Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God (13 page)

Luciano tapped the table with his sausage-like fingers. “Mind your manners, little one. First, let’s give God His due.” Samuel slowly, reluctantly, put his fork back down and bowed his head. He listened as Luciano prayed, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel God’s presence. He felt far away, he felt betrayed.

“Amen,” finished Luciano.

Without saying a word, Samuel shoveled eggs and sausage into his mouth like a mad dog, gagging several times. He finished so fast he looked up at Luciano, ashamed. But the Italian just laughed, prepared another plate, poured Samuel a large glass of orange juice and resumed his seat.

“Slow down little one. We have plenty.”

This time Samuel took his time, but as he ate, a thought hit him. “Do you have a phone?” he asked, anxiously.

“Sorry, Samuel, but alas, Luciano has no phone. I make most of my calls at the phone center in the middle of town. Most people around here do.”

Disappointed, Samuel chewed slower, but soon brightened and felt encouraged. Although he was still far away from home, he had managed to escape his captures, and couldn’t help but feel relieved that soon he’d be back home.

“I have to get to the American Embassy,” he told Luciano, eggs falling out of his mouth.

“So you told me back in the alley,” said Luciano. “Tell me, what’s going on?”

Samuel washed down his breakfast with a long drink of juice, rested back in the wicker chair, and told the Italian everything, beginning to end. He stopped several times to wet his dry throat, but covered each detail to the obvious chagrin of Luciano, who interrupted along the way with verbal Italian bursts that Samuel was sure amounted to total amazement.

“But why would priests and nuns do such a thing?” Luciano ranted.

“Why?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out for myself,” said Samuel. “All I know is that I have to go to the Embassy, so I can get home.” Luciano stroked his beard, stood and paced the room, finally resting a hard gaze on Samuel that sent a shiver through his tiny body. “This is very serious, Samuel. To lie on the holy ones of the Church is blasphemy.”

Samuel’s eyes welled up. His lip quivered. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Luciano’s face softened. “If what you say is true, little one, then you are still in grave danger. Whoever took you is still looking for you.” A sudden knock at the door startled Samuel. Luciano opened it, and a beautiful olive skinned woman strolled inside, all smiles and kisses for Luciano. “I see our little guest is bright-eyed and awake,” she said, walking over and giving Samuel soft wet kisses on each cheek.

“This is Dianora, a good friend, who volunteered to watch over you while I ran errands several times. She took good care of you.” Samuel thanked Dianora, unable to take his eyes off her. The dress she wore clung close to her body, accenting every curve. Braless, he could make out her thick dark nipples, which caused a twitch between his legs.

“Our little friend’s name is Samuel, and he has quite a story to tell,” said Luciano. “We must get him to the American Embassy later tonight.”

“Tonight,” chimed Samuel. “Why not right now, right away?”

“Because the people looking for you will have the Embassy watched.

It’ll be much safer and easier to get you there under the cover of darkness.”

It made sense to Samuel, but all the same, he wanted to get it over with. He wanted to go home.

“Listen to Luciano,” said Dianora, her eyes sultry, penetrating. “He won’t lead you wrong.”

Samuel resigned himself to waiting and turned his attention back to the plate in front of him, while Luciano and Dianora stepped outside to talk. A few minutes later, Luciano came back inside alone.

“Dianora will drive us to the Embassy later tonight. We’ll hide you on the floor in back of the car and rush you inside,” said Luciano.

Samuel could barely swallow his last bite. He jumped from his seat and rushed over to Luciano, crashing into the husky Italian, almost knocking him down. Tears filled Samuel’s eyes and he cried. “Thank you,” he said, sniffling. “Thank you very much.”

“Now, now, little one,” said Luciano, his own voice raspy. “We’ll have none of that. Get cleaned up. We don’t want to take you home dirty, now do we?”

Samuel finally let Luciano go and wiped his eyes. The Italian pointed him to the bedroom. “There are clean towels on the bed in my room, and the bathroom’s down the hall. I’ll clean the kitchen, and then we can play checkers and chess while we wait.” Samuel, excited, skipped down the hall. He found the towels on the bed as Luciano instructed, and noticed a group of pictures on the nightstand. One was a photo of a much younger Luciano, standing next to a gray haired woman Samuel guessed to be his mother. Samuel smiled.
Soon, I’ll be home with my mom.

