The Shroud Codex (20 page)

“That’s right,” Anne said. “It’s all happened so fast since my father died. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do about meeting my brother. But then, when I read on the Internet about Paul suffering the stigmata, I realized I had to come here and be with him.”

“So, in the last year or so, you knew you had a brother, but you never made any effort to contact him. I want to make sure I have that right.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Like I said, I’m still not sure Paul knows anything about me, just like I knew nothing about him until after my father died. I’m not sure how much our mother, Anne, told Paul about her true family history before she died.”

Castle listened carefully to her story, determined to watch how Bartholomew greeted his sister once they were introduced at the hospital.

“What do you do in Montreal?” Castle asked.

“I’m an accountant, a numbers person. I work for a Canadian export firm. We export wood products to the United States.”

“And you never married?”

“No, I guess I never found the right person.”

There were parts of the story that made sense to Castle. He could understand why Anne never married. He himself had not found another woman he felt was capable of replacing Elizabeth in his life. Finding the right person was hard, especially as he got older. He enjoyed his relationships with women, but typically they were casual—a dinner date, or a theater date. Women friends were easy, but living with a woman seemed to involve a lot of compromises in a lifestyle he was pretty happy to not change at all, especially the older he got.

Still, he had to admit, he wasn’t sure he accepted as true everything about her story as she told it. “Just out of curiosity,” he said, “I would like to see those divorce papers. It might help me better understand Paul’s relationship with his mother.” Castle knew seeing the divorce papers would provide confirmation for Anne’s story.

“The only problem,” Anne said, “is that I left all my papers in Canada. About all I have with me is my Canadian passport.” She reached in her purse and retrieved it. “You’re free to take a look at this, if you want.”

Castle looked through the passport. She was identified as Anne Cassidy, and the date of birth worked. Her residence was listed as a street address in Montreal. The passport photo was clearly Anne. It was reassuring to Castle that the passport information confirmed her story.

Still, as a professional psychiatrist, he suspected there were many more levels to the story that Anne wasn’t telling him, at least not right away. Almost certainly there were psychological implications to her birth and the separation of her parents that Anne had not fully appreciated herself, especially since she had learned the truth so recently. How had she felt when she learned her mother abandoned her and that her father had lied to her all these years? Unless Castle placed Anne in analysis, he was not sure this question would ever be fully answered. Still, Castle felt confident that when Anne met her brother, she was certain to confront aspects of herself and her brother’s birth story that were impacting deep levels of her subconscious right now, even if Anne could not yet perceive the impact consciously.

Castle also appreciated there were serious implications of this birth story for Bartholomew. If Bartholomew did not know about his mother’s first marriage, how would he react when he learned his mother had hidden the truth from him that his father was not
her first husband? Would he resent not being told he had a half sister living in Canada? A half sister he had never known existed? The questions raced through Castle’s mind as he listened to Anne tell her life story in the limo.

The situation was complicated for Castle. Being truthful, he had to admit he continued to feel attracted to Anne, just as he had been the first moment he saw her. The thought passed through his mind that even though she was not in her twenties, Anne could probably have attracted a suitable man to marry her anytime she wanted, including now. Sitting with her in the backseat, he couldn’t help admiring how her nicely sculpted legs looked in her sheer nylon stockings, especially as her dress rode up above her knees.

“Did you find a hotel room easily last night?” he asked her.

“I found a cheap room near the hospital,” Anne said. “The hotel is okay and it’s close to the hospital.”

Despite the physical attraction he felt, Castle would never cross the line to act on those impulses with a patient or a member of a patient’s family. Castle reminded himself that his concerns with Anne had to remain professional. Now that she had surfaced, she was certain to fit into his analysis of Father Bartholomew. Castle’s instinct was to make sure Anne stayed more directly in his sight. Her story had too many psychological implications to be ignored. “It sounds like this may be your first time in New York?” Castle guessed.

“It is,” Anne affirmed.

“Let me take care of the hotel room for you,” Castle said. “You’re in New York now and this is my city.” Without waiting for her to respond, he reached for his cell phone in the pocket of his sport jacket and began dialing a number.

