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Chapter Text

Hiraga’s apartment was small but comfortable. It only had a bedroom, a kitchen that served also as a living room and a small bathroom. It was more than enough for him, but sometimes he thought that if he had more money, he would have moved into a different one with a guest room, considering the amount of time Roberto insisted on spending at his place and counting the number of days when Hiraga woke up and found him asleep on his couch, or already awake cooking breakfast; having Roberto over had become a habit by then, to the point that his fellow priest even had a copy of the front door key, although he rarely used it. That was why Hiraga was not surprised when he woke up to the smell of strong Italian coffee, fried eggs and sausages, and instead the aroma painted a little smile on his half-asleep face. But as the clouds of sleep dispersed and his brain woke up completely, Hiraga realised that he didn’t remember Roberto being there the night before, and he didn’t even remember going to bed, for that matter.

Finally awake enough, he sat on the side of the bed, groaning and rubbing his eyes, sight still a bit blurry, until he finally focused on the time showed by the alarm clock on his nightstand: it was half-past nine, and that made him wonder why Roberto didn’t wake him up yet, since it wasn’t that early in the morning. Then, he noticed that he was still wearing the clothes he had on the evening before, which meant that he never put himself to bed. He had been reading an interesting essay about string theory that Lauren recommended to him and he was so focused on it that he didn’t want to interrupt his reading and go to bed, despite his eyes basically closing on their own and his lids feeling terribly heavy. He concluded that he must have fallen asleep with his face on the book and that Roberto must have found him like that in the morning and put him to bed so he could rest a little bit more.

Hiraga sighed. He hated being such a burden for Roberto, who always had to help him with everything, from eating to cleaning his clothes to keeping his house clean, but he couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t need his help; he would have loved to be able to consider himself independent, but his lack of life skills didn’t allow him to do so.

He stood up and walked into the kitchen, prepared to apologise once again to his dear friend for all the troubles he gave him, but he didn’t have the time to word either his appreciation or his mea culpa, because he was met with Roberto’s smiling face and his soothing voice, traced with a mild apologetic tone.

“Oh, good morning, Hiraga! Was I too noisy?” asked Roberto, turning his face to meet Hiraga’s gaze and greeting him with a nod. He didn’t expect Hiraga to get up just yet and he could see from the look on his face that he was exhausted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up just yet,” he continued, before he directed his attention back to the stove, where turned off the burner under the coffee maker and then checked on the sausages and eggs in the pan.

As Hiraga had deduced by the smell that permeated the room, Roberto was cooking breakfast for the two of them. He was in his usual domestic attire, which consisted of comfy slacks, a shirt and, when he was cooking like in that moment, an apron. Seeing him like that always made Hiraga feel at home.

“You weren’t noisy, I woke up because of the delicious smell,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Roberto smiled a little: he always felt so proud when people praised his cooking, but of course it was even better when it came from Father Hiraga: he always wore a happy, cute smile on those soft lips of his, and Roberto couldn't help but admire him. Before getting back to the food, which was almost ready, he briefly wondered how did Hiraga manage to look handsome like that just as he woke up, sleepy face and everything.

Hiraga glanced around for a moment, noticing that the room was way tidier than he remembered it, and he felt a pinch of guilt in his stomach thinking about Roberto entering the house, carrying him to bed, cleaning everything and probably going to shop for food since his fridge was pretty much empty and it surely didn’t have sausages or eggs in it.

“I apologize for the trouble I always give you, Roberto.” He yawned. “I hope you don’t feel like you have any obligation towards me.” Hiraga sat down at the table with a sigh, then after a second he remembered about the essay he was reading the day before, and he turned around agitated, looking for it.

“The book you were reading is on the desk. I put a bookmark in it, so you didn’t lose your progress.” Almost as if he could read his mind, Roberto’s gentle voice came to his rescue. Hiraga turned back to see his friend standing across from him at the dining table and handing him a cup of coffee. “And, Hiraga, you don’t have to be sorry,” added the brown-haired man while he held the small cup in mid-air. “I gladly help you out, and I do because I enjoy spending time with you. If you feel in debt, a ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

Hiraga suddenly felt that familiar warmth in his heart that only Roberto was ever able to make him experience.

“Thank you, then,” he said with a smile. ‘ For the book, for the coffee, and for everything else, ’ he thought, lowering his gaze. He accepted the cup and drank a sip from it: Roberto liked his espresso with a strong aroma, a rich texture, and a dark colour, but, knowing that his friend wasn’t equally fond of its bitterness, he put some milk and half a teaspoon of sugar in it and frothed milk on top. That type of coffee was called a ‘ macchiato ’ and Roberto’s was the best Hiraga had ever drunk in this life. He finished drinking it and already felt his sleepiness slowly going away.

“Does it taste okay? I used your moka pot, so it didn’t come out as good as it does when I use my own…” Roberto explained while he served the breakfast for both of them.

