A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews. I appreciate it.
It is not my intention to paint any officials of the Roman Catholic Church as the villains in this chapter. Unfortunately, it does happen that parishes have to be closed or consolidated for various reasons, but things in this story will work out in the long run.
"What are you doing here?! May I help you, sir?" Clearly agitated, the middle aged priest seemed to suddenly materialize from a long dark hallway. "You're not a member of this parish, are you?"
"Um...no, I'm not." Pulling his coat close, Booth flinched in surprise at the brusque welcome he'd received. "I'm a member at St. Teresa's over in Georgetown, but I was passing by and…" He hesitated slightly. Do I really want to tell him I thought the church bells were inviting me in? No way…
Booth continued softly, grimacing slightly as he cleared his throat. "I was walking from the Royal Diner back to the Hoover Building, where I work, and I literally ran into this young nun. She's petite, okay, and so I knocked her down by accident. She said she wasn't hurt, but..."
"I don't understand…," the priest began in an incredulous tone. "You injured a nun?"
"Yeah, well, I hope not, but she said she was in a hurry to go to Mass, so she took off before I could make sure she was alright. I kinda felt bad, hoping I hadn't really hurt her, but when I turned to make sure she'd made it here safely, she'd disappeared...like vanished into thin air, you know? Anyway, I came to see if she was okay, but you're not having services this evening, are you…at least not this late..."
"No...no, we're not." The priest suddenly shook his head, as if he was trying to clear his mind of a bad memory. "Please forgive my bad manners...I'm Father Silvestri. I didn't mean to sound like I was accusing you of something when I first saw you. You're welcome to come by and pray any time you want. It's just…"
"It's just that this is a rough neighborhood. I get that." Smiling slightly, the agent flashed his badge as he glanced toward the church's front doors. "I'm Special Agent Booth, FBI. I'm surprised you've left the doors unlocked if you weren't having an evening service of some sort, Father…" Scratching the back of his neck, he tried to ignore the nagging thoughts creeping into his brain. Where is that nun? Did someone accost her somehow? She couldn't have simply disappeared...
His musings were interrupted when he realized Father Silvestri was explaining something.
"I think the locks on the doors are broken, but I haven't had time to get them replaced. I've only been here a few weeks." Coughing softly, the priest shrugged a shoulder, [pointing at the doors as he explained. "It's like I know I've locked them, and then when I come back by, they're unlocked again...and occasionally the doors are slightly ajar. It's strange…"
"And you didn't see any nun come into the church?" Booth arched an eyebrow at Father Silvestri. "I didn't see her when I walked into the nave...in fact, I didn't see anyone when I first got here. It was like the place was deserted..."
Father Silvestri chewed his lip nervously. "No, I didn't see her...not at all. Sorry."
Watching as the priest tugged on his Roman collar, Booth suddenly became suspicious. "There's something you're not telling me, Father."
"It's a long story." Sighing loudly, the priest shrugged in surrender. "Let's go into the parish hall and have a cup of coffee…and I'll tell you all about it."
Sighing softly, Booth agreed. "Okay. It's not like I have anywhere else I need to be..."
The two men walked down the narrow corridor, which opened into a larger, disheveled space with a small, rundown kitchenette, complete with ancient appliances, off to one side. As he sat down at a small table, Booth was distressed as he noticed that the parish hall was in such a sad state of disrepair. Accepting the coffee mug from Father Silvestri, the agent frowned. "It looks like the locks aren't the only things that need replacing around here."
"True." The priest stirred some sugar into his cup and handed the shaker to Booth. "To be honest, the diocese is thinking about closing down St. Vincent's, especially since St. Martin's, which has a growing congregation, is only a few blocks over. This congregation is small, and made up of mostly older people, so the Archbishop isn't convinced that it's feasible to keep us open. He'd rather combine the two parishes, and St. Martin's facilities are much more up to date, so there you go. It would be difficult to find enough money to rehabilitate this space to bring it up to snuff." He smiled sadly. "I was sent here to see if I could breathe some life into the congregation, you know? It's such a beautiful old building...it seems a shame to think that we'd have to give up the opportunity to worship here."
