Raphael sank into the water, and Maria moved in behind him. Taking the washcloth, she began to clean the sweat from his back. Raphael’s head was bowed as she washed every inch of his scarred flesh. As she dipped her hand into the water and cleansed the cage over his spent penis.
Raphael didn’t even react to her touch. Maria’s blood traveled thick and fast through her veins, fueled by disgust of the Brethren and a man she had considered a friend.
And Father Quinn. He had done the same to Gabriel. Which other priests had hurt the remaining brothers of the Fallen? Did she know them too? How had they been able to do this for so long without being caught?
A pit caved in Maria’s stomach when she wondered if it was still happening. Did Purgatory still exist? Were there innocent but troubled children being raped and tortured in the name of a God that would never encourage such atrocities?
Maria was snapped from her thoughts when Raphael’s hands moved to her hips. Maria paused and simply let him have this moment. When Raphael raised his head and his haunted stare clashed with hers, she saw love . . . felt it pulsing from him in waves. But she didn’t dare say the four-letter word that was on the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t sure he could hear that quite yet.
“You took care of me,” Raphael finally said, his voice hoarse from the turbulent emotions and the screams of his nightmare. He swallowed, and Maria watched the bobbing of his Adam’s apple with rapt attention. There was no strong man to be found in that moment, but a wounded and scarred boy, lost in a troubled man’s body. “No one . . .” He cleared his throat. “No one has ever taken care of me before.”
If Maria’s heart had been made of glass, it would have shattered with those sorrowful words. Maria dropped the washcloth and held Raphael’s face. “I will care for you. I will look after you for as long as I am here.” The words were hard to say, but Maria knew the ending of her life was non-negotiable. She had made peace with the gift she would give Raphael. She would show him that he could be loved enough that someone would make the ultimate sacrifice to demonstrate that love. Maria smiled to soothe the confusion on Raphael’s torn face. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Raphael let Maria dry him and lead him into the bed. He threaded his arm around her and laid his head on her naked breast. They were silent, and Maria thought he was asleep. But then, holding her closer, he whispered, “I won’t let you ever leave me.” Seconds later she heard his soft inhales and exhales, feeling his warm breath against her skin.
But Maria couldn’t sleep. She looked over at the coffin. Maria knew it was the Brethren’s fault that Raphael was like this. They had taken the memory of his mother dying and made it part of him, made him need to do the same thing as her killer.
With every minute Maria lay in the bed, holding Raphael, her anger built. They had to be stopped. The church had to be told about the monsters that hid in their parishes. Maria began to shake with the fire their actions inspired. She rolled Raphael to his side so as not to wake him with her ire. She padded across the room to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. And she knew what she had to do. She could only face herself if she helped stop them. If she exposed them to the church and more.
She couldn’t see any more children being hurt.
Slipping into Raphael’s closet, Maria dressed in the sweats, hoodie, and sneakers he had let her wear to the rose garden. She moved to his desk, pulled out a piece of paper and pen, and wrote Raphael a note.
She left it on the desk for him to easily find. Softly so as not to wake him, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, promising, “I will be back, my lord. I promise you, I’ll return to you . . .” Maria fought back tears. “For you.”
Maria crept out of Raphael’s rooms. With every step away from him, her heart grew heavier. It was a veritable magnet; she had to force herself not to go back. Maria understood what God wanted of her. She would die to heal the darkness in Raphael’s soul. What Jesus had done for mankind, she could do for one broken man.
Maria found her way through the house and to the back door. When she exited into the bitterly cold night, she fled across the fields of the estate, following the sounds of a road in the distance.