It was a fact, Martin was a loony. He had to be. His plan for Italy was just a mental, emotional and physical cripple and the not even slightly overweight never mind fat friar. No care assistants, no help, no physio. Just a normal, unpowered wheelchair and crutches. This was going to kill him from overexertion for sure. On the plane, it had been two air stewards helping him to the front row seat. The old bastard with a serene simile on his face and a softly spoken "thank you, bless you, you'll be in my prayers."

The seventeen year old was simmering with incandescent rage. "Is the swear jar in place?"

Martin was looking through the safety guide after ensuring his assistant was safely secured. "One of your mother's more charming protocols. Did you swear much at fourteen?"

Alex threw his head back as the psychoanalysing would be constant. "I returned from visiting dad knowing phrases and insults that would even shock Bri. He is the leader on the swear stakes at the retreat."

The friar had moved on to read the inflight magazine. "If we took into account all the potty mouth and bite me, you'd be top by a fair margin."

As the many now boarded, Alex people watched, noting all the business men and a few tourists. He settled in to sleep, as their flight was to Heathrow, connecting to Perugia. This assistant was going to nap at every opportunity.

…..

It was not in Cossacks nature to panic, as he followed the minibus from Baysdale to Newcastle Airport. John's son was on his way to Assisi. He would be following, but tomorrow, he had to cover his tracks in England. The Russian would be driving, it would mean keeping to his current legend, but once in Italy he could arrange a change as his Italian good enough to pass for a native from the alpine north.

…

The taxi arrived at a large locked gate. It was warm mid afternoon. Martin noted his assistant had slept most of the way. He feared depression had its hold on this young man, who was insular to the extreme. The friar hoped to see Alex relax, accept help and open himself to others. He had made the decision to leave the care assistants behind as Alex used them as a buffer. Here would be a simple life of prayer, reading, work and self reflection. The young man was too critical of himself and his faults, the current upset over being less than brilliance studying physics, as if he was grasping for fundamentals of existence from textbooks and his fanatical reading of Nature and New Scientist. A simple routine based on faith would hopefully reset achievable goals, hope and happiness. Martin knew time was running out at Baysdale, as Helen would move him immediately, if the sighting of her ex husband was confirmed. They needed someone on staff who had known the elusive John Rider, but most of those were spies, dead or terrorists themselves. The taxi driver had already unloaded the luggage and crutches and was erecting the Wheelchair. The old man spoke softly, "we're here" and Alex woke. The friar moved the chair to the opposite door and held the crutches steady for the younger man to move himself from sitting to the chair. He'd be stiff after sitting for hours day.

Stood in the sun, looking at two small bags, Alex pondered he only had one change of clothes as for the last year he'd been wearing a nasty brown uniform most of the time. He had saved up his allowance as well as Christmas and birthday money for summer. Though Assisi might not the place to sell anything he'd like, not that he had any idea of fashion. No Jack, Liz or Sabina here to point him right.

Martin knocked on the gate and the three weeks of torture was about to begin and his Italian was atrocious.

Alex was put in with the lay brothers dorm. He felt sick. A room full of strangers, when he was used to his own space, helped with everything. No en-suite, just a normal and very narrow bed. He was sat on the substandard wheels and knew precisely what Martin expected of him, to stretch himself, to excel, to make friends and to stop hiding. The seventeen year old felt so lonely and a complete stranger here still. Piling up demerits to avoid phone calls to another stranger, only she was his mum. Her letters full of her life with new friends and a new boyfriend. A man with other children, in three weeks he was going to meet and be completely alone still.

Jerry Harris walked in to introduce himself as the mentor to the seventeen year old from Baysdale, there were only three lay brothers who spoke fluent English and he was a fellow Londoner, both had grown up in Chelsea. The tall, dark haired handsome man stood in the doorway taking in the heartbreaking scene of a handsome young man in a wheelchair looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Only a small bag, half filled with textbooks and science magazines. "Hi, it's Alex isn't it? I'm Jerry Harris, I've volunteered to be your mentor."

The young man had always had a bit more than a soft spot for Tom's brother, and could not help blushing, followed by a tight, squeaky "Hi".

