Previous Installments-
Part One
Prologue and Chapters I-X
Part Two
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
PartThree
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Radu-Chapter XXIX (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
9 pages approximate
Radu-Chapter XXIX
Father Alexandrieu Khoska should have been aware of the dangers of keeping his niece confined within the small room of the Church Of The Blessed Sacrament. Still, what other choice did he have? He could have certainly had her hospitalized, or committed, but the long-term result would doubtless be the same. After another long period of recovery, she would then relapse into yet another assault by whatever spiritual force yet again laid claim to her soul.
The marks on her neck had been unmistakable. The most unholy of all forces to walk among the living sought her for its very own. He alone had the power to prevent this from occurring, but his faith was not what it was once.
Only one time in his life had he been witness to something remotely similar as what recently befell his niece Lynette. A man had lost his wife, who claimed on her deathbed to be a victim of her husband’s malicious intent. When she died, however, no autopsy provided evidence of the poisoning of which she accused him.
Following her burial, a remarkable series of heinous events occurred involving the couple’s three children. One by one, the three of them, two girls and a boy, died. They each died slowly, and separately, and the man gradually drank himself into a continual stupor.
One night following the death of the last and youngest child, the man presented himself to Khoska, and confessed to the crime of poisoning his wife. Khoska listened as the man related how the woman came to him in his dreams, but he resisted her claims upon him.
He gave the man absolution, as he felt he surely had suffered more than enough from the deaths of all his children. He took pity on the man, as Khoska in his younger days was sentimental and tender hearted. The man obviously suffered greatly of spirit and conscience, besides which his wife had become the neighborhood strumpet, openly carousing with any man of the slightest authority within the environs of Ploesti.
That night Khoska found himself tormented by the demonic ravings of innumerable hellish voices. One time, he imagined he saw the faces of the children themselves at his window, howling and clawing at the windows, and then the doors, like savage beasts. Khoska fell to his knees and prayed for forgiveness for his ill-advised leniency to the man. He learned that night that forgiveness, while guaranteed to all who seek it, does not come without a price-nor does it grant freedom from retribution.
The next day, Khoska learned the man was later the same night ripped to shreds in his own home. Not one of his neighbors heard his screams, nor did they report any signs of intruders or visitors. The local Ploesti authorities investigated the crime briefly, but nothing ever came of it.
Khoska applied later for permission to have the man buried in a plot far from his victimized wife and her children, and conducted a ritual of exorcism on behalf of all of them. He was amazed the officials of Ploesti acceded to his request. He understood of course that it had nothing to do with their capacity for belief so much as a willingness to account for the superstitions of the family’s neighbors and surviving relatives.
At the same time, Khoska knew he had brought unwelcome attention to himself, and realized his activities could easily fall under suspicion. Various low-level officials, tentatively for spiritual advice sought him out, though he was careful not to put his foot in his mouth.
Before long, the authorities, who quite naturally never took it seriously to begin with, forgot the allegedly supernatural occurrence. They never forgot Khoska, however, and soon they turned more to him not so much for spiritual advice, but for reasons that were more mundane.
Khoska’s father was retired by now from the church, and found work that was more acceptable, in the teaching profession. His mother as well found employment in that capacity. Aleksandre never wavered in his devotion to the church. His grandfather also remained steadfastly devoted to Christ, and to the Orthodox religion, and proved a steady rock onto which Khoska anchored his faith.
His grandfather, however, was not a realist. Khoska was, and determined that he would do the most good he could do, even if that meant, from time to time, a compromise of certain principles. He felt compelled to remind his grandfather once that not all Christians in the early days refused to waver from the dictates of their consciences, in fact most of them did from time to time. If they had not, the lions would have fed on all of them, and Christianity would have forever vanished.
He was in a bind. He told himself that a traitor deserved no leniency, any more than a wife killer did. If someone expressed disloyalty to the regime, why should such a person deserve his protection? He prayed greatly over his dilemma, until he received the answer he needed.
