"In Officivm"
A/Ns: I've only seen the movie but have heard a little bit about the book. I thought thought it was extremely entertaining, even with the logic holes a mile wide. Just out of some fanficky daydreaming I came up with a slightly different scheme, so this is what it turned into. It probably won't be more than a dozen smallish chapters long. Keep yelling at me so I will finish it!
***** CHANGES from the film: The pope that was murdered would've essentially been the pope during John Paul II's term. We'll call him Pope Paul VII, birth name Carlo Ventresca. The Camerlengo, whom we'll call P draic McKenna Ventresca, Ventresca being his adopted surname, is in his late 20s or early 30s rather than his mid/late 30s. Which would help explain why he isn't a cardinal but is the Camerlengo. ::shrugs:: And, of course, there other other differences you'll discover as you read.
Please do let me know what you think. Oh, and I don't own it, blah, blah, blah. Enjoy. :)
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SEDE VACANTE
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(THE SEAT BEING VACANT)
Two Benedictine nuns were seen rushing out of the papal apartment and down the stairs. "Camerlengo!", one cried as she saw the youthful man walking in the courtyard below along with Cardinal Baggia who was on a visit from his diocese for the holiday.
The two of them looked up in surprise. "Sister?", asked P draic she bounded to him. When she arrived, he placed a calming hand on her shoulder to help halt her driven forward progression.
It took her a moment to catch her breath and speak. "Il Papa!", she softly cried out, so as not to alert the random passers-by. Her eyes wide and beckoning.
His eyes immediately went wide and worriedly flicked upwards over her towards the apartment before he burst into a flat run, or at least the fastest one his garb would allow, Baggia following, trying to keep up. Once he reached the pope's bedroom door, he approached more slowly, almost not wanting to know what had happened. He could see his father laying perfectly still on his back, a strange, slightly purplish hue to him, with no sound of breathing and no rise or fall to his chest. He moved forward in slow motion as a number of swiss guard, followed soon after by Baggia and two more cardinals, appeared behind him in the doorway as well. At the bedside, P draic knelt half way down and deliberately extended his hands toward one of his father's uncovered hands and held it. It was somewhat stiff and quite cold to the touch. Clearly he was no longer with the living and had not been for a number of hours. He sunk fully to his knees, still clinging to his hand. His head dropped and his breathing became heavy, and in shutting his eyes hard, two tears escaped. A minute later he took a deep breath, and, understanding there would be no answer, re pened his eyes to contemplate his stilled face and ask the traditional question out loud, voice cracking: "Albine... pater... dormisne?"
The guardsmen and cardinals gradually approached, nothing but shocked by this most unfortunate event. After awhile, P draic stood and leant over and kissed him reverently on the forehead before gently letting go of his hand and placing it back down on the sheets. He then stood and retreating backward almost in a stupor. One guard directed him to a nearby chair where he sat, staring at nothing for what seemed like an eternity until he was addressed.
"He is with his father now.", consoled a regretful Cardinal Bertelli, momentarily placing a comforting hand on his back.
P draic lamented. He had adored him since he had been adopted by the man, and for so long he had been the only family P draic had left. Now he was gone from this earth.
The pope's doctor entered and, with a drawn face, began to examine his body. The guards began to trickle out the door for privacy, and once gone, the doctor addressed P draic in Italian: "Father, did you know if he was ill?"
He moved his head slowly in the negative, then looked over at the body and spoke, his voice still not cooperating with him fully. "He was fine last night. Perfectly fine. I don't understand it.", he replied in the same tongue.
"Could it be that he knew but didn't want to say anything?"
His eyes shot up to meet the doctor's. "No.", came the fast reply. "He *was* fine. Certainly. I know my father. There was nothing out of the ordinary about him at any time yesterday." He looked back over to the bed. "He even asked me last night before he went to bed if I would be flying him to Bari today for the Congress."
The doctor nodded dolefully. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell with absolute certainty the cause of death by external examination alone." He left the sentence open-ended as he knew an autopsy was prohibited, as much as P draic and the others may have wanted to know what happened. "My best guess the most likely cause is a stroke, and that he must have passed in his sleep."
The Camerlengo stood without warning, heading in a meandering way for the door with his fingers laced behind his head for a second or two. "P draic," interruped Bertelli, "the ring."
The mention of his duty brought him out of his turbulent emotions, and his hands dropped to his sides. "Yes, of course. Thank you." He looked over to his father's body and once again approached him. He made the sign of the cross and whispered "Forgive me, Father." before slipping off his Ring of the Fisherman. With a final kiss to the dead man's forehead, he left the room to the quiet and solitude of his own to grieve, not for his father's sake but for his own, well aware it was an irrational human failing to do so. And he prayed.