Thankful that the wheelchair meant he faced away from the handsome mentor, Alex listened to the description of the life of a lay brother, the layout of dorms, dining hall, kitchens, laundry and gardens. Last they went to the church.

Alex was puzzled, neither of the Harris brothers had even been remotely religious. Then again, after nine months of church, church and more church Alex wasn't remotely interested in becoming a monk, but jumping between bodies, between realities, he had a feeling it was more than luck, more than science. What de he know of divinity and souls? The elder Harris brother had been extreme sport mad and as much of an adrenaline junkie as Alex himself.

The church was amazingly beautiful. Huge, richly decorated and quiet even though there were a fair number of worshipers and tourists present. He was wheeled to a side chapel to view the fresco of the mourners. Jerry softly spoke "I'm Always drawn to this fresco. I feel closest to my brother Tom here. I'm not contemplating becoming a friar, but I have found peace here. I was without hope and this simplicity has made me aware that happiness can be calm and quiet."

Alex watched this mourner pray and knew something terrible had happened to Tom Harris. There had been no friendship here as Alex had been educated at prep then fee paying school as a day student, not a Brookland Comprehensive. There had been no karate mad loner to stop the bullying of lonely Tim Harris.

Alex gripped the wheels, taking a real effort to release the break. He pushed himself to the confessional with the English priest. He gripped the arms of the chair, as he had left the crutches in the dorms, there was no help, nothing to act as a pivot. With a massive push, he wobbled and manoeuvred himself into the booth. "I've not done this before. I'm not even sure if I can be absolved of my sins, or what I need to say. Everything is wrong. I'm a useless lump of flesh and I've lost my way. Why did my friend Tom die alone, thinking he was unloved? I understand desperation, the complete lack of hope. Why was I given a second chance? I should be dead. My mum had prepared my funeral, after two years of watching machines breath for me. Is this all a test? Am I meant to make a difference, somehow? I've got no clue about anything. Well apart from the fact my new mentor, Jerry Harris, is smoking hot and I feel like getting burned."

Alex then heard the familiar chuckle, it was his nemesis, Friar Martin listening. The bastard who led the services and provided spiritual counselling at Baysdale had been a priest who took the side step into a monastic order. The teenager fell out of the confessional to see his mentor stood with the wheelchair, with tears in his eyes.

Alex lay down as once again he'd made a tit of himself. Martin was knelt down beside him "why do you think everything is wrong?"

The teenager pondered the life he'd led and the life of the other Alex. "None of my friends from school have answered my letters, well Sabina did she said it was a practical joke in poor taste. My living is a practical joke. Ha fucking ha and I'm the butt if it. None of the guys from group talk to me. Darren's left, he called me Saint Alex Beckett, but we got along like caged animals do. Now he's joined the list of people who no longer talk to me."

Martin then asked "Tell me about Tom."

"I was a defender on the school team, err soccer was a club sport, we played friendlys with Brookland and other local teams. Both of us benched for the most part. I chatted with a funny guy with a liking for weird films. We hung out, occasionally. We were both outcasts. I had a mum and two gay dads. He never made fun of me for that. I think he knew I leaned that way anyway to. We went to the cinema and stuff." Alex then continued, "Ian died in March, his partner had lived with us since Year 7. I was the one to get Ian out of his self imposed closet as I stated if he didn't want to be dad, Christoph could be. Christoph left before the funeral. Not one word since. Walked away like mum and I meant nothing, when we'd been a freaky family. I got bullied something chronic then. Sabina tried to cheer me up, we hung out more and I hung out less with Tom. Then my accident happened. Don't you see it's my fault he lost hope."

Martin then lay down next to his young charge, "your mum did not know about the bullying did she?"

Alex shock his head. "I could handle it. I just thought it would be different now, but it's not. Darren wanted to date. I wouldn't, couldn't let him touch me. Even now I feel sick thinking about it." For some reason the teenager started to sing "Never far from their hands… Tsunami, tsunami washing over me. can't speak can't think won't talk won't walk….." Abruptly he sat up. "I am not going to hurl in a church".