The communists wanted him to travel to America, where he could become a citizen, and start his own branch of the church. He would attract a devoted following of Romanian exiles, who would supply him with information on the activities of their relatives in the mother country. Khoska would have a contact at the embassy in Washington, who would forward all the information he delivered. He would receive a respectable stipend for his work, of course, in addition to whatever he made of his own volition.
They expected him to do more than wait for information, of course. It was incumbent on him to seek out information. In the meantime, he need not fear for the welfare of his family who remained in Romania. The state would provide for them. They also assured him that they would never know the extent of his activities. In fact, they could possibly serve as a useful conduit were they to not be aware.
Khoska discovered it was an easy process indeed. Never did he know the results of his work, until the death of Nicolai Moloku, who celebrated the death of Romanian dictator Gheorghiu Dej too heartily. Three days after his block party, unknown persons shot him down in front of his home while leaving for work. He only recently discovered that he was not to blame for this, but Moloku’s own step-son was complicit. At the same time, he had to wonder, if in fact he had played somewhat of a role in events leading up to the man’s murder.
He fell into despair at the initial time of Moloku’s murder, the likes of which he never had known, and determined to end it. He found himself sick of the whole sorry business, and began to ponder the earlier consequences of his actions. Many people in the old country Khoska informed on seemed to have vanished without a trace, while yet others the state arrested on what seemed mainly trumped up charges.
Many others shared his suspicions, unfortunately. A great many of his parishioners began drifting away from him, and the money started to dry up. He still received his regular stipend from the Romanian government, which he began to put away.
His grandfather died sometime later, and sent him a long letter, detailing his involvement with Cornelius Codreanu, the former messianic leader of the Iron Guard in those days prior to the Second World War. Khoska was amazed. Codreanu was considered insane, a man who believed himself-or so he told his many followers-an incarnation of the Archangel Michael. Yet, the Iron Guard was a ruthlessly violent fascist organization. They were virulently anti-Semitic. When subordinates of General Antonescu, a rival fascist leader, assassinated Codreanu and thirteen of his followers in prison, the Nazi government of Hitler’s Germany was the most aggressive at protesting this action undertaken ostensibly on behalf of the government of King Carol II.
What possibly could his grandfather have to do with the likes of this man? As Khoska continued to read the long, rambling letter, he discovered this in fact was the reason for his father and grandfathers falling out years before. His grandfather reminded him in the letter of how his mother, at the time near death, delivered him and yet survived, and also recovered from her long illness, the same night of Codreanu’s death. His grandfather claimed this was at the intercession of Archangel Michael. Indeed, according to him, that celestial being inhabited the form of Cornelius Codreanu, who seemed to blame the Jews for all the ills of Romania, and the world.
Had his grandfather been as insane as Codreanu, he wondered? He had to wonder at the ancient parchment written centuries before, and the vials of grayish white powder that were, according to his grandfather, the bones of Codreanu. Together with the blood of the Crucified Lord and the tears of the Virgin, they could destroy any evil-even Radu, described in the parchment as the “Dragon of Desolation”.
He knew even then, of course, who Radu was-the most vile of all spirits, chief among those who may inhabit not only the bodies of the living, but reanimate the corpses of those who have passed on, taking control of their innermost thoughts, emotions, and memories as they do so. Their curse is to securely walk in neither life nor death, and bring destruction to all they despoil, as they feed upon the flesh and blood of those who are unrighteous. Only the cross can repel them, or the light of the sun, or the presence of garlic. Their deaths may only be in practical terms accomplished by a wooden stake through the heart. This was the only manner by which to prevent their accursed blood from regenerating. Even then, the stake must remain in place long enough for their evil hearts to become sufficiently decayed. It was considered most appropriate to destroy their bodies after death, preferably by burning them, following decapitation, lest the stake be removed too quickly.
Khoska never believed those old myths. That was until the incident with the accursed family in Ploesti. Even then, he put it out of his mind. His faith tested severely, he considered himself delusional for a brief period. He began to feel his grandfather had perhaps suffered the same monstrous delusion, all the while keeping it secret.
