Disclaimer Only the characters that are not part of the BTVS show are mine. All others belong to Joss Whedon, and Fox.
Title The Prophecy, The Priest and the Key
--------------------------------------------------------
"Okay," Xander tossed his translation on top of the table. "We can't all be right. Let's start all over again. Mine says that the hero guy was crucified and is still walking the earth. I'm thinking it didn't happen a couple millenia aga."
"Mine said he was trained in the Synagogues of Jerusalem." Willow looked up from her translation. "But Tara's says he studied at the Great Mosque at Mecca."
"To say nothing of the Monasteries in Italy, Bhutan and Tibet."
"It would seem that our person has a well rounded education wher it concerns the world's religions." Giles looked around the table. "Though it doesn't help in determining who our Blessed of the Lord is."
"Well whoever he is, he isn't going to get his hands on Dawn," Buffy declared. "I don't care what the prophecy says."
-------------------------------------------------------
"Hey Willow?" The next morning Willow was heading for her second class when Paula appeared almost out of nowhere. "You didn't tell me you had a brother. Pretty much a hottie, to bad he's a Father."
"Huh?" Before Willow could come up with a better reply Paula was gone, disappearing into the crush of students. To be replaced by Buffy.
"What was this I heard about a brother?"
"I don't know," said Willow. "I don't have one. She must be mistaken."
Buffy shrugged. "Well, I gotta get to psych. See you at lunch."
"See you." Willow headed for the computer labs. She never gave another thought about Paula's strange words. Not until after she met Buffy, and headed for the cafeteria."
----------------------------------------------------------
I crashed into the wall, biting my lips, to hold back a scream. This was no backwater village in the middle east, but the pain was real, the spikes through my wrists and feet, the thorns in my head, I could feel them all over again. I slid to the floor, as fire lanced through my side.
"Buffy," someone screamed and suddenly two faces separated from the crowd, a reddish blur through the blood.
"Are you okay, of course your not, or else you wouldn't be bleeding all over the place. Where does it hurt? Buffy I didn't see anything, did you? Why are you wearing a dress?"
"Not a thing. Will someone call the Infirmary. Will, it's a cassock, not a dress. He's a Priest, or a Monk."
I felt hands lifting me, and I was placed on a moving platform, and rushed down the hall. Vaguely I could see white suited nurses running beside me, while the I could hear the two others coming up behind.
The pain hadn't lessened, though there wasn't that searing pressure on my lungs.
-----------------------------------------------------
"Er, precisely where was he bleeding." Giles rubbed at his glasses.
"His head, wrists, side and feet." Buffy looked at Giles. "But there was no reason for it, it was lunch time, we were headed for the cafeteria, students all over the place, no one was fighting, then he goes crashing into the wall, like he was in great pain, and starts bleeding all over the place. Which was weird because there was no reason for it."
"Then what happened?"
"Then we called the Infirmary, where he was taken, called you, and went to our afternoon classes. Then we went to the Infirmary to check up on him, but he'd already been sent to the hospital. End of story."
"Perhaps not the end."
"What?"
"The Blessed of the Lord. The wounds you describe sound very much like the ones Jesus suffered on the cross."
"You think he was?"
"I really don't know. There have been cases of stigmata, where otherwise healthy people would suffer such wounds for no known reason.'
"I've heard of them," exclaimed Willow. "Wait," she looked puzzled. "If it were stigmata wouldn't his hands be bleeding?"
"Perhaps, but if he were crucified, and the wounds were reminiscent of that, then the wounds would be in the wrists. Nails might have been hammered through the palms of his hands, but the bones would never have held his weight. No, I'm afraid he would have been tied, or supported by spikes driven thriugh the wrists, at the junction of the two bones that make up the forearm."
"You know this because?"
"It was a common enough form of punishment for victims, er their bodies, to be found."
"So, you're saying he could be our crucified man."
"We would need more information before we could determine that. Starting with his name."
"Nathaniel Ira Rosenberg." Xander took a seat at the table and grinned at the looks on the other's faces. "What, I can't have knowledge. Just because I don't go to college?"
