The last chapter seems to be the one to set the pace for the next events. I'm going to write a sequel to this after a few more chapters (about two or three). I promise that the sequel will be more exciting, more daring (action-wise, not…you know.) and fast-paced.

Patrick in a barfight was a bit light, but the succeeding chapters will not have the laid-back feel of the first few chapters. Prepare for a little more intensity.

I would like to thank again, all my readers and reviewers, as well as those who put me on their lists.

Chapter 6: Incendia

Why on earth am I here again? He asked, still unable to comprehend why he was walking through those hallowed halls that Thursday afternoon. He remembered receiving a letter Wednesday morning and almost dropping a cup of coffee. He had to tell his boss to excuse him for Thursday afternoon. He had to think of several excuses in order to pull it off. Luckily, he sounded convincing enough.

His companion was walking beside him, for the one he was to meet specifically requested the presence of this person. He was surrounded by members of an elite security team, envied by governments around the world.

At first, he couldn't believe that he could set foot once more in this sacred establishment. It was as if he was in exile for the last few weeks. Here he was again, entering once more the most sacred office in the world. His changed appearance almost barred him from finding his way in. He was almost unrecognizable.

"Are you sure you're Father McKenna? As far as I remember, he does not go to Church looking like he just rose out of bed…or maybe you just can't style your hair. Some people want to claim that they are him…though it isn't much of a pleasure to be him." A Swiss guard in suit asked him, eyeing him dangerously. "And…he never walked around the Holy See with temptation beside him." This time, he looked at Helena, who just had to raise an eyebrow.

Patrick did not take any offense. He actually liked his new hairdo and Helena was not the definition of temptation. "I have proof." The ominous stare of the guard dissipated upon hearing those three words. "I can change my appearance, change my residence, but I am Father Patrick McKenna. Some things will always stay the same." The guard gulped. The ever-familiar conviction in his voice and the Northern accent started to resurface.

His fingers still bore marks of his injury. They held out an envelope, an opened envelope. The guard took it and started reading. With the heading, signature and the writing style, he had no second thoughts. It was a genuine letter from the Pope…but was this man standing in front of him the former camerlengo?

"I believe you're still not convinced. Your eyes reveal everything." Patrick said, his hand at the zipper of his black sweater. "Times are hard, sir. Knowing the turn of events." The guard said, his eyes becoming bigger at the sight of Patrick dragging the zipper all the way down. He was about to warn Helena, but Patrick was actually wearing a white button-down shirt underneath, much to his relief.

Without him warning her, she knew immediately what her companion was planning. "DO NOT STRIP HERE. Have you forgotten that this is the Vatican?" she asked, looking nauseous. "I won't strip. This is just for validation." He said, undoing three buttons.

He was doing it just for the sake of showing the brand mark, but any hormone-driven woman might have found it a deliberate act of seduction. He was unaware of how his hand worked at it, slowly, as if taunting the person in front of him.

"In case you're ready for your shoot, my hands are clean…you'd probably make a good pornstar one day." she turned away sarcastically, making sure she did not see anything. He did not strip, as he said, but only opened his shirt until his chest was in view. A sickening scar of the intense branding showed itself on his flesh. It was surrounded by half-burned and almost shaved hair. All the elements, written as ambigrams in one diamond…nobody can imitate this brand.

The Swiss Guard officer almost fell back. The man standing in front of him was the one and only Father Patrick McKenna, former camerlengo and conspiracy plotter extraordinaire. Between Patrick's serious expression and the officer's dazed look, there was silence, to be broken by Helena's impatient remark.

She turned around and looked the guard in the eye. "He's given you all the proof you need. We're going to be late for our appointment with the Pope. If you want him to end this open-shirt affair, please let us in. Do you want to spend part of your life looking at some branding scar on someone's chest? Believe me; I never looked at it closely. I'm sure you don't want to as well." She let out her police ID and flashed it in front of him.

"Alright…I think your escorts will come soon." He said, terrified by the dagger-like stare that she gave him. "Father McKenna, lead us not into temptation by closing your shirt." She told him, still not looking. He buttoned his shirt again, half-closing his jacket, looking wholesome without even wearing a cassock.