He now this night told all this in the form of a confession to his son Michael, who listened intently, betraying very little emotion, though at various intervals his eyes would narrow. One time Khoska thought he heard him gasp. Nevertheless, he remained quiet until Aleksandre finished his story.
“So what ever became of the woman?” he asked. “And the children-what ever became of them?”
“What do you mean what became of them?” Khoska answered. “Following the exorcism I conducted over their graves, they returned to the hell from which they came, I would assume.”
“So the children, like their mother, are in hell to this day, and will be forever?” Michael asked, obviously aghast. “Father, forgive me but that is a horrible thought. They were mere children. How old do you say they were again?”
“Well, the oldest was fourteen,” Khoska replied. “I believe the youngest, the boy, was nine, to the best of my recollection. There are millions of people in hell, Michael, more like billons in fact, and I have no doubt there will be billions more eventually. Why would you, a priest, be in such consternation over these three in particular?”
“I find it hard to believe God would send the souls of children to hell-especially at the age of nine,” Michael said.
“Well, that is not for you or I either one to judge,” Khoska replied. “Whatever dark path the woman set her children upon is responsible for their ultimate fate, not God.”
Michael shook his head with a smile that betrayed a beleaguered incredulity.
“I am sorry, poppa,” he said, “but this sounds to me to be on the order of some old wives tale peasants used to tell around the hearth at night to keep their children well-behaved, not something that a priest of today would tell as a true story.”
“Well, it is a true story,” Khoska said, struggling to keep his patience. “Believe me, it is not one that I tell for the fun of it, or for dramatic effect. In fact, you are the first person I have told it to, after more than fifty years, I will have you know. I would not have told it now was it not for the fact that it is indeed very relevant to things that are happening now. What happened to Lynette”-
“Does Phillip know about this?” he asked.
“No, and if I have my way about it he never shall,” Aleksandre answered.
“If he did,” Michael said with a shrug, “perhaps he would be more understanding, not so quick to cast aspersions upon you. He all but holds you responsible, which is grossly unfair. Still yet, Lynette was his daughter, and he deserves to know, I would think.”
Khoska seemed to consider Michaels argument, which to Khoska’s oldest son seemed of great merit. Michael knew his father well enough, however, to know he was not taking the time to consider the point. He was more than likely putting extraordinary time and effort towards demonstrating how his argument was irrelevant.
“Phillip, understand?” he finally said. “No, Phillip will never understand. He would be forced to admit that there is something in this world that is greater than himself in order to do that. No, I am afraid I would only infuriate him even more. He would put such an explanation down to the ravings of a senile, superstitious old fool, and that would be that. The day Phillip finally believes, I am very much afraid will be the day he feels the flames of hell licking away him. Then of course, it will be too late. Nevertheless, he will believe it then. We used to have a saying at the seminary. ‘Those who do not believe in God have a big surprise coming their way.’”
“That hardly seems a valid argument in the way of convincing an unbeliever,” Michael said. “Nevertheless, you have convinced me of one thing. I should definitely stay here a bit longer.”
“There is really no need of that,” Khoska said. “You still have your own duties to attend to, and you really can’t expect Jonathon to continue this ridiculous subterfuge you and he have cooked up.”
“There is no need in that,” Michael replied. “Jonathon will be returning home after the week. I have put in for a transfer here. The Archbishop has all but approved it. I am sure his approval is a mere formality. When he finally grants it, he will appoint my replacement in New Jersey. It is all settled.”
Khoska looked at him in amazement as a sudden crack of thunder heralded an approaching storm, the steady rain of the last hour a mere portent of a larger one coming. Even now, as they sat in the church in front of the icon of Michael the Archangel, they could hear the rain falling faster and harder, as the darkening skies outside seemed to infiltrate the small church in which they took only a fleeting refuge.
“Father, when did you last check the attic in this place?” Michael asked. “I could have sworn I felt a drop of rain hit my head.”
“So you put in for a transfer, and obviously intend to stay here, and you just now are letting me in on this,” Khoska observed.
Michael took a deep breath and removed his glasses. He looked at his father sternly.