Listening, Anne realized he was calling the manager’s office at the Waldorf Towers to reserve a one-bedroom corner suite on one
of the upper floors for her, subtly making sure the suite was one of the larger and more elegant ones in the hotel.

From Castle’s conversation with the manager, Anne could tell he was no stranger either to the Waldorf Towers or to the staff that ran the hotel. Castle asked for specific room details and appeared to know what the suite would look like simply by its room number.

“I don’t know whether I can afford that level of luxury,” Anne objected.

Castle smiled softly, pleased at her concern for expenses. “I’m not asking you to pay,” he explained. “The Catholic Church is compensating me handsomely for taking your brother on as a patient and your accommodations at the Waldorf will be part of my expenses. I want to make sure you have a comfortable place to stay.”

“Under those conditions, I accept,” Anne said, feeling genuine appreciation for his concern over her.

As the limo approached the hospital, Castle could see that the crowd outside had swelled considerably. Hundreds more people were standing outside now and lit candles could be seen everywhere. A crowd had gathered in the open park across from the hospital main entrance. It was not standing silently, like before. This time there seemed to be a commotion going on. Observing closely, Castle was surprised to see people pointing up to the hospital rooms above.

Fernando Ferrar and his mobile video truck were on the scene, with Ferrar standing in front of the hospital giving what looked like a live remote broadcast from the scene. Ferrar’s attention also seemed focused on one of the hospital rooms above.

Castle ordered the driver to take the limo to the private staff entrance underground.

As they entered the hospital, Castle made sure Anne was
comfortable in the ICU waiting room. Going down the hall to Father Bartholomew’s room, Castle could see there was also a lot of commotion on the hospital floor.

“I’ve been dialing your cell phone,” the chief nurse on duty said with relief as she saw Dr. Castle coming down the hall. “I’m glad you’re finally here.”

“We got here as quickly as we could,” Castle responded. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s Father Bartholomew,” she answered. “He’s taken off all his bandages and he’s standing at the windows without his hospital gown on. The nurses are trying to get him back into bed.”

Entering the room, Castle could see Father Bartholomew standing at the window fully naked. His arms were outstretched as if he were being crucified and his head hung down on his chest as if he were still in his coma. Two nurses were trying to put a robe on him and get him back to bed, but Father Bartholomew wasn’t cooperating. Castle was relieved to note the window came up to his waist, so that all Fernando Ferrar’s television crew would get was a view of Father Bartholomew’s chest and arms. But that was enough. No doubt Ferrar got what he needed for a national scoop.

On that point, Castle was precisely correct. Various hospital workers had tipped off Ferrar privately. He had been told that Father Bartholomew suffered the scourge wounds in addition to the stigmata on his wrists. Now he had visual proof for the world to see.

Dr. Castle took charge as he moved quickly to the priest at the window. He took a robe from one of the nurses and he began inserting Bartholomew’s outstretched right arms into it. The nurse got the idea and she took over with the robe from there, determined to put the robe on Father Bartholomew whether he cooperated or not.

Speaking softly, Dr. Castle instructed Father Bartholomew to move away from the window, which he did. Step by step, Castle coached Bartholomew back to bed. He took the priest’s blood pressure and he checked his pulse. Both were only slightly elevated. Looking at Bartholomew’s chart, he could tell the priest had slept until about an hour earlier, when Castle got the call in his office that the priest had regained consciousness.

Seeing the priest naked, Castle was astonished to realize how remarkably Bartholomew’s scourge wounds had healed. Gone were the open bleeding wounds, now covered in scabs and scars. He wanted to see Dr. Lin as soon as possible to see if the results Castle observed reflected internal healing of Father Bartholomew’s wounds as well.

Once he was convinced Father Bartholomew was resting quietly and the nurses were back in control, Castle returned to the waiting room to tell Anne what had happened.