Hiraga shook his head slightly. “Don’t ask silly questions!” he exclaimed, what looked like an amused smile on his face. Roberto blushed a bit, surprised by how direct he was. “Roberto, your coffee always tastes good. In fact, everything you cook does.”

Hiraga gave thanks for the food and then ate the first bite of sausage as if he was giving confirmation of his own words; his colleague murmured a flattered “Buon appetito” and got to eat as well.

After a couple of minutes of eating in silence, Hiraga seemed to have completely woken up, as his eyes looked brighter and his face more serious than before.

“So, Roberto, what’s the occasion? Did something happen?” Hiraga suddenly spoke, his tone collected and polite, like he had just realised that he had been too informal and was trying to make up for it. He knew Roberto wouldn’t stop by his place early in the morning for no reason, so he suspected that he was going to inform him about something that they had to do.

“You didn’t check your emails yet, did you?”

Hiraga stopped the bite halfway to his mouth and his eyes went wide for a moment when he realised the answer to his question. “Oh, so we have a new case?” he said, eyes already shining with curiosity.

Staying home was relaxing, yes, but boring and sad: Hiraga’s thoughts circled around and around and they always went back to Ryouta, to how he still wasn’t able to afford the best treatment for him; investigating, instead, was exciting and kept his mind active and mostly away from bad thoughts, so Hiraga always enjoyed having a new assignment.

Roberto nodded and wiped a bit of gravy away from his own lips. “Archbishop Saul wants to meet us at eleven o’clock to give us more information and some documents, but from what he told me on the phone we seem to have a miraculous healing on our hands this time.”

Hiraga’s gaze darkened instantly and Roberto knew what, or rather whom, he was thinking about right away. “Maybe it’ll be a true miracle this time...” he added softly, looking carefully at his fellow priest’s expression: his friend always tried not to expect too much because that way there was less risk of being disappointed, but even though that was true, Roberto couldn’t bear to see him being negative or gloomy. He reached for his face and wiped away a bit of food from the angle of his mouth, gingerly. “And even if it’s not, the place where we’re travelling to is a beautiful small town by the sea, so we’re at least going to enjoy the scenery.”

His hopefulness and thoughtfulness seemed to work because Hiraga relaxed a bit and nodded, even though he still looked lost in thought.

The truth was that Hiraga felt like was about to cry: no one had mentioned Ryouta, but they both knew he was there between their words and the thought itself was already too heavy. Hiraga was desperately trying to avoid dark and pessimistic speculations, focusing on what he had to do, his thoughts chasing after each other in his confused mind. He was trying to remember if there were clean and ironed clothes somewhere in his drawers when he saw Roberto rummaging into a bag near the entrance and then pulling out a full collar black shirt, a cassock and a pair of pants.

“Here, I have clean clothes for you — the ones I picked up to clean last time. Hurry up, we don’t want to be late.”

Sometimes Hiraga felt moved by how Roberto was able to pick up on what he needed right away. Since he first met him, more than three years before, he instantly knew that Roberto Nicholas had an incredibly kind and good soul. It was like God blessed him with the biggest heart in the world. Of course, as much as that could be seen as a gift, it could also be seen as a curse.

“It seems like I have to thank you once again, Roberto,” he said, slightly bowing his head. As he walked into the bathroom, his freshly cleaned and ironed clothes in hand and some of his darkest thoughts chased away by the light of his friend’s affection, Hiraga’s mind was full of questions about the new case: healing miracles were the most common type of miracle examination, but they were also the hardest to prove and the more likely to be a scam, a trick or some type of conditioning. Rationally, he knew by experience that it was unlikely for it to be a true miracle, but some stubborn part of him still hoped with all its strength that this time it could be true, that he could have a hope. Who knew, maybe God’s plan was for him to prove this miracle right, thus offering him a way to cure Ryouta.

‘Ryouta,' he thought while he got into the shower, ‘ he would love to go to the sea with us, one day… ’

******

The way Bernini’s colonnade framed St. Peter’s Square always offered a beautiful view of its centre; its shape was meant to embrace visitors in Mother Church’s maternal arms, and Roberto always thought that the architect’s goal had been reached wonderfully, because standing anywhere in the big square filled his heart with warmth and love. He wondered if it was like that for all the tourists visiting there too, because when he walked under the colonnade or into the square he really felt like God was cradling him into his arms and forgiving him for being the sinner he was destined to be. In brief moments like that, when his guilt melted away, leaving honest repentance and pure faith, he almost believed he could be worthy of absolute forgiveness, at least until the frustration of being always tormented by temptations and regrets swiftly took his heart back.