“I don’t know how much of this you have told me is true,” he explained. “All I know is, if it is true, you obviously need my help. If it is not true, you obviously need my help even more. Whatever the case, I am staying.”
“Oh, well now, the Archbishop, that old windbag-how much of this does he know?” Khoska asked. “You do know he wants me gone from here, do you not? He says the Church here in Baltimore is a needless expenditure, that it serves no useful purpose, and that I serve no useful purpose. I think he is rather outraged the prior Archbishop and the one before him guaranteed its maintenance throughout the duration of my life. He is constantly urging me to move along, even suggesting there are retirement homes that would be to my liking. So, is that what all this is about?”
“No, Father, no one wants to be rid of you,” Michael replied sadly. “What problems you have had with our current Archbishop I have no part in. I certainly am not on his side. In fact, I admit, I used to think you wasted yourself in this place. Baltimore has a Catholic history and culture, and this church is so out of place here I could never fathom why you come here to begin with. One would be hard-pressed to find a city where a Romanian Orthodox Church would be more out of place than this one. I suppose it might be a little more appropriate than the Vatican-or Mecca, perhaps. Otherwise, I have long wondered why you remain here, with no useful work to perform, no parishioners whose needs you might see to. More lonely and bereft of meaning an existence, for a man of your obvious faith and devotion, I could never envision.
“Well, now I see what it has all been about. It is all over a Romania folk tale-a legend. So, even if it is true, why here-why Baltimore?”
“This is where they came to one hundred twenty years ago,” Khoska answered. “This is where they have remained. I do not know why they came here, to tell you the truth. All I know is, they came here, and this is where he is to manifest. When he does, I have to be ready for him. If I do not destroy him, his evil will spread outward from here. When it does, the seat of world power is within short driving distance of here. So, Michael, you tell me-what is there I have to fear? My only fear now is one of failure. That is all. If I fail to stop this evil, the result will be unthinkable.”
Michael looked at him in amazement. He honestly wondered now if perhaps his father was losing his mind.
“So then, what would he do, turn all the Congress and Washington bureaucrats into vampires? Some might say he is a little late for that. Really, poppa, this is so ludicrous. It saddens me that you have wasted so many years on this delusional supposition.”
“It is not about vampires, Michael,” Khoska said impatiently and dismissively. “There are no vampires. There are only demons-and, yes, delusions.”
“Then what are we talking about?” Michael asked as he found his own patience nearly exhausted.
“We are talking about walking death,” Khoska replied angrily with a hiss. “We are talking about hell on earth.”
“Oh, well that certainly explains it,” Michael said as he slapped his right thigh. Khoska sighed and looked at his son with profound sadness.
“Very well, then, I will explain it,” he said. “When I do so, will you please leave? I mean it, Michael. Please go back to New Jersey. It is not safe here.”
“I’ll think about it,” Michael said firmly. “One thing I definitely promise you is I am going nowhere if you do not tell me.”
Suddenly, the phone rung, at which a frustrated Michael rose.
“I’ll answer it,” he said. “If it takes you as long to get to the office as it does to tell me the truth, whoever that is will hang up before you get halfway there.”
As he left, Khoska wondered if he should tell him anything. Why should he? He would doubtless not believe him, which would be understandable. Half of what he had to say Khoska himself did not believe. Stories of vampires, of reanimated corpses, of bargains made in the dead of night with soul-devouring demons, may have at one time served some greater good, but now they served merely to provide a gorgon’s mask type of prophylactic over what was a greater and even more unnerving truth. There were true demons, ruled by the Prince of the Power of The Air, demons who stood waiting to lay waste to all humanity, and who had no concept of mercy or goodness. They simply existed to destroy, and stood ready and waiting for their opportunity to do so. Once they were unleashed, nothing could stop them or prevent them from doing what was, after all, in their nature to perform.
“Father,” Michael suddenly said from the doorway. Khoska looked toward him to see that he looked very unnerved.
“That is my wife, calling from New Jersey,” he said. “I might be a few minutes.”
