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  “I have a room — I must have one month in advance.” The woman stiffened her lower jaw to show her intransigence on that point. Her cat uttered a soft hiss.

  “I only wish to stay a week or two, signora. I don’t have much money.”

  “One month in advance. That is my rule. There are many other rooms in Rome.” Sighing, the man said, “I will pay what you wish.”

  An hour later, Signora Ducci saw the man climbing the front stairs with a young girl by his side. The girl wore baggy clothes, but she seemed pretty at a quick glance. She didn’t appear to be resisting the man, Signora Ducci noticed.

  She smiled. The words child bride tumbled through her mind. She had seen something strange and fearful in the man’s eyes, but now she knew what it was — lust.

  Upstairs in the old building Nicholas Rosetti first closed the dirty curtains and then opened his greatcoat.

  He locked the door.

  He thought that he had found a perfect hideaway for himself and Kathleen. He was here to test her, to investigate — but also to protect the girl if he possibly could.

  Chapter 80

  THREE STORIES ABOVE the dark, steaming street, a bright yellow square of light shone brightly, like an oblong star, over the derelict Roman district.

  Kathleen sat behind the window. She was hugging her throbbing stomach, feeling the baby’s heartbeat racing inside her. She hadn’t been this frightened since her visit to the abortion clinic, but this was far worse.

  Anything can happen to me now. People have died, been murdered. Plagues and sickness have broken out like nothing since ancient times. I feel as if I have stepped into the pages of the Bible.

  She tried to put those thoughts out of her mind.

  I am going to be a mother very soon. Nothing else matters but my child. I won’t let it. I love this baby. My baby will make everything right.

  Across the small room littered with newspapers and food containers from lunch and dinner, Rosetti prayed in a barely audible whisper. The priest was so intense, so focused on the unseen and unknowable that he frightened her.

  She turned to the cheap, blinking black-and-white television set on top of a packing crate. A reporter spoke in Italian while video clips depicted the ongoing hunt for her through Western Europe. A report came in that she had been spotted in France. Another that she was back in America.

  “You said to tell you when I was ready, Father,” Kathleen finally said in a tremulous voice. “I think I’m ready,” she whispered.

  Last year at this time she’d been playing field hockey, sailing on Easton Bay, crewing for the Newport Newts. Now she sat hunched over her big belly in a small, dingy room in Rome. There was no way for her to believe her own life.

  Rosetti snapped open his black duffel bag and took out several items: a cross, a stole, a silver rosary, a small bottle of holy water, and two thick black books. Shadows seemed to flit in the corners of Kathleen’s vision. Was someone else there?

  “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, Kathleen. First, I will read from this.” Rosetti held up a cloth book with a blood red cross on its cover. “It’s called the Roman Ritual. Some of the most powerful prayers ever written are contained in this book.”

  “Tell me the truth, Father. Please stop with the mumbo jumbo. Is this an exorcism?” she finally asked.

  “No. Not an exorcism. But, Kathleen, I do believe that the Devil is here in this room. The Devil is definitely nearby. Something is keeping us safe from him.”

  “So far,” Kathleen said.

  “Yes. So far. Let’s keep it that way. We will defeat Satan. He can be beaten. He is, after all, only a fallen angel.”

  Rosetti solemnly kissed a violet stole, then dropped it over the slope of his broad shoulders. Kathleen could see that his large hands were shaking.

  There was a tremor in his voice. “The Evil Presence is sometimes called Moloch. Did you know that, Kathleen? Or Mormo — which means King of the Ghouls. Or Beelzebub — which means Lord of Flies. In parts of Africa people still call him Damballa, the Beast. But in Europe, in America, he no longer has a name. That is because so many Westerners no longer believe in Satan. He seems invisible, but is everywhere.”

  Rosetti solemnly blessed himself. Then the broad-shouldered man began to sweep across the room toward Kathleen. His eyes never left her face. She wanted to run from him, but didn’t, couldn’t. Her body seemed pegged to the chair.

