The Tenth Order (5 page)

Valdis flopped into his only chair and studied the unconscious man. He was going to have a hard time positioning himself around the massive figure to remove his soaking clothes.
Strike that
, Valdis thought as he looked closer.
Not clothes. Scrubs.

He should have called an ambulance. The stranger’s injuries had grown frighteningly clear once Valdis had dragged him inside, and now, with candlelight playing over the purpling bruises and dried blood, the priest wondered if he’d made the wrong choice. In the alley it had been easy to convince himself he could treat the stranger, that a few swipes from the first aid kit and a couple blankets would bring the man to consciousness and allow Valdis to ask his questions. But now, with the candles illuminating each cut and bringing the bruises to painful light…was it worth putting this poor guy’s life in danger just because he mumbled “legion?”

Well, in for a penny in for a pound, as his mother used to say. He’d already brought the stranger this far, the least he could do was get him a change of clothes and clean up some of the blood.

It was rough going at first, and Valdis found himself frequently wedged between the man, the bed, and the desk that filled his shrinking cell. But finally, after a quarter-hour, the stranger had been stripped, cleaned as well as Valdis could manage with paper towels and hand soap, and wrapped in towels from the laundry. It was in stripping the stranger that Valdis discovered the mystery extended even
further
.

The priest had easily removed the stranger’s pants, but when he got to his torso Valdis found himself stuck. The man was just too big, and the scrubs too small—
Did they shrink in the wash?
—and too damp for anything but shears. Valdis set to work cutting the ruined mess from the stranger, and that’s when he discovered the mark on the stranger’s left arm. Peering closer, his eyes widened at the strange little whorls and twists decorating the man’s upper bicep.

Dear God. DearGodDearGodDearGod
…

Valdis sat up and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath he slowly opened them and looked again at the stranger’s arm.

The symbol was still there.

At a distance it looked like a failed tattoo; the mark was small and fell back on itself multiple times, seeming more like a botched Chinese letter than anything else. Closer inspection, however, revealed it was slightly raised. A birthmark most likely. But nothing that precise could have formed naturally. Besides, Valdis
had seen markings like it before.

Steadying his hand and taking a deep breath, the priest continued to cut the soaked shirt off the stranger’s torso. The mark could wait.

After the stranger was scrubbed and covered in towels, Valdis stumbled to the bed and collapsed onto the hard mattress. The clock said it was nearing dawn. He groaned inwardly.
Only a few hours until Mass
. He wasn’t expected to perform the sacrament—Father Gregory, a Dominican, handled that duty—but Valdis was required to attend. The priest sighed, and closed his eyes.
Oh well. It won’t be the first time I’ve dozed off during Gregory’s sermon.

Valdis had almost drifted to sleep when he heard stirring next to him. His eyes snapped open and he sat up, turning to meet the stranger’s eyes.

“Uh, hello,” the priest said, his voice thick and clumsy.

“Hello,” the man replied. He stripped away the towels and stared at his bare flesh. “I don’t suppose you have my clothes?”

“Sorry,” Valdis smiled sheepishly. “They were a mess. Had to toss them.”

The man blinked, then shrugged.

And in that blink Valdis couldn’t help noticing what magnificent eyes the stranger possessed. Now that the man was awake it was impossible to ignore how strikingly handsome he was. Tall and muscled, his hair fell in perfect waves down his graceful neck, curling just a bit at the shoulders. His face was hard, chiseled, and his eyes—his eyes were a deep, shadowy gray that seemed to drain all color from the room.

After a moment Valdis realized he was staring, and blushed. The man laughed and shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure I look awful after that…after what happened.”

Why didn’t I see it,
Valdis thought, still blushing.
He was so bruised, so broken when I found him. And now…

And now the stranger looked like he had a mild sunburn. His skin was red and splotchy in a few places, but the bruises and broken bones the priest had seen in the alley, and again when he had dragged the man inside, were gone.

“Your skin—” Valdis motioned helplessly at the stranger’s torso.

The man looked down at his bare body. “Yeah?”

Valdis’ mouth hung open, at a loss for words. “You…healed,” he finally said.

“Did I?” The man looked at his reddish skin, the rash fading even as Valdis watched, and shrugged again. “I’ve always been a fast healer.”

Now isn’t the time. You can ask about the symbol and the bruises later.

“I’m Father Valdis” the priest leaned over, extending his hand. “Anthony to my friends.”

The man grasped Valdis’ hand. “Hunter Friskin. Thanks for saving my life, Father. I guess ‘pleased to meet you’ doesn’t cut it.”

Valdis blushed again—
why do I keep doing that?
—and smiled. “Just doing God’s work. Or, well, trying at least. My room’s been adjacent to that alley for sixteen years, and you’re the first person I’ve managed to help.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“No, it’s true.” Valdis sat up straighter, warming to the conversation. He felt like a kid at a sleepover, sitting here in his bed with the blankets pulled to his chest. “I’ve never been good at confrontation, and the kind of things that go on out there are—well, you know.”

Hunter gave Valdis another shining smile, and the priest felt himself grin in return.
The man’s infectious.

“Well, whatever you are, thank you.”

Valdis nodded. “Happy to help.” He pushed aside the covers, sparing a brief, forlorn look at the clock reading four A.M, and climbed to his feet. “Let’s get you some clothes, my friend. Then you can tell me what brought you to an alley in the middle of the night wearing hospital scrubs.

It was Hunter’s turn to blush. “I—”

Valdis held up a finger. “Wait. Clothes first. Afterward, we can talk somewhere more comfortable than a stone floor.”

“Thanks.”