“Is there a problem?” Khiska asked.
“Just a family matter,” he said. “I’ll try not to be long.”
He let this hang in the air shortly, and when Khoska made no response, he disappeared back from the doorway. Good, Khoska thought, she wants him to drop this foolishness and return home, as a husband should do. As he waited, Khoska walked the length of the church from the altar to the door, and checked the lock. The door secured, he went about the task of putting out the candles. One by one, he extinguished them, until there was soon no more than seven left lit.
He kneeled and said a quick prayer to the Blessed Virgin, and then to the Crucified Christ, and then to the Risen Lord. He glanced briefly at the statue of the Archangel Michael, that entity he had named the oldest of his twin sons after. The icon seemed to look at him now judgmentally.
“Yes, that was a mistake, was it not?” Aleksandre said, when suddenly there was a knock at the door. He looked out the peephole and saw it was Agnes, finally arrived from Romania, though more than two weeks late at that. She looked to be struggling to secure her suitcase and purse from the ravages of the cold night rain that now poured down around her as she barely managed to shelter herself under the overhead portico of the doorway. Overcoming his shock, he hurriedly opened the door.
“Agnes, why did you not call me?” Aleksandre asked. “What if I had not been here or asleep in my bed?”
“For God’s sake, poppa, just let me in, all right?” she answered. “I’m drowning out here, and freezing.”
Agnes hurriedly entered the church as Khoska reached for her heaviest bag, and yet his youngest child resisted this gallant impulse on his part.
“That one might be a little much,” she protested. “Here, take this smaller one. I guess it’s a good thing the others are yet at the airport.”
“What others?” Khoska asked.
“The children’s belongings, of course,” she said, and immediately caught the dumbfounded look on Khoska’s face.
“Michael didn’t tell you, I take it,” she observed.
“You have children?” he asked, obviously puzzled at the abruptness of this revelation.
“No, poppa, I have not abandoned my vows yet,” she said. “I brought over some of the children from the orphanage-seven of them, in fact. They are mainly girls, though two of them are boys.”
Khoska was beside himself. Of all the possible times, this was the absolute worse to be bringing children.
“Surely you do not mean to keep them here,” he said as he tried to restrain his immediate consternation at such a development.
“Of course not,” she said. “They are to be housed temporarily at a home in the suburbs, run by a qualified caregiver provided by the Church. They are children slated for adoption into American homes, and where they now are will be a kind of halfway house. That was the reason I could not come right away. The church has been making these arrangements. There was quite a bit of red tape to wade through. The children are very fortunate. Most orphans in Romania never leave the state facilities until they are grown. The state is very reluctant to adopt them out to other nation’s citizens. It is almost a point of national embarrassment.”
“Yes, the usual foolishness,” Khiska said. “Some things never change, unfortunately. Well, I guess it is all right as long as they are not to stay here, as I have not the means to house them, to say nothing of the fact that there may be a great degree of danger here yet. That in fact makes it even more surprising that your superiors would accede to this. I am assuming the Romanian government knows nothing of the matter.”
Agnes looked at him curiously.
“You know, it has been a while since I have seen you,” she said. “I am surprised to see you looking as well as you do, considering just what you have been through recently.”
“Daughter, you don’t know the beginning portion of what has transpired in this city, and in this very church,” he affirmed. “If I took the time to explain it concisely, you would”-
“Poppa, the point is-can I have a hug please?”
She fell into her father’s embrace, never considering that the tears he now shed were not only those of happiness for her presence, but fear for her well-being. Khoska of course understood this, as Agnes, the most beloved of all his children, was the most selfless of them all, perhaps the complete opposite of Phillip, who had been the favorite of Marta. How could he impress on a woman of such strong and devout faith the very real danger she may have walked unknowingly into. She never saw danger, for she saw danger as an illusion meant to test faith. She was that spiritual, to the point where she in fact tested Khoska’s faith more than any evil ever could. Now, as she hugged him tightly, Khoska found himself resisting the inclination to conclude that faith itself was an illusion, one that induced unreasonable expectations and blinded one to the realities of life in the mundane, everyday world.