"No, that's not it," protested Willow. "It's just that you usually aren't the one to come up with the answer."
"Well, surprisingly enough, this time I did." Xander shrugged. "It's a start."
Willow moved to her computer.
------------------------------------------------------------
"We really didn't need to have that happen." Sister Maria Sanchez descended the steps into the Rectory's basement, where we had set up a den - work area. "Especially not out in public."
"Really?" I took the proffered cup and sat back. The cup held a blend of teas that Sister Maria learned soothed the pain achy feelings that always followed such episodes. "I can't think of a time when I ever needed that to happen."
"Tough," she grinned at me. "This is one time I can truely say better you than me." She smiled. "Too much a wimp."
"not a wimp," I assured her. But this is not the time to discuss aches and pains with me. You'll find no sympathy here."
She smiled, remembering a time when she had done just that. Shortly after losing her only child to leukemia, and taking vows.
---------------------------------------------------------
"Father Nathaniel Ira Rosenberg, Order of St. Francis." Willow had pulled up a student record, complete with picture. "Transferred from New York State. Born 1980, date unknown, place unknown, parents unknown. Next of kin, Father Blackwell, St. Ignatious Parish. That's where he's living."
"There's a lot not known about that boy." Xander peered at the screen. "Here's one, he's a Priest. Aren't they usually old, er older, guys."
"That's cause people aren't going into the Priesthood as much as they used to. But it does seem that he is rather young."
------------------------------------------------------
"Father Rosenberg." Mrs. Carlisle, the housekeeper stomped into our den, every inch indignant. "You have a visitor. Upstairs."
Having delivered her message, and fovoured Sister Maria with a patented scowl, she really didn't approve of the disruption the two of us had brought into her staid and serene life, she turned and headed back up the stairs.
I shrugged at Sister Maria, who said she would continue with the maps.
Upstairs, I was led to the sitting room, where a red haired girl was waiting, sitting on the sofa. She stood as I entered.
"Father," she said tentative.
"Call me Nat," I told her....
"She can call you Father," rumbled a voice behind me. Father Blackwell shuffled into the room, and grabbed the remote. "No respect. Calling a Priest by his name, and you inviting her to do it. No respect at all." He glared at me, transferred it to Willow, and back to me. "Well not here. Not while I am Pastor." He aimed the remote at the television set. "You can take your visitor down stairs, where Sister Maria can play chaperon. I'm going to watch tv."
I shrugged and grinned conspiratorially at the girl, while motioning for her to follow.
Sister Maria was hunched over the table, and turned when we got to the bottom of the stairs.
"This is Sister Maria Sanchez, and I'm afraid I don't know your name."
"Uh, Willow, Willow Rosenberg."
"Okay, Sister Maria, this is Willow, Willow Rosenberg."
Sister Maria sent me a give me strength look, and smiled at Willow.
"Pleased to meet you." She paused. "You know, you look a lot like Father Nat."
"So I've been told." Willow cast a fast look at me. "Which is what I was wondering, if, since the names are similar, and my father's name is Ira, which is your middle name, if there was a, um, relationship."
I postponed the question by going to the fridge and pulling out three sodas. Sister Maria frowned at me, but said nothing, just taking hers, and watching as I passed one to our guest. Popping the tab on mine, I sat down in my favvourite chair.
"Could be just a coincidence." I looked at Willow. "Do you have reason to think we are?"
"Well no, and it could all be coincidence, and we do look alike, you heard Sister Maria, and there is the names thing..."
"Speaking of names, how did you know my middle name is Ira?" I raised an eyebrow. "It's not something I tell everyone, especially not before I meet them."
She grew flustered.
"I bet you hacked into the school's computer."
She stared at me. "What makes you think I did that?"
"Because," I grinned, "Outside of this building, and the University's registrar, nobody knows what my middle name is."
"Don't mind him," chimed Sister Maria. "Father's got computers and hackers on the brain. You should get him to show what lengths he gone to keep his stuff away from hackers."