  The trembling girl began praying in a loud voice. “Lord God, my Father, protect the child inside of me. Please protect my baby.”

  Chapter 81

  FATHER ROSETTI MOANED, then he paused, as if he didn’t want to begin the holy ritual yet. He knew what to expect. First, the sense of the dreaded, all-pervasive Presence. Then the chilling, unforgettable Voice. Then perhaps an appearance by the Evil One himself.

  He vividly remembered when he had been struck down inside the Vatican gates. It had proven to him that the Devil was everywhere, even in the Holy See. He remembered that he had seen a multitude of devils, not just one. He felt them surrounding him in the small room. They were like a sea of vermin.

  “Dear Lord, please give us a sign.” Rosetti began the most important prayer of his life. He felt such hopelessness in the face of the abyss. He believed with all his heart that he was taking the first step into eternal Hell.

  He held a silver pocket watch in his hand. His parents in Milan had given him the watch on the day of his ordination. Now he let Kathleen see the face of the antique watch. “Quarter to twelve,” he told her.

  “Which virgin will bear our Holy Savior? Which virgin will bear the hateful Beast of this age?” he said in a strange voice that almost sounded like someone else’s to Kathleen.

  Almost at once, she could feel the dreaded Presence herself. She saw the lovers from her dreams, only now they were with her in the small room. She had the thought that none of this was possible, but the dream lovers were definitely here.

  “Can you see them, Father?” she asked. “Please say you can.”

  “Leave us now!” he suddenly shouted, and sprinkled holy water at the lovers.

  At the touch of the water, they turned quickly into animals — fierce dogs and howling wolves and bears standing tall on their hind legs. Kathleen stared in disbelief as they metamorphosed into birds and then into cats, just like the ones outside in the Termini.

  And then they were back to the lovers from her dreams. They smiled smugly at Kathleen and the priest.

  “They’re devils, aren’t they?” she asked. “Are these the fallen angels?”

  Rosetti didn’t speak — only listened, watched. A few of the lovers were naked, but some wore tight pants, or tight underwear, and they all stared at the girl with the same terrible possessiveness. They watched her intently.

  They watched her stomach, never blinking. They looked hungry, ravenous. Would they try to eat the child?

  “Can you still see them?” Kathleen asked Rosetti.

  “I can see whatever you see, Kathleen. Who are they? Do you know them?”

  “No,” she said. “Well, yes. But only in dreams. They’re not real. They can’t be.”

  “What happens in the dreams?” Father Rosetti asked. “You must tell me everything you can. Hold nothing back.”

  Kathleen trembled. She wanted to kill herself again, to get away from here. The way the lovers looked at her was so vulgar and awful. No one had ever looked at her with such hatred and disdain. Even when they transformed into animals they had that vile look.

  “They come to me almost every night . . . and they make love to me,” she finally confessed. “Sometimes they do it as animals.”

  “How do you feel when they do that to you?”

  “I hate it! No, that’s not completely true, Father. Sometimes, I feel the most amazing physical pleasure. It confuses me.”

  As the priest spoke, the lovers continued to watch and to slowly circle around her. Kathleen strongly sensed that they would hurt her if they could. Why
didn’t they attack? It was so eerie, and also disgusting. They kept eyeing her stomach, wouldn’t look away.

  Then finally, the leader spoke and she recognized the Voice that had been inside her head for so many months.

  “I only want what is mine, what the Father promised to me, cheating, lying bastard that he is. I want the child. My child.”

  “Tell me how you feel when they come to you.” Father Rosetti continued with his questions to Kathleen.

  “Violated,” Kathleen said. “But, oh, Father, I did feel pleasure, too. And then the worst shame,” she said.

  “Because?”

  “I’m no longer a virgin . . . and I’m pregnant.”

  “Kathleen,” the priest asked, “have you ever known a man? Have you known these men?”

  At that moment, they all rushed at her, every one of the lovers. They were growling, moaning, making grotesque animal sounds and a kind of group hissing that sounded like the word yessss. Yesssss. Yessssss! She retched. They entered her — everywhere they could. Their penises were like knives piercing her skin in dozens of places.