Samuel turned to head for the bathroom and glanced out the window.

His eyes fell on a sight that sent his knees shaking. Sister Bravo and Father Sin exited a black Mercedes across the street, and were headed toward Luciano’s building.

W
arm urine ran down Samuel’s right leg into his sneakers, and formed a puddle on the dingy blue carpet in Luciano’s bedroom. This time it wasn’t an act. He dropped the towel and slowly edged backwards away from the window, Sister Bravo and the demon priest still in sight.

“Hurry, little one,” called Luciano. “The checker board is getting cold.”

Samuel, shaking and numb, tried to answer but the words drifted off in whispers. He cleared his throat, tears running down his cheeks. “Just a second,” he managed to eek out, now sitting on the edge of the bed. He stared down at the carpet in a daze.
Why is this happening? Why?
He jumped to his feet.
Luciano betrayed me!
The thought quelled his shaking and sent his teeth grinding.
I’m not going back! I’m not!
He eased toward the window.

The nun and priest climbed the stairs, headed for the second floor apartment, hell-born scowls on their contorted faces. No doubt Father Sin caught it good for letting Samuel get away, and the ten year old was not about to stick around for the punishment.

Samuel slipped out the door, tiptoed down the hall and ducked into the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. A strong rap on the door startled him out of his momentary meditation and he eased up, stood on the commode, and pushed open the cloudy glass window. Two floors down, he saw an empty yard, except for bare hedges, barren rose bushes, and a half grass, mostly dirt, lawn.

He couldn’t find anything to land on, and nothing to hang from. No balcony, no fire escape, nothing. He got down off the toilet and pressed his ear against the door.

“What boy?” he heard Luciano exclaim. “There’s no boy here, only Luciano!”

“Then you must be expecting someone,” answered Sister Bravo. “I see the checker board is set up.”

“Yes,” said the Italian. “I’m expecting company.” Samuel heard the thud of Father Sin’s hooves across the floor.

“There are two plates in the sink, Sister,” Father Sin quipped.

“I entertained last night,” Luciano lied quickly. “There’s no sin in being a slob.”

“Then you won’t mind if we have a look around,” Father Sin growled.

“No,” snapped Luciano, “I want both of you to leave immediately!” Samuel heard a crash, a groan, and the sound of checkers being knocked to the floor. He cracked open the door and saw Luciano pinned to the floor, Father Sin on top, slapping him in the face. Sister Bravo eerily slithered into view, staring right at Samuel.

A sinister smile broke out on Sister Bravo’s face. “Father, he’s in the bathroom,” she said.

Father Sin stopped grappling, turned toward Samuel, and gave a fiendish smile. He punched Luciano hard in the face.

“Run Samuel!” his Italian friend screamed, biting the priest hard on the arm.

Father Sin grabbed his forearm. “Arrrrhhh, damn you!” Samuel slammed the door and locked it. A loud thud and the sound of heavy footsteps coming toward the bathroom sent him flying through the window.

Feet dangling, grip weak, Samuel hung suspended two stories from the ground, teeth chattering. A loud crash of splintering wood almost caused him to let go, as the metal creases from the windowpane cut into his hands. He looked up and saw Father Sin edging toward him.

“Don’t do anything else foolish, boy. We don’t want to hurt you,” said Father Sin.

Samuel, angered by such obvious bullshit, felt enraged, empowered.

“Go to hell!” he spewed through gritted teeth, and let go.

Samuel’s body seemed to hang suspended in the air, defying nature.

Father Sin lunged for him, but missed. Samuel watched the priest rise into the air as he fell away and crashed hard to the ground.

D
azed and groggy, Samuel propped himself up on his elbows and stared up through blurred vision, barely able to see Father Sin hanging out of Luciano’s bathroom window. A brisk shake of his head and his eyesight cleared. When he looked up again, the priest was gone.

Panicked, Samuel rolled over, pushed himself up and ran down the street in front of the building.

“Samuel, stop!” he heard Sister Bravo yell. “Stop right now!” Adrenaline filled Samuel’s veins, numbing the pain in his muscles.