"Another time. As for your question, while it may be possible but not probable. Unless you come from Italy."
"You're Italian?"
"Well, I was raised in a Monastery there. You see, I was left on the Monastery's door step when I was a little over six months. Instead of being placed in an orphanage, the Brothers asked for and received permission to keep me in the Monastery."
"Oh. But you don't know who your parents were or where you were born."
"No, I don't. I do wonder about them, and have asked. The Brothers just told me that I was left in a basket, anonymously. The bell was rung, and there I was. I did have a bracelet with my name on it. Other than that, nothing."
"Oh, okay." Willow stood, and looked around for a place to put her half empty can. "I'll go now, sorry to bother you. Uh," she looked at me, "Could you tell me what happened, you know, the other day in the hall?"
I smiled. I was wondering when this question was going to be asked. "A rare disease. Don't worry, its totally non-contagious."
--------------------------------------------------------
"Hope you enjoyed your visit, Miss, er, Rosenberg. Leaving now?" Father Blackwell met us at the top of the stairs. "Father Rosenberg can drive you home."
"Oh that's okay, I'll walk."
"It's after dark, and if you haven't noticed, people tend to disappear after it gets dark around this place. Father will drive you."
"Oh, that's because of..." Willow clammed up, hoping that Father Blackwell hadn't caught what she was saying. He may have, but I didn't. She looked flustered. "I really got to go."
"As you should," Father Blackwell spoke as if he hadn't caught the slip. "It's late" He looked at me.
"When you return, I wish to see you in my office."
--------------------------------------------------------
"Hey Will," Buffy looked up and smiled as Willow made her way into the danger room. "Missed you at the Bronze earlier."
"Uh, yes." Willow sat at her usual place behind the computer. "I was at St. Ignatious."
"Is he?"
"Is he what?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Is Father Rosenberg your long lost brother?"
"Oh, er, no, I don't think so anyway." Willow told Buffy what happened. "I'm just going to drop it. I'm destined to remain an only child."
"Keep looking, there's a chance." Both girls looked up to see Xander standing in the back doorway. The more we know about him, the better."
"Oh," Buffy winked at Willow. "Pray tell, why would we want to know more about him?"
Xander stared at Buffy and then rolled his eyes. "Am I the only one that thinks its not a coincidence that we should be researching a prophecy the 'Blessed of the Lord,' who we don't know all that much about yet, and the Key, who we do know, and who should pop up but Father Rosenberg, who's way younger than most starting Priest, and who had his own special Ordination ceremony, by no less than the Archbishop, just before coming to Sunnydale."
Buffy glanced at Willow, then stood up, facing Xander. "How would you know this?"
Xander returned Buffy's gaze. "Because I checked, or rather I phoned Angel Investigations and they checked with the Diocese there."
"You talked to Angel."
"I talked to Wesley." Xander waggled his eyebrows. "Anyway, the Diocese had this special Ordination for Father Rosenberg, who only wanted to be a Franciscan Monk, not a Priest. And get this, most Priests belong to some order or other, and Father Rosenberg's no different. He's still with the Franciscans, but he was attached to The Office for the Succession of the Faith, which in earlier days used to be known as the Inquisition."
"You may not think so, but I think he's up to something."
-------------------------------------------------
"That girl could be trouble." Father Blackwell sat behind his desk, glaring at the door when I came in, from driving Willow to The Magic Box, where she had wanted to go. "She pops up where ever there's a bit of trouble."
"She seems to be a nice enough girl." I took the facing chair, and leaned back into it. "Remarkable how much she looks like me."
"Good reason for that." Father Blackwell poured a double shot of scotch into a glass, and placed it before me." "She's your sister."
"What???"
"Twenty years ago, every sign pointed to you being the Blessed of the Lord. We were agreed that you needed a a specific kind of education, that you wouldn't have gotten if we had left you with your family."
"What right did you..." I was so stunned I couldn't go any further. I took a gulp of the scotch instead.
"None whatsoever, but what choice did we have. If you were the Blessed of the Lord, and you did not recievve the right education, would we beable to stop this?"