“Perhaps we will talk of these things tomorrow,” he said. “I know you have had a long journey and you are obviously tired. You should however call and check on the children, to make sure they have made it to where they are going.”
“They will be fine,” she replied. “Still, you are right. I should call, as they would like to hear from me before they retire for the night. For now, I would like to say my prayers, if you do not mind.”
“Your prayers?” Khoska repeated, as he suddenly remembered her as a young girl, never failing to say her prayers even on those occasions when she had been sick, which was numerous times during her adolescence.
“But of course, you may say them here, and I shall leave you in private to do so. I will go and tell Michael you are here, as I am sure he will be very pleased to see you.”
“It has been years since I have seen Michael or Jonathon,” she said. “I wonder if I would have known which one was which if I had not known. I used to be able to tell them apart better than you or momma, I think.”
Amazing, Khoska thought. As she talked, she made her way to the statue of the Blessed Virgin, and crossed herself as she bowed. She seemed to be praying even as she spoke in what seemed almost a chant-like state. Perhaps this is an example of this so-called multi-tasking he is always hearing about, he mused as he made his way back to the office.
He was unprepared for the sight of Michael in tears, and seemingly in a state of shock, as he seemed to engage in a monumental struggle to restrain for crying aloud.
“Michael, for God’s sake what is wrong?” he asked, knowing as he did that his son was not given to sentimentality. Something was sorely amiss.
Michael was gasping, and obviously at this point inconsolable.
“They killed Jonathon,” he said in a state of stunned amazement. “An old man, and an old woman, shot and killed Jonathon.”
He struggled to regain his composure as Khoska almost fell into his chair.
“Did they-did they think they were killing yourself?” he mused, not quite able to fathom what his son was saying.
“No, that is just the thing,” he said. “They come to the church asking for Jonathon, saying they heard he was there temporarily. The church secretary showed them to my office, which is where he was at the time. She left him alone with them. Then, when they left, she went not ten minutes later into the office, and there he was, slumped over in his chair-my chair-with a bullet in his heart. No one else was there. This happened not two hours ago.”
Khoska now started to shake, as the reality of what he heard now finally began to sink in. He too now began to weep. He too now struggled to control his anguish.
“Agnes is here,” he said. “Do not tell her-not yet.”
“I-I can’t believe it happened,” Michael replied. “Why would someone do such a thing? Michael has never harmed anyone, would never harm anyone. He refused to eat lobster, ever since he saw one dropped in boiling water. I teased him about that, not two months ago.”
A part of Khoska hoped this would turn out to be another one of the two brother’s practical jokes, but he automatically knew better. They would never take such antics to this extent, especially during such already trying times, to say nothing of the fact that Michael was obviously distraught.
“The church secretary,” Michael said with a sob, “she said the two old people seemed so gracious, and so charming, she would never have entertained the possibility they could do something so evil.”
“This church secretary,” Khoska asked, his mind now starting to turn in countless circles, “has she a name? How well do you know her?”
“Connie?” he asked. “I have known her for seven years. She has worked for me for four. Father, you cannot be serious. If she did something like that, why would she make up such a ridiculous story? According to her, these two old people looked to be in their seventies. No, poppa, I have known her far too long. Besides, what could Jonathon of all people have done to her in this brief time he has been there to illicit such an action?”
“I don’t know, but her story does not make a lot of sense,” Khoska said, now feeling very sick, wanting to throw up and feeling as though he might faint. “You say you know her, but still”-
Suddenly, Khoska cried, loudly, and motioned toward the door. Michael hurriedly shut it, and locked it. Khoska cried uncontrollably, as Michael now hugged his father, trying desperately to comfort him, until the old man finally pulled himself together as well as he could.
“Have you called his wife?” he asked. Michael affirmed that he had, and that she was devastated, as were their children, all of which of course was to be expected.
“This is going to be so difficult,” he said. “Really, I should tell Agnes tonight, it would not be fair to put it off. I really should be the one to tell her, painful though it is.”