“I gave him a sedative and he’s asleep again, resting quietly in bed,” Castle explained to her. “The upset is over, for the time being, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait here for a while longer. I have to meet one of the other doctors in the hospital to check up on the tests I had run on Father Bartholomew. After that, I will return here to examine Father Bartholomew.”

“When will I be able to see him?” Anne asked.

“I’ll check him again when I return and I will let you know then,” Castle answered. “Meanwhile, please just rest comfortably here until I get back. Father Morelli will probably join you here shortly.”

Thursday, early afternoon

Dr. Lin’s office, Beth Israel Hospital

Day 15

Looking at the results of the previous day’s tests in Dr. Lin’s office, Castle was astonished to see what she had found.

She recounted the facts. “Father Bartholomew came to the ER with you on Sunday night. He had suffered what looked like wounds from a severe whip beating all over his body, front and back. The wounds were so severe that you had him admitted to the burn unit for treatment. This is Thursday afternoon, not quite four days later, and his wounds, as you can see, are nearly healed.”

Castle took a close look at the CT scans and the MRIs. He could see that Dr. Lin was right.

“I don’t understand it,” Dr. Lin said. “I have never seen any case where wounds as severe as this patient suffered have healed so quickly.”

“I don’t have any medical explanation for it, either,” Castle
said. “Wounds as severe as what we observed in the burn unit should have taken weeks to heal.”

Looking closely, Dr. Castle could see in Dr. Lin’s tests the dumbbell shapes that marked the end of what appeared to be every lash of the whip. The CT scans and MRIs confirmed what he observed when he first checked Father Bartholomew’s wounds in the hospital on Wednesday morning.

“I am going to ask a priest, Father Middagh, to come over here and meet with us,” Castle said to Dr. Lin. “He is an expert on the Shroud of Turin.”

“So you think Father Bartholomew’s wounds are going to look like the wounds of the man in the Shroud?” Dr. Lin asked.

“There appears to be a resemblance,” Castle said. “But remember, I’m a psychiatrist. I’ve established that Castle has studied the Shroud and his subconscious may be strong enough to have manifested those wounds by itself.”

“Do you think Father Bartholomew is mentally ill?” she asked, following up.

“I haven’t come to that conclusion yet. I’m just beginning the analysis.”

“Just have Father Middagh call me directly,” she said. “I’m sure I can make the time to see him today.”

“What about the wrist wounds?” Castle asked. “Have they continued to heal?”

“That’s another mystery,” Dr. Lin said, turning to the CT scans and MRIs of Father Bartholomew’s wrists. “In the first set of tests I ran, before these whipping wounds appeared, I noted that the wrist wounds had begun to heal from within.”

“I remember that you could not confirm the wounds pierced completely through the wrists,” Castle said.

“That’s right,” Lin said. “Now, in these tests I ran last night, the healing within the wrists is almost complete. The wrist wounds are only superficial wounds, on the top and back. I don’t even see evidence of scar tissue within the wrists. It’s almost as if the tissue has completely regenerated without any evidence of injury.”

Thursday, late afternoon

Beth Israel Hospital

Day 15

I’m going to let you in to visit with Father Bartholomew,” Dr. Castle told Father Morelli and Anne in the ICU waiting room. “But just for a few minutes. He is exhausted and he needs the rest.”

From the moment Anne entered the room, Bartholomew sat up in bed, startled.

“Mother?” he asked in disbelief.

“No,” Anne said, startled. “I’m your half sister.”

“But I don’t have a sister,” Bartholomew said. “You look identical to my mother twenty years ago, when she was forty years old.”

“My name is Anne,” she said.

Bartholomew was startled as well. “Anne was my mother’s name.”

“I know,” Anne said. “She was my mother, too, and I was named after her.”

Observing closely, Castle concluded Bartholomew’s reaction
confirmed the truth of Anne’s story. Remarkable though it was, Bartholomew appeared to have had no idea that he had a half sister, let alone one who so closely resembled their mother, even in name.

Just then, Castle’s cell phone rang. It was Dr. Lin. “Father Middagh has just joined me,” she said. “Can you meet with us in my office?”