"That made it right, so I could get the education you wanted me to have."
"No it was not right, just necessary." Father Blackwell slumped in his leather chair, warming his scotch in his hands. "I spent twenty years in this Parish, knowing what goes on each night. Twenty years of keeping the Sanctuary open at night, so that the people, regardless of their religious persuasion, had a safe haven to come to. Twenty years of wondering if we did the right thing, if you actually could help put a stop to it."
He slumped further into his chair, and for he first time, I saw him, not as the autocratic Pastor of St. Ignatious, but as a tired old man, who'd borne more than his fair share.
"If this works, I can stand more time in purgatory. But what am I going to say if I'm called to accounts for making the wrong choice."
It would have been so nice to stay angry. To blame everything on them, and walk away. It might even have served them right. The stakes were high. Silence fell over the room, as I contemplated the amber liquid. I sighed, and placed my glass on the desk. Was there ever really another choice?
Besides this was a question that tormented me from the Monastery in Italy, where I'd been raised, in the Monastery in Bhutan, and in all the Mosques, Synagogues, and places of worship I had gone to for instruction. It needed an answer.
"You will say that you did the best you could under impossible situations, and you have done what few other men do. I have seen you open wide the doors to the Sanctuary inviting in all who would shelter there, despite their faith or lack thereof. I have watched as you knelt and prostrated yourself before the altar. You are not a young man. What more could you have done?"
"I could have spoken out, warned them."
"Would they have believed you?"
"No. Such things don't fit into their lives, so I watched and I prayed as the people died."
"Surely, your efforts saved some."
"Perhaps." Father Blackwell sat up straighter.
"You certainly are understanding. Most would be angry over what we have done."
"I am angry, I probably will be for a long time. It might not have been a wise thing to tell me."
"Willow Rosenberg, though I have little opportunity to see her, is an intelligent young lady. More so than most. She would have figured it out eventually, and probably at the wrong moment. That would have been more upsetting. "
"A distraction you can ill afford."
"Okay, so I won't tell her, until this is over, and hope she doesn't' find out otherwise."
Title The Prophecy, The Priest and the Key
--------------------------------------------------------
"Okay," Xander tossed his translation on top of the table. "We can't all be right. Let's start all over again. Mine says that the hero guy was crucified and is still walking the earth. I'm thinking it didn't happen a couple millenia aga."
"Mine said he was trained in the Synagogues of Jerusalem." Willow looked up from her translation. "But Tara's says he studied at the Great Mosque at Mecca."
"To say nothing of the Monasteries in Italy, Bhutan and Tibet."
"It would seem that our person has a well rounded education wher it concerns the world's religions." Giles looked around the table. "Though it doesn't help in determining who our Blessed of the Lord is."
"Well whoever he is, he isn't going to get his hands on Dawn," Buffy declared. "I don't care what the prophecy says."
-------------------------------------------------------
"Hey Willow?" The next morning Willow was heading for her second class when Paula appeared almost out of nowhere. "You didn't tell me you had a brother. Pretty much a hottie, to bad he's a Father."
"Huh?" Before Willow could come up with a better reply Paula was gone, disappearing into the crush of students. To be replaced by Buffy.
"What was this I heard about a brother?"
"I don't know," said Willow. "I don't have one. She must be mistaken."
Buffy shrugged. "Well, I gotta get to psych. See you at lunch."
"See you." Willow headed for the computer labs. She never gave another thought about Paula's strange words. Not until after she met Buffy, and headed for the cafeteria."
----------------------------------------------------------
I crashed into the wall, biting my lips, to hold back a scream. This was no backwater village in the middle east, but the pain was real, the spikes through my wrists and feet, the thorns in my head, I could feel them all over again. I slid to the floor, as fire lanced through my side.
"Buffy," someone screamed and suddenly two faces separated from the crowd, a reddish blur through the blood.
"Are you okay, of course your not, or else you wouldn't be bleeding all over the place. Where does it hurt? Buffy I didn't see anything, did you? Why are you wearing a dress?"