He rose and left the office, and Michael stayed behind, fearful of adding to his sister’s grief, remembering as he did the many nights of her illness as a young child, including the one time she almost died of childhood spinal meningitis. She was always sickly and weak up into her mid-teen years, when she gradually and finally blossomed into a lovely, healthy, beautiful woman. Michael, and indeed all the other children, was protective of her, at times to a fault, as their mother pointed out often. This however was something for which he had no protective words at the ready.
He sat down in despair as his father walked back out into the church, where Agnes, having finished her prayers, had finally risen, cell phone in hand.
“I called,” she said. “The children are there, and are fine. Satisfied now, you old worry wart?”
“If you are,” he said as he mustered a smile. “I am sure you would leave them in capable hands.”
“Well, thankfully Phillip has enough money to hire the best caretakers,” Agnes replied with a smile. “Now, where is Michael? I really cannot wait to see him after all these years.”
“Wait just a minute,” Khoska replied. “You said-Phillip hired the caretakers? You don’t mean your brother, of course.”
“That is exactly who I mean,” she replied with what seemed a gleam of pride showing in her eyes. “That is another thing I want to talk to you about. It is high time for this feud between the two of you to end. I have talked to him about this Grace Rodescu business, and now, sometime soon, I mean to have a talk with you as well. Your favorite daughter is going to give you a lecture, in other words. Oh, and speaking of daughter, how is Dorothy holding up?”
“Dorothy is fine, Agnes,” he said, anxious not to change the subject. “What is this about Phillip and the children? I find this more than surprising, I find it almost disturbing. What exactly do you mean?”
“There is a reason the red tape was cut so quickly,” she replied. “Phillip has a lot of influence in Romania, in case you haven’t heard. This is not the first time he has helped either. He just is not one of these types of people who like to brag about his good works. I think he is far too modest. He has worked extensively at charitable undertakings in Romania, not just for orphans. His organization has helped place a good many Romanian orphans in loving, caring homes.”
“I see,” Aleksandre mused, almost forgetting the recent tragedy of his oldest twin sons loss. “Tell me something, Agnes-was Voroslav Moloku ever involved in this charitable activity with Phillip, that you are aware of?”
Dorothy gave her father a stern look.
“I should certainly think not,” she replied. “From what I understand, Voroslav has not been allowed in Romania for some time, due to some criminal activity on his part. According to Phillip, it has something to do with money laundering and drug smuggling-heroin, I believe. When I think of a father of the Church involved in such abominable acts, it makes it somewhat understandable how Phillip could have grown so cold towards religion.
“Nevertheless, he is a good man, poppa. He has changed very much, especially since the death of poor Lynette. I think that really changed him in ways you would never have imagined. I guess it is true what they say. God can turn the darkest tragedy into a force for good.”
Khoska looked away from Agnes as she talked, and though he heard her, it was as if from a distance. He could not tell her about Jonathon-not tonight.
“I think Michael has gone to bed already,” he said. “You remember where your old room is, I take it?”
“Yes, and I think I shall be on my way there now,” she said with a smile. “I am very tired-exhausted, actually. I want you to promise me, though, tonight, that you will talk to Phillip, and do so with an open mind.”
”I shall pray on it,” Khoska replied. “I shall do that right now, in fact.”
“Good night, poppa,” Agnes said as she made her way with her suitcases to the hallway that led past Khoska’s office, down to the corridor that led to the living quarters and to her old room, which Khoska previously had taken great pains to prepare for her imminent arrival. Khoska hoped she would not discern Michael’s presence in the office, as he bowed before the statue of the Crucified Lord.
“Lord God, if you ever heard my prayers before,” he said, “I hope you certainly hear them tonight, for I am in dire need of your guidance and protection. I pray first that I ask this not too late.”
Khoska struggled within himself to find the right words, as he looked back toward the hallway, to insure that Agnes had made her way on past the office and toward her room. Satisfied that she had done so, he turned once more to the icon that now seemed to look down upon him balefully.
“Please, Lord,” he said. “Protect the children.”