Valdis smiled, then walked to his closet and rifled through his clothes. The priest was a short man, but the church had been cutting its budget over the past few years and its officers could no longer afford tailored robes. Consequently, each member of the clergy found themselves with garments of all shapes and sizes. Valdis, smaller than most men, had discovered he was pretty good with a needle.

“This should do,” he removed a long black robe from the wooden closet. “It’ll be short, but I think it’s closer than anything else we’ll find. At least at this time of night.”

Valdis tossed the robe to Hunter, and turned as the man dressed. The priest was lucky that, tired as he was, he’d forgotten to change before falling into bed; he didn’t think he’d have the energy right now to pull on a new set of clothes.

Valdis turned after a minute, and almost burst out in laughter. Hunter, long-limbed and broad-shouldered, was literally bulging at the seams of the cotton robe. The outfit squeezed him at the shoulder, bulged awkwardly in the middle, and was a foot short at the end.

He looked like a gawky fourteen-year-old.

“You look great,” Valdis lied.

Hunter flashed a humorless smile. “Thanks. Never felt better.”

Valdis led the way to the door, and opened it to the corridor beyond. “So, would you like the grand tour?”

Hunter hunched over for a moment, then straightened. “That would be great. I’ve always wanted to look inside one of these old beauties.”
“Oh Lord, forgive me. You must be exhausted.”

Hunter shook his head, but the priest could see the slump in the large man’s shoulders, and his eyes were having trouble focusing. Valdis beckoned him through the door. “Let’s postpone the tour. Why don’t I show you the library?”

“So, what brings a man in hospital scrubs to this part of town?” Asked Valdis, easing himself into a large, overstuffed brown chair. Reaching to the side table, he opened a small bottle of brandy and poured two fingers into a pair of dusty glasses. Technically he was supposed to receive communion on an empty stomach, but Valdis didn’t think Jesus would mind. It was only one glass, after all. He took a small sip and passed the other snifter to the large stranger.

Hunter took the glass without looking down, his eyes wide as he scanned the massive array of surrounding bookshelves. Valdis couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride as he watched Hunter take in the library. The priest had spent most of his fifteen years at Saint Catherine’s in the library, and the results were apparent. The gigantic room sprawled several hundred feet, and was filled top to bottom with both new and ancient books. They covered a wide range of subjects, from religion to taxidermy, and Valdis nursed a secret ambition to one day open the library to the general public and convert the church from an ancient ruin to a center for discussion and education. In many ways the work had already begun.

Already the walls had transitioned from rotted dry wall to a deep, wooden finish. It hadn’t been easy. Valdis had to pull a few strings, including a threat to stop publishing anymore of his articles, the most popular of which—his unorthodox translation of Revelation—had appeared in Time, Newsweek, and Playboy.

Consequently, Valdis had procured a large sum of money from the Diocese, and had spent it on his beloved library. Importing rare books, building new shelves, knocking out walls to expand the floor, and acquiring several large, plush reading chairs.

Hunter, who was still looking around the large room with an expression of delight and amusement, turned back to Valdis. “Sorry, what was that?”

“We don’t see many medical workers out here. If you don’t mind my asking, what hospital are you affiliated with?”

Hunter’s look of delight faded, and he started to fidget with his priest’s robes. “To be honest, the clothes weren’t mine,” he said sheepishly.

Valdis smiled inwardly, not really surprised, but only said, “Really?”

Hunter laughed. “I know, probably not a shock. I’m not sure
what
the hospital did with my clothes, but I just wanted to get out, so I—” Hunter stopped, his eyes narrowing. “You really want me to continue? You don’t want me to leave?”

“What?” Valdis sat back. “Why on Earth would I want you to leave? I just saved your life, didn’t I?”

Hunter eyed the priest warily. “Normally people are…normally they want me to leave by now. I can, if you want,” he pushed back the chair and made to stand. “I don’t mind.”

Valdis held up his hand. “No! Absolutely not, I
insist
you stay. Besides, you never really answered my question.”

Hunter looked like he still might leave, but after a moment settled back into his chair. He looked around the empty library, then back at Valdis. “Do we have that priest-confession-secrecy thing going on here?”

“If you’d like to make a confession we can retire to the sanctuary.”

“No, I just…I’m not sure how much I should say.”

Valdis took another sip of brandy, giving himself time to think. The wrong words could drive this man away, and Valdis would never get to ask his real questions, like “Where did you get that symbol?” Or, “How did you stumble on the one place in Denver where you’d find a priest who knew your secret?”

“Hunter, you can say whatever you’d like. We’ll keep this between the two of us,” Valdis finally said.
Keep it simple. Let him come to you
.

Hunter relaxed, and took his first drink of brandy. He raised the glass to his lips, then spluttered and coughed as the rich burgundy liquid reached his throat. “Sorry, I’m not much of a drinker.”

Now that’s a surprise,
Valdis thought.
I would have pegged a man like this to spend half his nights in bars
.

“Swirl it behind your front teeth, then let it slide down your throat. Slowly.” Valdis nodded approvingly as Hunter took another sip, this time making it all the way down.

“See,” the priest said. “Not bad when you get used to it.”

“Yeah. Thank you.” Hunter lowered the glass to his lap, cradling it with both hands. “I mean, thank you for everything, Father. The clothes, bringing me inside, the brandy…” He trailed off.

Now,
Valdis thought.
Bring him in gently
.

“What’s on your mind?” Valdis asked—and really, how many times had he phrased that question before? How many confessions started just this way?
Like a stray cat. Give him some milk, then step back. When he realizes it’s warm inside he’ll come in on his own.

“It’s just this day. You absolutely wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

“Tell me,” Valdis said. And Hunter did. After he finished Valdis sat quietly while the large man took another swig of brandy. He coughed quietly, then looked at Valdis like a guilty man awaiting a verdict.