"Not a thing. Will someone call the Infirmary. Will, it's a cassock, not a dress. He's a Priest, or a Monk."
I felt hands lifting me, and I was placed on a moving platform, and rushed down the hall. Vaguely I could see white suited nurses running beside me, while the I could hear the two others coming up behind.
The pain hadn't lessened, though there wasn't that searing pressure on my lungs.
-----------------------------------------------------
"Er, precisely where was he bleeding." Giles rubbed at his glasses.
"His head, wrists, side and feet." Buffy looked at Giles. "But there was no reason for it, it was lunch time, we were headed for the cafeteria, students all over the place, no one was fighting, then he goes crashing into the wall, like he was in great pain, and starts bleeding all over the place. Which was weird because there was no reason for it."
"Then what happened?"
"Then we called the Infirmary, where he was taken, called you, and went to our afternoon classes. Then we went to the Infirmary to check up on him, but he'd already been sent to the hospital. End of story."
"Perhaps not the end."
"What?"
"The Blessed of the Lord. The wounds you describe sound very much like the ones Jesus suffered on the cross."
"You think he was?"
"I really don't know. There have been cases of stigmata, where otherwise healthy people would suffer such wounds for no known reason.'
"I've heard of them," exclaimed Willow. "Wait," she looked puzzled. "If it were stigmata wouldn't his hands be bleeding?"
"Perhaps, but if he were crucified, and the wounds were reminiscent of that, then the wounds would be in the wrists. Nails might have been hammered through the palms of his hands, but the bones would never have held his weight. No, I'm afraid he would have been tied, or supported by spikes driven thriugh the wrists, at the junction of the two bones that make up the forearm."
"You know this because?"
"It was a common enough form of punishment for victims, er their bodies, to be found."
"So, you're saying he could be our crucified man."
"We would need more information before we could determine that. Starting with his name."
"Nathaniel Ira Rosenberg." Xander took a seat at the table and grinned at the looks on the other's faces. "What, I can't have knowledge. Just because I don't go to college?"
"No, that's not it," protested Willow. "It's just that you usually aren't the one to come up with the answer."
"Well, surprisingly enough, this time I did." Xander shrugged. "It's a start."
Willow moved to her computer.
------------------------------------------------------------
"We really didn't need to have that happen." Sister Maria Sanchez descended the steps into the Rectory's basement, where we had set up a den - work area. "Especially not out in public."
"Really?" I took the proffered cup and sat back. The cup held a blend of teas that Sister Maria learned soothed the pain achy feelings that always followed such episodes. "I can't think of a time when I ever needed that to happen."
"Tough," she grinned at me. "This is one time I can truely say better you than me." She smiled. "Too much a wimp."
"not a wimp," I assured her. But this is not the time to discuss aches and pains with me. You'll find no sympathy here."
She smiled, remembering a time when she had done just that. Shortly after losing her only child to leukemia, and taking vows.
---------------------------------------------------------
"Father Nathaniel Ira Rosenberg, Order of St. Francis." Willow had pulled up a student record, complete with picture. "Transferred from New York State. Born 1980, date unknown, place unknown, parents unknown. Next of kin, Father Blackwell, St. Ignatious Parish. That's where he's living."
"There's a lot not known about that boy." Xander peered at the screen. "Here's one, he's a Priest. Aren't they usually old, er older, guys."
"That's cause people aren't going into the Priesthood as much as they used to. But it does seem that he is rather young."
------------------------------------------------------
"Father Rosenberg." Mrs. Carlisle, the housekeeper stomped into our den, every inch indignant. "You have a visitor. Upstairs."
Having delivered her message, and fovoured Sister Maria with a patented scowl, she really didn't approve of the disruption the two of us had brought into her staid and serene life, she turned and headed back up the stairs.
I shrugged at Sister Maria, who said she would continue with the maps.
Upstairs, I was led to the sitting room, where a red haired girl was waiting, sitting on the sofa. She stood as I entered.
"Father," she said tentative.
"Call me Nat," I told her....
