind told her she had to take responsibility for saving this man.
She looked back down at Carlo and was surprised by the overwhelming exhaustion that had replaced the smile that was on his face just moments ago. Suddenly, he looked older, though she could have previously sworn he was in his mid-thirties at the most.
Maybe she was too trusting, but Carlo’s injuries seemed far too real to be part of some sort of scheme. More likely, someone had taken advantage of the diversion that had been going on in Vatican City and decided to mug an unsuspecting man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That would explain why Carlo had no money on him. These thoughts and similar others jumbled themselves up inside of her customarily rational and organized mind. In the end, irrationality won out.
It was a compromise, she told herself. She wanted to take him to a hospital, but Carlo had refused. Not because he didn’t want treatment, necessarily, but because he was hiding something. So the answer seemed obvious to her now: sneak him into the Ospedale San Giorgio where she worked. With the relatively limited staff and the hospital’s generally small presence in the community, she could definitely pull off treating him there without drawing a lot of attention. Now there was just the small matter of getting him there.
It was nearing one o’clock in the morning, but luckily, she knew one of her associates would still be at the hospital at that hour. She and Carlo were already just a few blocks east of Via Aurelia where the hospital stood. After gently pushing Carlo into a recovery position, she grasped for her mobile phone in her jacket pocket. Then she speed-dialed her associate, impatiently waiting for the call to go through. The voice that answered in Italian was familiar and hurried with a hint of amusement.
“Evie, what are you doing calling me at this time of night on my personal phone? I thought I sent you home.”
“Sorry, Gino. I was on my way when I ran into a man who needs medical attention.”
“And you called me on my mobile instead of the ambulance service?”
“This is… complicated, Gino.”
“Oh no. Not tonight, Evie. There’s been too many strange things happening tonight.”
“Please, Gino. I just need to get him to the hospital, and then I promise I’ll take care of it myself. No one needs to know about it until this guy wakes up.”
“Good God, does that mean you need a ride?”
“Now would be nice. I’m on Savorelli.”
“I’m on my way.”
Satisfied, Evie hung up and tucked her mobile back into her pocket. Gino would take about fifteen minutes at most to find them. She took that as an opportunity to check on Carlo’s vitals. His breathing was labored but present, and she could feel his pulse. He smelled faintly of lamp oil. Evie wondered if he had broken ribs but suppressed her curiosity for the time being. She wanted to inspect the bandages on his torso but feared waking or alarming him.
Before she thought fifteen minutes could have passed, the alleyway was flooded in bright yellow-white lights. Shielding her eyes, Evie stood up to see Gino getting out of a silver Fiat. He jogged toward them, the dark hair he was growing out bouncing behind him. He briefly placed one hand on Evie’s shoulder in a gesture of greeting and comfort and knelt down to get a better look at the strange man lying on the ground.
“He looks well-kempt for a crazy person.”
“He’s not crazy. I had a conversation with him before he lost consciousness,” Evie said. “I just want to respect his wishes and keep him a secret until he’s well enough to explain what’s really going on.”
Gino looked up at Evie. “If you say so. Let’s get him into the car, then.”
With Gino’s help, moving Carlo wasn’t very difficult at all, but Evie couldn’t imagine having to lug the unconscious man all the way to the hospital alone. They hoisted him up into the back seat of Gino’s Fiat.
“He’ll be all yours at San Giorgio. Almost none of the staff stayed once the situation surrounding conclave started getting interesting. Even some of the patients got up out of their beds to get a closer look at the Vatican.”
Evie climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door as Gino shifted the car into gear. “Really? It must be a miracle,” she said with a grin.
Gino let out a small chuckle. “Yes, it must be. I would have joined them if I hadn’t had so much work to do. Sorry I made you stay so late, but if it weren’t for you, I’d still be buried under all that paperwork.”
“You’re crazy for letting all that work pile up.”
“Speaking of crazy, what’s his name,” Gino said, jerking his head back toward their unconscious passenger.
“He said his name was Carlo.”
“Ah, yes. That was the first name that came to mind when I saw him.”
Evie glanced at Carlo through the rearview mirror. He was positioned upright and leaning against the window with his arms awkwardly lying across his lap. His skin was pale and his features very telling of a man who was probably not very Italian. The way he spoke was even more telling – perfect English with an obvious Irish accent.
“Well, there wasn’t much use in arguing over his name,” Evie said as the car pulled through the tall metal gates and into the modestly sized parking lot of the hospital. Luckily, San Girogio looked like it was hardly touched by the alleged bomb explosion from earlier.
“What exactly is your theory about why there’s a strange man in the back seat of my car right now, Evie?” Gino said, turning off the engine and getting out of his car. Evie followed suit and hurried to over to help her associate with handling Carlo.
“Er, mugging?” she offered. “Or maybe he got banged up from that explosion in St. Peter’s Square.”
Gino lifted Carlo over his shoulder with a grunt and Evie made to help take some of the weight, but Gino swatted her away.
“No, no, I got him. The things I do to get you out of trouble.”
“There’s no trouble here. I promise,” Evie said, jogging a little to keep up with Gino’s long strides. “Where can he stay so the staff won’t bother him?”