Moments later, Swiss Guards in suits came to escort them to the Apostolic Palace, with Lieutenant Chartrand's jaw almost dropping when he saw the pair. "I think I saw you both at Piazza Navona!" he blurted, with the others raising eyebrows. "Yes, I recognize you." Helena said. "We bumped into each other."

A senior member shook his head and rolled his eyes. "We shall now take you to His Holiness' office. I hope no untoward incident would happen." He glared at Patrick. As they walked, Chartrand said, "I like your hair, Father." "Thank you, Chartrand." He said, as Helena smiled at the comment. From then on, no more words echoed through the halls.

He knew these corridors by heart. A few hundred steps later, they would find themselves at the Pope's office. He now understood the swift events that led him to coming here. Opening his shirt had been part of the plan if nobody would recognize him. Helena had criticized him for that, but it was one way to let them know. Modesty was her primary reason for frowning upon such act.

Collective footsteps sounded on the marble floors, heels of shoes clicking and tapping. Patrick's hand held the envelope again and he read the letter once again, wondering if he was in a dream or if it was true. He turned to Helena, seeing that she was overwhelmed by the difference of the interior and exterior of the Apostolic Palace. It was crass and almost lifeless on the outside, a huge work of art on the inside.

He had skipped the first few lines, not bothering to read the headings, the dates, locations and whatnot. He immediately read the body of the letter.

Dear Fr. McKenna,

Greetings of peace and well-being.

I never thought that you could have survived such an incident. A burning such as that could have cost your life, if not probably for the intervention of the Father, whom I believe has other plans for you (which do not involve setting up complex plans and putting this Church in a dangerous position, and especially not dying). I believe that the Father sent an instrument of his mercy to you. It is a sign that even in your "fall from grace", our God still loves you. May I request that you bring the one whose efforts allowed you to live.

I recognize your desire to atone for your grave misconduct and I shall give you that chance. We have decided on holding you on trial, with an ecclesiastical judge who shall hear your case. You have pleaded for dispensation, as well as excommunication. We will see what could happen. In case of excommunication, you may either be a toleratus or a vitandus. You will also be tried by a court of law.

I am also processing your dispensation, but you shall only be dispensed from priesthood after your trial for excommunication. Complex as your case had been, I believe that by God's grace, we shall be able to solve it. I am certain that you know the effects that come with excommunication, and that is the very reason why I asked your companion to come with you, not because s/he is to be excommunicated as well, but to inform this person of what you shall go through.

I believe in your capacity to change, Father McKenna. I believe that even if your faith had been shaken badly by the revelations of that fateful night, you will stay as strong as I had first known you. I am counting on you. Do not attempt to break this trust. I am also banking on your honesty, but I personally think that you are sincere.

Thank you for greeting me. May God bless you as well.

A few lines later came the usual "Very truly yours" and the signature. He kept it again in his hand, tense and almost skittish. If he'd be given time, he'd better resign from his job as a cashier in Mr. Franco's bookshop. Some excommunications could go on for long periods of time, except when set.

She could sense the worry in his face, the small sconces of light from those halls falling indirectly on his eyes, still shining even in anxiety. She put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it hard, reminding him to take courage.

Be strong, Patrick. This will be for your own good…as well as mine, perhaps. He grabbed her hand from his shoulder, holding it tight. Even when I had not entered your existence yet, I know you have done well, Helena. If needed, forget that I ever became part of your life. Excommunicate; exorcise me from your life if there is a need to. She could feel his hands turn into ice.

The walking came to a halt. They stared at two huge doors, with the guards requesting permission to enter. "Avanti!" a prompt reply was heard from inside the door. Helena and Patrick almost broke each other's hands trying to hold on for support, but they let go soon. The dark corridor was brightened by the light from the large windows before them. And in the middle of the grand office…was the Pope.

He stood there, almost a vision, his white robes glowing in the afternoon sun. He cast a nod on the Guards, asking them to leave, all but one blonde rookie. Four of them were left in the Papal Office: a police Inspector, a Swiss Guard rookie lieutenant, the former camerlengo, and the Holy Father himself.

