special treatment. And that, Father Laughlin was certain, was the whole idea. This Pope was far more interested in the common people and the welfare of their souls than in their leaders and the salving of their egos. It also meant, of course, that security could be far less intrusive, given that so few public figures would be in attendance at all, and the Pope himself would be protected only by a Plexiglas shield that would make him totally visible, but utterly safe from anyone not on the stage. The chief of police had still insisted on a fence around the seating area for crowd control, and as he watched, Father Laughlin could understand why.
Even today, with the actual crowd who would see the Pope not even starting to gather, there were people everywhere. Besides the enormous crew that was doing the actual work of setting up for the open-air Mass, the mayor’s staff seemed to be everywhere, wandering aimlessly with clipboards and cell phones, while the media was even more ubiquitous, cornering any priest wearing a collar for an on-camera interview. And all around the perimeter, policemen on horses stood sentry.
What had started out to be a small, personal visit by the Pope had turned into a circus, and even now Father Laughlin wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. Perhaps, when it was over, and the Pope had come and gone, it really would be time for him to retire. But for today, all he could do, really, was try to look out for the students of St. Isaac’s Academy as they rehearsed their part in tomorrow’s event.
Sister Mary David was trying to keep them in some semblance of order as they walked down Spruce and started across Beacon, but just as the intermediate classes were starting across, another flatbed truck pulled up carrying a dozen Porta Potties, which seemed destined to stand precisely where the senior class was intended to gather.
Brother Francis handed Father Laughlin a bullhorn. “I think you’d better move everyone to the front of the stage, Father,” he said, leaning close to Laughlin’s ear and raising his voice enough to be heard over the din of the sound testing.
Having never actually used a bullhorn before, Laughlin experimentally squeezed its trigger a couple of times, before actually speaking into it, but even then found himself jumping at the sound of his own voice. “If everyone from St. Isaac’s will please gather at the front of the stage,” he began, and found no need to repeat himself. The faculty quickly herded the nearly two hundred students into the area between the stage and the first row of chairs, and when there was a sudden lull in the sound testing, Laughlin seized the opportunity to quickly explain what would happen tomorrow. “The youngest children will be in the front row,” Father Laughlin instructed. “You will walk down from the school in classes, starting with first grade. Sister Mary David will lead you, and it’s really quite simple. Ours are the front rows of the center section, and as each row fills, a faculty member will lead you into the next row. The seniors will be last, except for the faculty.” He let his eyes wander over the students, focusing on those most likely to misbehave. “Keep in mind that the entire staff will be behind you, and we’re all quite good at recognizing the backs of your heads. So, shall we try it?” He dropped the bullhorn to his side as the classes began sorting themselves out and filing into the rows in their designated order. Over to the side, Father Sebastian stood with the three students — Sofia Capelli, Melody Hunt, and Ryan McIntyre — who had been specifically requested by the Vatican to assist the Pope at the altar during the Mass. “Tomorrow morning,” he told the rest of the students as they began settling themselves onto their chairs, “you will all receive new uniforms, and you will not get them either dirty or wrinkled on the walk down from the school. Is that clear?” He saw the woman from Channel 5 listening and taking notes, and suddenly wished he had something more important to say than cautionary words about school uniforms, but nothing came to mind. “When the Mass is over, we will all walk together back the way we came, and when we are back at the school we will have a private blessing from His Holiness.” As the younger children started to whisper excitedly among themselves, while the older ones did their best to appear utterly blase about a private audience with the Pope, Father Laughlin turned to the three students gathered around Father Sebastian.
Though it was not up to him to question the choice of the Vatican, Father Laughlin still wondered how wise that choice had been. Of course, these were the three students the Pope was most interested in — the three from whom evil had been totally exorcised by Father Sebastian — and certainly none of them had given Father Laughlin any cause for concern; all of them had been utterly cooperative in every way, paying complete attention to Father Sebastian as he’d instructed them in their duties as altar servers, rehearsing them in the school’s chapel all morning. They’d stood uncomplainingly holding the heavy candlesticks for a full hour, none of them seeming even slightly stiff after the ordeal. The two girls had carried the trays, holding the wafers and the wine in hands that never trembled at all, while Ryan McIntyre had supported the full weight of the large Bible that would be used during the ceremony tomorrow as if it were no heavier than a single sheet of paper.
And all of it had been done without a single word of complaint or a muttered grumble, or even the impatient glancing at the clock that is endemic among students everywhere. Deciding that the Vatican had, after all, known what it was doing, Laughlin turned to Father Sebastian. “You have their cassocks and their cottas?”
Father Sebastian nodded.
“And the lighters?” the older priest fretted.
“Everything is ready,” Father Sebastian assured him. “They all know their duties, and exactly how to perform them. And I’ll rehearse them at least five more times before tomorrow.”
Mollified, Laughlin turned his attention back to the rest of the student body, but as he raised his bullhorn to begin instructing them on their exit from the Common, he was interrupted by Sister Margaret, who was hurrying toward him, holding a cell phone.
“Ryan McIntyre’s mother is waking up,” she said, whispering directly into Laughlin’s best ear. “They want him at the hospital immediately.”
Father Laughlin signaled to Ryan, who stepped forward and listened quietly as the priest told him what had happened. “Brother Francis will drive you to the hospital.” He hesitated, then turned to Father Sebastian. “Perhaps we should replace Ryan with one of the other students for tomorrow—” he began, but Father Sebastian shook his head.
“Cardinal Morisco was very clear,” he said. “It is these three His Holiness wants.”
“Still, given that he might not be able to finish rehearsing—”
“What do you think, Ryan?” Father Sebastian asked, once again cutting off the elder priest’s words.
Ryan gazed steadily at Father Sebastian. “I can do it,” he said softly. “I can do whatever you need me to do.”
“Good boy,” Father Sebastian said. He turned back to Father Laughlin. “Everything’s going to be fine. And I’ll take Ryan to the hospital. You’ll need Brother Francis to help get everyone back to school, and Sofia and Melody can help.”
Before Father Laughlin could object, Father Sebastian Sloane and Ryan McIntyre were gone.
CHAPTER 59
POUNDING.
Someone was pounding on the door.
Or the wall.
It had been going on a long time, growing louder with every beat, and now every time the sledgehammer struck, Teri McIntyre could feel it.
But it wasn’t coming from the door or the wall. It was coming from inside herself; she could feel it in her chest. Her heart? Was that it? Was it her own heart pounding?
But it was in her head, too, pounding away at her like the worst throbbing migraine she’d ever experienced. “Stop…” she whimpered, barely aware of her own voice. “Make it stop…”
Something touched her arm…her wrist. Something warm.
Teri’s lips moved, but no more sound came out.
“Teri?” a female voice asked, seeming to thunder in her ear. “Can you hear me?”
“Don’t…” Teri pleaded, but even as she whispered the word, the pounding eased slightly, and her mind cleared just enough to let her realize that it was, indeed, her own heartbeat, and that it was timed perfectly to the throbbing pain in her head. Without opening her eyes, she whispered yet another word.
“Headache.”