“There aren’t any patients in Traumatologia at the moment.”
“Perfect.”
They entered the hospital and headed straight for the traumatology department – a small section of the building designated for accident surgery and therapy. Thankfully, there were no awkward encounters with any staff members who would have surely questioned why a surgeon and a pathologist were lugging an unconscious man through the halls this late at night. Arriving at the first room they came to, Gino laid Carlos down on an imaging table. Evie briefly thought about how relieving it was to see Carlo lying there rather than on an autopsy table.
“Alright, is there anything else you need?”
“I think I can find everything.”
Gino signed. He looked at Carlo lying in the bed and then back at Evie uncertainly. Evie mustered a smile.
“Get back to your files, Gino. Don’t worry about it.”
Her associate hesitated, but he ultimately nodded and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Evie watched him leave and turned to her new patient, who looked almost peaceful in sleep now. He must have been on his way to being well-rested, but the cuts on his face needed cleaning, an x-ray had to be necessary, and there was no telling what else could be wrong with him.
Evie washed her hands and grabbed a bottle of antiseptic and a jar of clean cotton from the cabinet above the sink. Pulling up a swiveling backless chair, she set to work on Carlo’s face. She may have officially been a pathologist, but she had to know how to get by as a general practitioner, too.
Gently, she dabbed once at a cut on Carlo’s forehead that must have started bleeding again somewhere between the alleyway and the hospital. She had hardly put the cotton to the cut a second time when Carlo hissed and swatted blindly at her. Startled, she gasped and rolled back a little on her chair.
“Sorry, that stings.”
“It’s fine. I couldn’t really warn you.”
Carlo gave a soft, half-hearted laugh, lifting his fingers absently to the cut.
“No, don’t touch it,” Evie said quickly, pulling up her chair again and catching his hand. “Glad to see you’re back in the land of the living,” she said, picking up the cotton again. “Okay, well, here’s your warning.”
He nodded once, and Evie resumed her work. This time, Carlo held in the stinging pain and showed nothing more than a few clenches of his jaw. With his green eyes, he stared blankly ahead at the wall.
“I really thought you were deep asleep,” Evie said. “I know you said no hospitals, but I work here, and it was close. And most of the staff either left hours ago or are asleep in another wing. Fortunately, we’re having a bit of a lull in patients at the moment. I was covering for some people, so I stayed late. After the explosion in St. Peter’s Square, I was sent home. And that’s when I found you. Anyway, I didn’t know what else to do so I brought you here.”
There was a pause. Evie finished with the last of the cuts, cleaned up her materials, and headed to the sink to wash her hands again as she waited for some sort of a reply.
“No, this is fine.”
“Good. We’ll have you out of here in no time. But if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to you?”
“Forgive me, but I’ve already said I’ve been treated.”
Evie looked up from where she was making adjustments to the x-ray machinery, likely left askew by the shock of the explosion. “I know, but you were in bad condition when I found you, and I have no idea what might have happened between now and the last time you were in the hospital because you won’t tell me. So, I’ll need to find a radiologist to take an x-ray. On top of that, I’ll need to inspect that bandage on your torso.”
“No!” Carlo blurted. Evie blinked in surprise.
“Why not? You were in pain when I applied pressure to your torso, so it obviously needs attention,” she said, plucking a hospital gown out of a cabinet and draping it over her arm. “Would you be more comfortable if a man did it? My associate, Dr. Lambre, could come in. He knows you’re here. Sorry.”
Carlo sighed. “Once again, it’s fine.” He sat up slowly, taking care with his chest. “I will cooperate staying here in this hospital for no more than another night. But no radiologist. And this requires no attention, is that clear?” he said, gesturing to his abdomen. Evie pursed her lips in disapproval.
“I suppose I did take you here against your will.”
“I’m glad you agree. What should I call you?”
“Dr. Suwarti will do.”
“Dr. Suwarti,” Carlo repeated. He bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”
“I’m starting to think you are crazy, but you’re welcome.” She tossed the hospital gown back into the cabinet and gestured to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in five minutes with some water.”
Evie walked out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her. Carlo had made some pretty strange requests, but that wasn’t wholly unheard of. He had said 'no radiologist,' but not necessarily 'no x-rays.' She wasn't a radiologist, but maybe she could get away with taking a couple chest images...
She shook her thoughts of him out of her head, prepared for a five minute break from the weirdness that awaited her back inside that room. She rounded the corner and entered a small break room with the television still on. The staff needed to be better at remembering to turn the thing off when no one was in the break room.
There were paper cups in the cupboard and Evie found a tray of ice cubes in the freezer. She poured drinks for Carlo and herself, adding ice cubes into her own cup. She still liked her water cold, though most of her colleagues preferred room temperature.
“Authorities are confounded by the disappearance of Chamberlain Patrick McKenna. We have received word that no body was found on the scene…”
Snatching the remote control from the coffee table, Evie powered off the television to shut up the fast-talking Italian anchorman on the local news. There would be time to catch up with the outside world after she had gotten some sleep. Picking up the two cups, she switched off the lights in the room with her elbow and headed back to the imagery room.