He eyed Patrick from head to toe, almost not recognizing him, except for his eyes, which could mirror any emotion which came out from this man. Right now, he could see fear diffusing into contrition. It was a miracle that he survived his tragic ordeal; to the Pope, he had never seemed more alive.

His attention turned to the woman beside Patrick. She had the proud but courteous stance of an ideal Polizia di Stato (after work, she immediately went to the Vatican), not intimidated by the authorities. Like Patrick, her eyes were open windows; one could almost see her soul. A strong, convicted spirit could be seen there, but with a sconce of vulnerability blocking it.

"Please, sit down…even you, lieutenant." Pope Paul VII said, motioning to the chairs in front of his desk. Helena and Patrick sat across each other, while Chartrand sat between them. "First and foremost, I would like to welcome you, Father McKenna…and to you, signora. May I know your name?" he asked, motioning to Helena.

"Helena Maria Gallego, Inspector of the Polizia di Stato." She shook the pontiff's feeble hand, resuming the seriousness in her face. "Now, Father McKenna, I am sure that you have thoroughly read the contents of the letter I sent you. I am sure that you know the consequences which come with these teachings of the Church."

"Yes, Your Holiness. I am well aware. As I have written, I am ready to face anything." The former camerlengo said. "Very well. Your dispensation is also being arranged at the moment. You shall be a part of the laity sooner or later. Now, I'm afraid that your trial will have to be public since this is a whole faith. You still have rights, and we want to make sure that even if the public sees you as a menace to security, you are still treated humanely. Your trial shall start next week." The whole room was silent as the final sentence struck.

"It's my fault. None of these would ever have happened if I had let him die that night." Helena said. Chartrand, Patrick and the Pope looked at her. "Miss Gallego, I believe saving lives is a noble act. We are all given chances…and you gave Patrick this opportunity he sorely needed. Even with the stigma cast by what a person does, the need to save outweighs reputation. What belief went through your mind when you saved him?" the Pope asked, his voice grateful.

"A person is separate from his actions…and that everyone deserves a chance…but what I did could now cost him more than everything else. He would have been free if I let him go back to the Father, but because he still lives, he can lose his freedom. For some time, I thought that I had done the right thing. Did I?" she asked, looking the Pope directly in the eye. She was not asking a rhetorical question. She was demanding an answer for a critical question.

I think you did. Chartrand thought, but he decided not to enter the discussion. To speak out of turn was something he did not consider as becoming. The Pope was about to say a word when Patrick gently said, "Helena, it's not your fault that this happened. I asked for this. I will allow all of this to happen because…it's the right thing to do. I told you before that I'm not afraid for myself…I'm afraid for you." The Holy Father then said, "You…" he paused, "did the right thing. You restored his right to live…and now, he will be given true freedom. You brought him back home. As a precaution, you will also be under the Vatican's protection."

More details followed, all about his upcoming trial with the ecclesiastical court. Yes, there were grave effects ahead of his imminent exile from the Catholic society, but there were promising statements which hinted that Patrick was not to be an excommunicated member of the Church for life.

The Pope also suggested that Patrick stay in a non-Catholic society in order to avoid contact with Catholics when his punishment was to take effect. Chartrand was at the edge of his seat, already imagining what excommunication felt like. For sure, it's not a walk in the park. Helena might have looked gloomy in the beginning, but the hope returned to her face as the Pope started talking about absolution.

Patrick remained steadfast to his conviction. He wouldn't back out from anything the Church would impose on him. Wasn't he the one who played hardball when the enemies of the Holy See would lash at them? He was the former camerlengo, and whatever experience he had would be his basis for survival.

More words were spoken, some easily understood, the others hard to swallow. It was time to part. The sun was setting already. Before they stood to leave, the Pope gave a blessing. "May you remain strong in adversity, never daunted by the path that lies ahead of you. May you change for the better, and live a life of purpose. May you always act with reason, wisdom and responsibility…and may you always be blessed by the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, as you begin another chapter of your life…"

"…Amen." Patrick said, the word once again so familiar to his tongue. "And to you, Helena," he held a hand on her head, "always do what is right. Never be afraid to do so. I see a strong character in you. Use that as a means to attain goodness."