The longer he ran, the stronger he felt.

Quiet and near desolate, the neighborhood Luciano lived in was lined with small apartment buildings, villas, and a few single-family houses, all surrounded by lush green countryside and endless rolling hills.

Nobody seemed to pay much attention as Samuel barreled along the stony sidewalk like a tiny race car, toward a destination unknown, weaving in and out of a sparse scattering of pedestrians along the way.

Samuel heard the screech of tires in the distance, looked back, but saw nothing. He made a right and ran down a steep, narrow street, past a block of old buildings that reminded him of something he’d seen in history books back at school. He ducked inside the courtyard of a small villa and stooped down behind a chipped white wooden fence. The angry growl of a car engine, and high-pitched whine of rubber fighting to hold the road, sent Samuel lower to the ground. He peeked through the slats in the fence and watched Sister Bravo and Father Sin speed by, screeching around another corner and disappear.

Breathing hard, heart pounding, Samuel smiled. He sat back against the fence and reveled in his minor victory. An hour passed before he peeked out at the quiet street and eased the gate open, listening closely for the sound of approaching footsteps or vehicles. He calmed down and his vitals fell back to normal. He took a long look around at his surroundings. The town was made up of a series of green hills with houses planted all around. From where he stood he could look down over the rooftops of buildings similar to those he saw in Luciano’s neighborhood.
Luciano, I hope you’re okay.

Wherever he was, Samuel knew it wasn’t Rome. The town was much slower and quieter than the city he witnessed the day before. On the other side of town lay an endless horizon of green hills splattered with small white and yellow cottages. It struck Samuel that it was the type of scene his father and mother would have enjoyed.

Downhill, in the center of the area, Samuel saw a cluster of buildings and activity that led him to believe it was the main part of town.

Carefully checking over his shoulder, he eased down the hill, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

The center of town was a vibrant mix of small shops, cafes and restaurants, all surrounded by freshly painted stone buildings washed over in bright yellows, greens and white. Samuel slowly navigated his way through a mix of camera toting tourists and locals, all crowded in what he heard his mother once refer to back home as a farmer’s market.

Old men hawked fresh fish and meat, the most beautiful vegetables Samuel had ever seen, and oranges so orange, and apples so green and red, they didn’t seem real. One of the old men smiled at him and handed him a large orange, which Samuel thankfully peeled and inhaled in record time. Near the end of the marketplace, he passed a small newsstand filled with magazines and newspapers, all written in Italian.

He picked up a paper. Next to the word
Citta
, which he quickly figured out to mean
city
, was the word
Fascati.

Samuel pointed to the word. “Fas-ca-ti, city,” he said to the crusty, bushy bearded man drilling a hole in Samuel’s head with a harsh glare.

“Si,” the man hissed. “Fascati.”

Samuel’s smile was not returned. The old man’s eyes narrowed and gave the universal mandate, b
uy or move on.
Samuel had no idea how far he was from Rome and The American Embassy, but an idea surfaced in his mind, t
he police
. He looked around for a police officer to plead his case. If nothing else, he’d get a trip to the police station, where someone would figure out what to do with a distraught ten year old kidnapped American boy.

“Samuel,” a female voice called out. Samuel froze, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for a lane to run through. “Samuel, it’s me, Dianora.”

He turned around and saw the beautiful woman who caused his boyhood to tingle back at Luciano’s apartment. She was behind the wheel of a tiny, beat up red car, with an old man in the passenger seat.

Dianora waved him over. He hesitated. He’d been chased, slapped and beaten, and wasn’t about to get more of the same.
What choice do I
have? I have nowhere else to go.

He inched toward the car, his head on a swivel, scanning the area for any sign of Father Sin or Sister Bravo. When he reached the car, Dianora’s smile and the old man’s basset hound eyes put him at ease.

“What are you doing down here alone?” Dianora asked.

Samuel wasn’t sure how much he should tell and decided to feel them out. “Is this your father?” he asked, forcing a smile.

“Such a smart boy,” the old man said, sitting up to get a better look at Samuel. He had crooked yellow teeth, and a brown cap pulled down over his forehead.

“Yes,” said Dianora, “this is my father, Rinaldo.”