  She felt such shame and guilt again. She didn’t want the priest to see this. She knew they were here to hurt the baby.

  “This is our child!” the Voice screamed. “We fucked you and you conceived. Tell the priest! Confess. Tell God! Tell the truth!”

  Kathleen screamed, and it was an unearthly sound. Her arms beat the air. Her legs thrashed about furiously. Her head shook back and forth. Her eyes rolled up into her head.

  Then they were gone. Just like that.

  The room was silent.

  Kathleen was blinking her eyes rapidly, not comprehending what had just happened to her.

  There was only Rosetti. And his silver pocket watch.

  “What happened?” she whispered, looking around the empty room, her eyes wide with terror.

  “I hypnotized you,” he said. “Perhaps it was all in your mind, Kathleen.”

  Chapter 82

  SISTER KATHERINE DOMINICA came to Colleen’s house that same night, after the bus from Dublin had departed. The elderly nun sat across from Colleen in the small living room that was heated by a peat fire.

  “Your mother? She’s sleeping already?” the nun asked.

  “She’s awake. But you almost wouldn’t know it. Most of the time she doesn’t know who I am.”

  The nun nodded. “That must be very hard for you, Colleen.”

  “We get along fine,” the girl said. “We make do.”

  “We haven’t heard any more from that priest from Rome, have we?”

  Colleen couldn’t help frowning. “I haven’t, have you?”

  “Mmm,” the old nun said. “There was a bus in town today. Do you know anything about it?”

  So that was it. Now Colleen understood why the nun had come to visit. She wanted to lie to her and say she hadn’t seen the bus, but she couldn’t do it, couldn’t lie. Not even to nosy Sister Katherine.

  “The bus stopped here, yes. There were nuns on board, lay brothers, too. A retired priest. They came to see me, Sister. They heard about my special situation.”

  The nun clucked her tongue softly. “Was that all?”

  Colleen thought about her answer. “They said — that they believed the Savior would be born in Ireland. Isn’t that a wondrous thing? They believe in a virgin birth, Sister. Do you?”

  Chapter 83

  I HEARD A LOUD gong and my eyes swung to the marble and dark wood mantel. The clock had struck midnight. It was October 11. Two days before the feast of the mysterious appearance of the Gentlewoman of Fatima. Two days before the babies were due to be born.

  Kathleen’s.

  Colleen’s.

  Justin and I hadn’t left the villa since breakfast. We had spread newspapers over the carpets, over the tables, making a wreck of the place in our fervent need to know. What was happening in the world? Where was Kathleen? The press throughout Europe and the United States knew nothing of her whereabouts. The Vatican had refused to issue a statement. And they wouldn’t put us in touch with Father Rosetti or Kathleen.

  Justin snatched up the International Herald Tribune and stared at the stories one more time.

  “I feel so helpless, Anne, and I’m not used to it. Are we expected to just sit here and wait for the birth — the births? Was there anything that Father Rosetti might have said? Anything Kathleen said at any time? Where in hell could they be?”

  I looked up from the sprawl of newspapers and shook my head. We’d been over this mess so many times it seemed like a wrinkled road map in my mind.

  When I wasn’t thinking of the horror going on outside the four walls, I was thinking about being here with Justin. I couldn’t help it. There had to be a reason for that too. There was a plan — we just didn’t know what it was yet.

  “I’m going for a walk. I need some air,” I said. “Do you want to come with me?”

  In the last hour the fog had turned to rain, a soft dense sheet of it. Outside the walled compound, speeding cars made a sound like giant tape being ripped off the ruler-straight highway. The press continued to wait outside the gates. They were as frustrated and mystified as we were by Kathleen’s disappearance.

  There was a large umbrella outside the door, and Justin unfurled it. He opened the door. A fresh, clean smell swept the night air and I inhaled deeply.

  We stepped out onto a graveled path between barbered boxwood hedges. Our footsteps crunched in unison.