He then moved to Chartrand. "You have always done well, surpassing expectations, staying faithful. I hope the Lord blesses you more, Lieutenant." The Pope said. "Chartrand, please escort Miss Gallego to the porch of the Apostolic Palace. I want to say a few more words to Patrick."

The blonde Swiss Guard immediately obeyed. "Signora, please come with me." He said as she followed, looking back at Patrick and giving him a smile. His reply was a smile she could never get tired of. As they exited, the Pope closed the door and spoke to Patrick, an earnest smile forming on the older man's face.

"Do you have any plans after you all these trials and exile?" he asked, startling Patrick a bit. "W-w-why do you ask that, signore?" "As a lay person, you won't be officiating any ceremonies and preaching, right? You are now open to other options of serving the Lord. You can choose other paths."

"I'm not sure, Father…I can't get a job because of my reputation." Patrick said. "Well…how about studying…or loving people and starting a family?" "Studying, I am very open to that…but love? Uh…I don't know. Isn't it that I'm too old to be a father or husband?" the priest asked, red creeping up his cheeks.

"Why, you've always looked younger than your true age. How old are you again, thirty-eight? You remind me more of a man in his late twenties. But remember this…after all that you will go through, I want you to be happy with your life, Patrick. Choose wisely. By the way, all your old things, except your cassocks, are at the porch. You can take them with you." "Yes, Father." Patrick was about to walk to the doors when…

"You do not need to look far for happiness. For all you know, it might be just the first thing you see after exiting the Apostolic Palace." "Thank you, Father." Patrick opened the door and left, pondering on what the Pope had told him.

He knew the way back, he had walked through these corridors hundreds of times. As he reached the porch of the Apostolic Palace, with the sun casting a bright reddish-orange glow in the sky, he saw Helena sitting on the porch, beside a large but plain wooden box.

As if she had felt his presence, she turned around and said, "I hope you don't mind that I'm looking at your past photographs." She said, holding a bunch in her hand. He sat down beside her, looking at the almost-faded memoirs.

"You got your eyes from your mother." She said, looking at one of them. There was an innocent-looking boy with ruddy cheeks and bright eyes, happily holding the hand of his mother, who was beaming with pride…none other than Patrick. In the background were endless stretches of green which had given the country its moniker.

"I was about 6 when that one was taken." Patrick said, also studying the picture. He almost forgot that the boy there was him. Helena studied his face. He had not lost his boyish charm. Maturity actually enhanced it, giving him a countenance which could melt popsicles even in winter.

He could feel her eyes on him, and he was bothered. Why is she staring at me like that? He thought that she was just trying to look for the resemblance between him and his parents, so he was not worried anymore. He found himself looking at her. She did not exude sensuality. He was not interested in that. She had strength and effortless beauty as her aura. That was what Patrick liked most about her.

Chartrand was asked to take Patrick and Helena home. He was fingering the car keys while walking to the porch. There he found them, near a box. That box was the reason why they had to be taken home by car. No wonder…it's kind of huge. Ohh…what's this? He found them engrossed in each other's stare, their eyes bright in the orange light.

Chartrand cleared his throat. No response. He cleared his throat again, this time more deliberate, and louder. Patrick suddenly shook his head and looked up. "Lieutenant, what brings you here?" he said, embarrassed. "Father McKenna, Miss Gallego, I was asked to take you both home, knowing that it's difficult with this box." Chartrand was trying to suppress some laughter.

"Send my thanks to the Holy Father, Lieutenant Chartrand." Helena said, "Well then, shall we go?" Patrick asked. He helped Chartrand carry the box to the backseat of the car which they would board. An uneventful drive in the streets of Rome ensued, and they came home without incident. They thanked the lieutenant before they entered her flat.