"She can call you Father," rumbled a voice behind me. Father Blackwell shuffled into the room, and grabbed the remote. "No respect. Calling a Priest by his name, and you inviting her to do it. No respect at all." He glared at me, transferred it to Willow, and back to me. "Well not here. Not while I am Pastor." He aimed the remote at the television set. "You can take your visitor down stairs, where Sister Maria can play chaperon. I'm going to watch tv."
I shrugged and grinned conspiratorially at the girl, while motioning for her to follow.
Sister Maria was hunched over the table, and turned when we got to the bottom of the stairs.
"This is Sister Maria Sanchez, and I'm afraid I don't know your name."
"Uh, Willow, Willow Rosenberg."
"Okay, Sister Maria, this is Willow, Willow Rosenberg."
Sister Maria sent me a give me strength look, and smiled at Willow.
"Pleased to meet you." She paused. "You know, you look a lot like Father Nat."
"So I've been told." Willow cast a fast look at me. "Which is what I was wondering, if, since the names are similar, and my father's name is Ira, which is your middle name, if there was a, um, relationship."
I postponed the question by going to the fridge and pulling out three sodas. Sister Maria frowned at me, but said nothing, just taking hers, and watching as I passed one to our guest. Popping the tab on mine, I sat down in my favvourite chair.
"Could be just a coincidence." I looked at Willow. "Do you have reason to think we are?"
"Well no, and it could all be coincidence, and we do look alike, you heard Sister Maria, and there is the names thing..."
"Speaking of names, how did you know my middle name is Ira?" I raised an eyebrow. "It's not something I tell everyone, especially not before I meet them."
She grew flustered.
"I bet you hacked into the school's computer."
She stared at me. "What makes you think I did that?"
"Because," I grinned, "Outside of this building, and the University's registrar, nobody knows what my middle name is."
"Don't mind him," chimed Sister Maria. "Father's got computers and hackers on the brain. You should get him to show what lengths he gone to keep his stuff away from hackers."
"Another time. As for your question, while it may be possible but not probable. Unless you come from Italy."
"You're Italian?"
"Well, I was raised in a Monastery there. You see, I was left on the Monastery's door step when I was a little over six months. Instead of being placed in an orphanage, the Brothers asked for and received permission to keep me in the Monastery."
"Oh. But you don't know who your parents were or where you were born."
"No, I don't. I do wonder about them, and have asked. The Brothers just told me that I was left in a basket, anonymously. The bell was rung, and there I was. I did have a bracelet with my name on it. Other than that, nothing."
"Oh, okay." Willow stood, and looked around for a place to put her half empty can. "I'll go now, sorry to bother you. Uh," she looked at me, "Could you tell me what happened, you know, the other day in the hall?"
I smiled. I was wondering when this question was going to be asked. "A rare disease. Don't worry, its totally non-contagious."
--------------------------------------------------------
"Hope you enjoyed your visit, Miss, er, Rosenberg. Leaving now?" Father Blackwell met us at the top of the stairs. "Father Rosenberg can drive you home."
"Oh that's okay, I'll walk."
"It's after dark, and if you haven't noticed, people tend to disappear after it gets dark around this place. Father will drive you."
"Oh, that's because of..." Willow clammed up, hoping that Father Blackwell hadn't caught what she was saying. He may have, but I didn't. She looked flustered. "I really got to go."
"As you should," Father Blackwell spoke as if he hadn't caught the slip. "It's late" He looked at me.
"When you return, I wish to see you in my office."
--------------------------------------------------------
"Hey Will," Buffy looked up and smiled as Willow made her way into the danger room. "Missed you at the Bronze earlier."
"Uh, yes." Willow sat at her usual place behind the computer. "I was at St. Ignatious."
"Is he?"
"Is he what?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Is Father Rosenberg your long lost brother?"
"Oh, er, no, I don't think so anyway." Willow told Buffy what happened. "I'm just going to drop it. I'm destined to remain an only child."
"Keep looking, there's a chance." Both girls looked up to see Xander standing in the back doorway. The more we know about him, the better."