"Yeah." Sipping his coffee, Booth studied the priest with interest before speaking. "So...the nun…"
"Ah, yes. As an investigator, I'm sure you're curious about her." Father Silvestri groaned softly, obviously embarrassed as he stared into his mug. "Even as young as she was, Sister Philomena is something of a legend around here. When I first arrived, my new parishioners were quick to tell me how wonderful she was...working tirelessly with the underprivileged families in the area to make sure they were clothed and fed. She was always so cheerful...so happy…"
"Was?" Booth shuddered slightly as a chill ran down his spine. "What do you mean, 'was'?"
"She was walking to Mass one evening when she was struck by a car. The driver had suffered a heart attack and so he lost control of it. The vehicle ran up onto the sidewalk out there in front of the church...about halfway down the block...and unfortunately, Sister Philomena was killed instantly."
"But, Father…" Booth paused, choosing his words carefully. "I saw her...an hour or so ago...she was solid, okay? I knocked her down…" He drummed his fingers nervously on the table. "So you're saying she's a ghost? How is that even possible?! Besides, if she was as devout as everyone says, shouldn't she be in Heaven instead of out there walking down the street in front of the church?"
"I suppose under normal conditions she would be in the Heavenly Realms, but based on the number of people who claim to have encountered her, it seems that for some reason she still feels the need to spread the Love of Christ. Perhaps she's not so much a ghost as a Heavenly Messenger...she may be more like a sort of Angel, if you will. It usually happens that when someone sees her, they're feeling anxious, sad, or lonely, but she reminds them to turn their problems over to the Lord so He can ease their burdens." The priest shrugged, shaking his head. "I don't know what to tell you about it, Agent Booth, except that you're not the first person to have seen her, and you probably won't be the last. She's still following her calling as best she can, I guess. " As he drained his mug, he regarded Booth thoughtfully. "You don't seem to be too surprised at my explanation…"
"Yeah, well...you see..." It was Booth's turn to be embarrassed. "...I've seen ghosts before, Father, so I guess it sort of makes sense that I might see Sister Philomena this evening, whatever she is. I know it's not really 'normal' to see things like that, but it's true, and often when I see them, it seems like I'm looking at someone who's alive, so…there you go. I've been told that I'm 'sensitive to the dead', whatever that means." He ran his fingers around the rim of his mug. "Could she be the one who's opening the front doors? You know, to invite people in..."
Father Silvestri thought things over for a minute or two. "I don't think so...it seems they're being unlocked from the inside somehow."
"I see." Booth glanced at his watch, and was surprised to see how late it was. "I'm sorry to have kept you so long, Father. I better head for home."
"It's no problem, really. I didn't have any plans for this evening." The priest smiled sadly. "You know, I appreciate the fact that you didn't laugh at me when I told you about Sister Philomena's 'visits'."
"And I appreciate that you didn't laugh when I told you I've seen ghosts." Booth chuckled softly. "I bet you never thought you'd hear a confession like that, right?"
Nodding, the priest grinned. "It's definitely a first."
Coughing nervously, Booth jammed his hands into his coat pockets. "You know, since I'm an FBI agent, I'm gonna need that little bit of information to stay between us, okay?"
"No problem. You can count on my discretion, just like any other confession between a priest and a person seeking absolution." Father Silvestri winked at Booth. "However, I don't have any idea how many Hail Marys you'll need to do for running over a ghostly nun."
The two men laughed as they returned their mugs to the kitchen and headed down the corridor that led to the front of the building. Suddenly a photograph hanging on one of the walls caught Booth's eye. "Father...when was this picture taken?"
"About ten years ago, I guess. That was when the parish was larger and had more families with young children. They used to have a St. Nicholas party for the kids in early December...right around this time of year, in fact." He pointed to a man dressed in a red and gold brocade coat and a bishop's mitre. The elderly gentleman's happy smile was clearly visible under his long white beard. It was obvious that he was having as much fun as the youngsters who were surrounding him. "Ben McDermott had played the role of St. Nick for many years, and he loved doing it. He was great with the kids." The priest sighed softly. "His daughter is one of my congregants. She told me that he died a few months after this picture was taken."
"Oh." Exhaling sharply, Booth's eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the man who'd joined him in the pew earlier that evening…
...and he gasped out loud when he turned to the leave and saw the laughing ghost of Ben McDermott unlock the church's front doors, waving mischievously before stepping outside...
Hmm...another bit of fantasy? Well, every good Christmas story needs a little bit of magic, right? Laura.