He stood at the balcony, looking back at the box that he had emptied earlier. He still had ordinary clothing in that container, and he had it washed and dried. His memoirs were placed in a small space in the bookshelf. His rosary was comfortably nestled beside a small crucifix on the bedside table.

Wrapped in a thin bathrobe and loose night pants, he leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking at the massive dome of St. Peter's, glowing eerily in the distance. The wind was blowing gently, caressing his cheek. He closed his eyes, sighing.

This will be one hell of a week, Patrick. Be strong. Whatever happens will do you some good. He could hear two sets of footsteps after the almost inaudible opening of his bedroom door. The first set was loud, as if trying to announce its presence. The other was soft, only making a sound because of the laws of nature.

Patrick turned around, seeing Feliz, eternally wagging his tail. He had missed the little guy, not having bonded with him for the past few days because of work. He knelt down to scratch the dog's head. "I missed you, Feliz." It then drew back just to pounce on the priest. "Alright, alright…" he said, laughing after each syllable.

"That's enough, Feliz. Patrick's probably tired. Go on now, love. It's time for you to go to bed." She said, the way a doting mother would tell her child. She reminded him of his own mother, firm yet loving. Feliz was a good dog, and he immediately exited the room, barking with a taunting tone.

Patrick stood up and gazed at the Roman skyline, with Helena staying beside him. "You're going to have a busy week ahead. Go and get some rest." She said. "I will. Thank you, Helena." He said, looking at her. She was dressed in pajamas, with a thin robe covering her from shoulders to thigh. The sleeves were hiked up to her elbow.

"To be honest, you don't need to worry about getting excommunicated. It won't be permanent." She said. "True…but what I fear most is the stigma I'll get from the public. Knowing what I have done in the past, society may not forgive me." Patrick said, his eyes downcast.

"If they're true believers of the Church, they will…and if they're truly ethical, righteous people, they will. Sadly, not all of them are. Don't listen to them. Listen to yourself. Listen to God. If everything fails…" she beamed at him before saying the last phrase, "…I'm here."

The wind blew stronger, making the soft material of Patrick's robe slide down, exposing his right shoulder, glowing, diaphanous in the murky lights. Is he doing this on purpose? He's branded his chest and exposed it to the public…he exposed himself to the Swiss Guard earlier…is he doing it again? He'd better stop. Lead us not into temptation.

Upon awareness of the situation, he immediately hiked his collar up, hiding his shoulder. He gave an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry about that. It's getting late, we should get some rest." She gave a nod, turning red. She was able to hide it by going into the dark bedroom. "Goodnight, Patrick." "Goodnight, Helena." She walked out of the room as silently as she entered.

One day, I'll be able to redeem myself. I'll just wait for that opportunity to come. It will come in God's time, Patrick…in God's time. He shut the door to the balcony and climbed into bed, falling asleep as soon as he had finished his prayers.

Long, tapered, hairy fingers tapped at the keyboard so viciously, it could have caught fire. The typing slowed down to a more relaxed pace; the monitor displayed some programming interface. He brought his index finger in the air, theatrically dropping it on the Enter key of the computer.

A window suddenly opened, displaying a feed from a surveillance camera. It showed a room with red tiled floors, a carved desk, an unused fireplace, and four people in it, all sitting down, with serious looks in their faces.

A smile formed on his lips. The camerlengo lives…surviving such a daredevil act. He turned up the volume, listening to the conversation. It involved publicizing a trial, excommunication, and a woman who had saved the priest. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I think the boy has fallen. It's time to warn the public about your existence, Patrick McKenna. You are demented. You are a murderer. You are a fraud.

He stood up from his seat and looked out the window, the chilly breeze biting his face. He was in a retreat, sitting almost hidden in the peaks of the Ligurian Apennines. One could see the coast from there, and the waves rolled on the shore, violently crashing on the sea cliffs. It is time. Like the coast, you shall be battered by the world. You will get what you deserve. The Vatican probably loves you too much…but everyone else…will hate you.

So, there you go, sixth chapter. Uh-oh, someone else is entering the scene. Hehe. You'll get to know him soon.

Thank you for all your support, guys.

-TDYSG.