  But I couldn’t make myself relax. I hadn’t been completely honest with Justin and that thought was making me sad. I wondered how much longer we had together.

  I had to say something to him, to tell the truth. What was the popular game — Truth or Dare?

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” I finally admitted. I thought those were probably the bravest words I’d ever said in my life. I had guarded myself from feelings of affection and love for so long, but now they engulfed me. Why now?

  Justin’s footsteps slowed, but I pressed his arm and propelled him forward.

  “I’ve been protecting myself from you ever since the day I met you. But it hasn’t done much good, has it? My life lately seems to be a blur of nervous moments, with you in the middle of them.”

  I laughed at myself; I couldn’t help it. At least I had that left — good, honest self-deprecating laughter. Justin smiled too.

  “It isn’t funny,” I said, continuing to smile.

  The two of us walked on, arm in arm. I liked the feeling. The crushed-stone path led to a potager, a beautiful kitchen garden.

  Espaliered fruit trees hugged the walls. Rows of winter crops, including kale, leeks, and Brussels sprouts, sprang up lustily in the neat rows. It looked like a tapestry of the Garden of Eden. Rain dripped from the rib tips of the umbrella onto my shoes.

  I gazed upward and looked directly into Justin’s eyes. His pupils were so large and beautiful, so honest and fine, that I felt that I could see right into his soul.

  My voice quavered. “Next week we’ll be apart again. And I just want to tell you — I need to tell you — that I do love you more than I ever imagined was possible. I don’t know why I’m saying —”

  His kiss was so gentle I wanted to cry. I gave everything I had to the moment. I lingered over the feel of his lips, trying to memorize every sensation. I was using my own lips to convey the strength of my feelings, to apologize for all the times I’d rebuffed him, to learn what it felt like to kiss another person with my whole heart.

  I felt the umbrella fall to the ground. Heard it blow down the rocky path. I didn’t chase after it.

  Justin swept me up in his powerful embrace and we kissed again. This time it was a more demanding kiss that made me want to surrender completely. I went with it, feeling so wonderful, so alive. For a long, long time I had wanted someone to love me like this. I realized suddenly why it had never happened. It was because I had been unable to give love back to anyone. Now I could.

  I had closed my eyes duri
ng the kiss and now, as I opened them, I saw someone watching us. What in hell? I thought. Who’s there?

  At first I felt a twinge of shame. But then I remembered how glad I was that I had kissed Justin, and it was something else about the watcher that bothered me.

  I realized who was spying on us. It was the dark-haired man in the khaki raincoat from the night before — the one who had frightened me when we were just arriving.

  “Justin, someone’s there. He’s behind you. I saw him last night too.”

  Justin turned and called out in a sharp voice, “What are you doing here? Hey, you!”

  The man started to back away, but we wouldn’t let him go so easily. I suppose that we were hungry for answers — any answers at all.

  Justin and I started to run. We chased the man back into the groves of apple trees directly behind the garden house. We were gaining on him. We were going to get our answer after all.

  The man realized it too, because he stopped moving away. He stopped and waited for us. He stared at us, watched us coming through the rain, and he began to laugh in the most contemptuous manner.

  “You know me,” he finally said when we were only yards away. “You know exactly who I am. I am your desires.”

  And then, right before our eyes, he was no longer there. He had vanished.

  “Did I see that?” I asked Justin.

  “We both did. We saw it. He was right there. And now he’s gone.”

  An intrusive voice called out as we stood staring in disbelief at the spot where the man had been just an instant before.

  “Justin, Anne! Are you out there? Anne? Where are you two?”

  It was Carolyn Beavier. She had a flashlight and a cell phone clutched in her hands.

  “It’s Kathleen,” she announced. “God, it’s Kathleen calling. She’s safe.”

  I reached for the telephone and pressed it against my ear. I strained to hear her words.

  “Anne — will you please come get me? Will you come now?” Kathleen sobbed. “I’m ready to have my baby.”