Hey, welcome to my first fanfiction.
Yeah, I liked the camerlengo very much (in the movie and the book), so I decided to write about him. In this story Carlo/Patrick (I use the name from the book) isn't to blame for the murders and the theft of the antimatter. More or less he is innocent.
This is just the prologue, so it won't happen that much. But I hope you enjoy it anyway.
English isn't my first language and I am still practicsing, so my English is not perfect. The original story is written in German and it was a little bit hard to translate it without loosing the meaning. So please excuse some mistakes.
May you leave some comments...? ;)
Camerlengo Carlo Ventresca looked down on St. Peter's Square. Wrapped in warm, bright lights, like to cast out the darkness in this night, it seemed to extend to unbelievable capaciousness. The sight was breathtaking. For a moment Carlo remained silently and beheld the view showed to him. Carlo was just a silhouette from volatile flickering fire illuminated in the nearly dark room. The trembling flames mirrored in his green eyes.
Slowly his memories returned. Memories which Carlo had displaced until now. Memories which wouldn't fade away, but got more present.
The pope, his father, was dead...murdered by Carlos own hands. The scientist. The preferiti. And of course the people at St. Peter's Square. The Camerlengo had taken lives, hundred...no, a thousand risked. Unbelieving he shook his head, like he could not understand what he had done. Like it was just impossible.
I've killed my father!
I've murdered five other people!
I've risked the lives of innocents!
I've risked her life!
Carlo shook his head again, unable to accept, what he had done. He disavowed it. No! It can't be true!
The sharp pain in his chest returned, the lively and continuous reminder of his guilt. The brand. Carlo could feel how the iron burned his flesh deeply, yet. And the brand would stay there for the rest of his life. This was his punishment.
Seeking help he raised his eyes to the cross hanging on the wall. Illuminated from the light of the ingle -the only sort of light in the room- it was hardly visible. Merely its red-lighted silhouette was identifiable. Forgive me. But today the well known, depressant power, which he had wished for, didn't seem to comfort him. Nearly accusingly the cross reminded him that what he had done happened in the name of church, in the name of the faith which was Carlos everything.
What have you done? You have stained with blood what you love. With the blood of innocent people.
"No, I... I didn't want to!" He shook his head desperately. He wanted to defend himself against it. But against what he did not know. Against his guilt? Against his own hell? Against himself? But the voice which was always by his side, the voice of God, remained silent.
"Please! Tell me... what shall I do?"
A single tear was cleaving its way down Carlos cheek. It was the only indication of the fight cavorting inside the camerlengo. His world crashed down over him, and it didn't seem to end. Which lagged was a pile of shards cutting his skin and leaving Carlo back bleeding.
Carlo sank on his knees. "Please...please tell me what should I do, Father."
Silence.
With tear-veiled view he looked up to the timber cross beseechingly which he had seen nearly every day in this room, where the memories of his father were more painful than in any other. But Carlo vainly hoped for an answer.
How could it come so far, father? He had stained his hands with blood, and, as well, church. He had never wanted this! Even if he wasn't the only one to bear the blame...he had let them turn him into their implement. How could he have known what he would trigger?
"The voice in your heart is the voice of God", he heard the soft voice of his adoptive father. Why did it lead me to kill you? Why did it turn me into a murderer? How could I allow it! Eagerly than ever before Carlo Ventresca wanted the closeness of his father whom he had got to know only as adoptive father, but loved like his real. So much the worse was the truth that he was to blame for his absence... for his death.
Crying he kneeled on the floor, his body trembled from agonized sobs. The pain that let him shiver didn't match anything known.
Not with the pain when the illuminati-diamond had burned mercilessly into his chest.
Not with the pain when he learned about his mother's death.
It was like he was falling deeper and deeper into an endless dark abyss. Nothing around him seemed to exist. Even the floor under his feet seemed absent. Carlo was in hell.
He stared at his hands like numb. Those blood stained hands.
What am I doing?
Painfully with trembling legs he got up, let his view sweep to illuminated St. Peter's Square. You know what you have to do. You know how to end it. Yes, the answer seemed quite easy. It was the only way out. It was the right one.
Carlo heard the voices outside on Piazza San Pietro and knew what he had to do. For a heartbeat he closed his eyes and permitted the memories. At the time this all had begun... Forgive me, Father.