"Oh," Buffy winked at Willow. "Pray tell, why would we want to know more about him?"
Xander stared at Buffy and then rolled his eyes. "Am I the only one that thinks its not a coincidence that we should be researching a prophecy the 'Blessed of the Lord,' who we don't know all that much about yet, and the Key, who we do know, and who should pop up but Father Rosenberg, who's way younger than most starting Priest, and who had his own special Ordination ceremony, by no less than the Archbishop, just before coming to Sunnydale."
Buffy glanced at Willow, then stood up, facing Xander. "How would you know this?"
Xander returned Buffy's gaze. "Because I checked, or rather I phoned Angel Investigations and they checked with the Diocese there."
"You talked to Angel."
"I talked to Wesley." Xander waggled his eyebrows. "Anyway, the Diocese had this special Ordination for Father Rosenberg, who only wanted to be a Franciscan Monk, not a Priest. And get this, most Priests belong to some order or other, and Father Rosenberg's no different. He's still with the Franciscans, but he was attached to The Office for the Succession of the Faith, which in earlier days used to be known as the Inquisition."
"You may not think so, but I think he's up to something."
-------------------------------------------------
"That girl could be trouble." Father Blackwell sat behind his desk, glaring at the door when I came in, from driving Willow to The Magic Box, where she had wanted to go. "She pops up where ever there's a bit of trouble."
"She seems to be a nice enough girl." I took the facing chair, and leaned back into it. "Remarkable how much she looks like me."
"Good reason for that." Father Blackwell poured a double shot of scotch into a glass, and placed it before me." "She's your sister."
"What???"
"Twenty years ago, every sign pointed to you being the Blessed of the Lord. We were agreed that you needed a a specific kind of education, that you wouldn't have gotten if we had left you with your family."
"What right did you..." I was so stunned I couldn't go any further. I took a gulp of the scotch instead.
"None whatsoever, but what choice did we have. If you were the Blessed of the Lord, and you did not recievve the right education, would we beable to stop this?"
"That made it right, so I could get the education you wanted me to have."
"No it was not right, just necessary." Father Blackwell slumped in his leather chair, warming his scotch in his hands. "I spent twenty years in this Parish, knowing what goes on each night. Twenty years of keeping the Sanctuary open at night, so that the people, regardless of their religious persuasion, had a safe haven to come to. Twenty years of wondering if we did the right thing, if you actually could help put a stop to it."
He slumped further into his chair, and for he first time, I saw him, not as the autocratic Pastor of St. Ignatious, but as a tired old man, who'd borne more than his fair share.
"If this works, I can stand more time in purgatory. But what am I going to say if I'm called to accounts for making the wrong choice."
It would have been so nice to stay angry. To blame everything on them, and walk away. It might even have served them right. The stakes were high. Silence fell over the room, as I contemplated the amber liquid. I sighed, and placed my glass on the desk. Was there ever really another choice?
Besides this was a question that tormented me from the Monastery in Italy, where I'd been raised, in the Monastery in Bhutan, and in all the Mosques, Synagogues, and places of worship I had gone to for instruction. It needed an answer.
"You will say that you did the best you could under impossible situations, and you have done what few other men do. I have seen you open wide the doors to the Sanctuary inviting in all who would shelter there, despite their faith or lack thereof. I have watched as you knelt and prostrated yourself before the altar. You are not a young man. What more could you have done?"
"I could have spoken out, warned them."
"Would they have believed you?"
"No. Such things don't fit into their lives, so I watched and I prayed as the people died."
"Surely, your efforts saved some."
"Perhaps." Father Blackwell sat up straighter.
"You certainly are understanding. Most would be angry over what we have done."
"I am angry, I probably will be for a long time. It might not have been a wise thing to tell me."
"Willow Rosenberg, though I have little opportunity to see her, is an intelligent young lady. More so than most. She would have figured it out eventually, and probably at the wrong moment. That would have been more upsetting. "
"A distraction you can ill afford."
"Okay, so I won't tell her, until this is over, and hope she doesn't' find out otherwise."