However, despite the brief and volatile nature of that comfort, Roberto still felt he needed it; he needed to clear his head for a while, to feel better and calm again, so he took a walk alone between the awe-inspiring columns. He and Father Hiraga had just left Archbishop Saul’s office and Hiraga asked to talk with Lauren before they went home to pack their bags. Roberto obviously nodded and said he’d wait for him, but he couldn’t ignore the pinch of jealousy in his stomach. He felt miserable, both because he was jealous of Lauren having such a close relationship with Hiraga, and because he was perfectly aware that harbouring that kind of possessive feelings for Hiraga was deeply and terribly wrong: because they both swore celibacy vows, because he was a man, because it just wasn’t right for someone like him to taint the best person he ever had the luck to meet with his sins.

One of the reasons why Roberto admired Hiraga so much was his innocence. He was sure that God wanted them to meet so that Hiraga could show him the right way, guide him in his path to holiness, and he was so angry at himself when he thought about how this opportunity was ultimately wasted on him. Since the moment he first met Father Hiraga he had that foreboding sensation, and the more he grew fond of him, the more he had to acknowledge that if God’s plan was for Hiraga to help him, that plan was probably doomed to fail. And yet, every time he saw that angelic face smiling at him, he couldn’t help but believe: believe that the love he felt for that man was something ultimately pure and beautiful, something that he had to cherish and protect; believe that God is infinitely good and wise, and therefore that if He had given him a chance and an Angel to take care of him, it was because Roberto had it in him, he possessed the ability to rise to everyone’s expectations and maybe even his own, to lose his temptations and his frustrations and become truly worthy of Hiraga’s affection — and of Paradise.

Roberto’s pace slowed down a bit and he turned to look towards the Basilica. The Renaissance church stood, like an imperturbable guardian, and seemed to keep watch on the people from all over the world that came there to visit it, a bit like God watched over every person in the world. He smiled, reminding himself of what Father Hiraga had said once, just as they stood under that colonnade, to a fellow priest that had expressed doubts so similar to Roberto’s own. And Hiraga, with that gentle and comforting expression on his face, had explained that just like the St. Peter’s Square and the Basilica, the Father also stood apparently imperturbable and cold but ultimately accepted everyone in his arms, because He loved every single one of his children, especially the ones that, despite losing the way at times, had always found it back.

Suddenly he heard the man at the centre of his thoughts calling his name, his breath laboured, the sound of what Roberto now recognized as his steps fast-paced and close; when he turned, he saw Hiraga walking so fast that he was almost running towards him, so Roberto stopped to let him catch up.

“I’m sorry, I really needed to take a walk and think,” he explained, clarifying why he wasn’t waiting outside of the detention centre. He hoped Hiraga wasn’t annoyed at having to look for him, but as always, annoying Hiraga seemed to be a rather challenging task, as his expression only showed signs of concern. Roberto knew that he was still thinking about his brother, he could see it in the small wrinkles between his brows and at the side of his lips, but didn’t find the will to bring it up, so the both of them kept circling around the subject.

“How are you feeling about this case? Did your chat with Lauren help you figure something out?” he asked, trying to mask behind a smile both his concern about his friend’s mental state and the pinch of secret jealousy that made his guts wrench.

“I’m perplexed. I’m not sure what to think, I still don’t have enough information,” Hiraga replied, like a true man of science. “Lauren, of course, says that there’s no way this is a true miracle.” The younger man added that with a neutral tone, but also a contraction of his lips that looked awfully similar to a sneer. Roberto felt terribly annoyed: didn’t Lauren understand that believing in miracles was important for Hiraga? Didn’t he understand that it was better to keep such opinions to himself?

But of course, since Roberto didn’t want to make Hiraga sad by openly criticizing Lauren’s behaviour, and since he knew there was no point in saying something that could have upset him even more, he didn’t express his thoughts openly; he still commented, but wording his opinion in the kindest and most detached way he could think of: “If it was that easy, we would be out of a job, wouldn’t we?”

Hiraga raised one eyebrow, thinking about it for a moment, then nodded, a hint of a smile on his face. “Thank you, Roberto,” he whispered, raising his eyes to look into Roberto’s blue ones, and they both knew what he was thanking him for was not that sentence specifically but the mutual understanding he felt they shared.

They started walking again, side by side, staying silent for a while.

Roberto was at the same time angry, at himself and at the fact Hiraga of all people had to suffer like that, and sad because he felt that suffering like it was his own. It was unusual to see Hiraga so worked up, but he always became emotional when it came to his own brother, and even though Hiraga never expressly said it was about him, Roberto didn’t need him to. He really wanted to comfort Hiraga, to be the shoulder he could cry on when he was sad, the light he could look for when everything was dark, the friend he could rely on when no one else was there, but as always, he was scared, almost terrified of doing the wrong thing.

Hiraga was lost in his own thoughts, frustrated by his inability to focus and by how his thoughts kept going back to Ryouta, asking himself why, why other people were saved all the time, while his brother, so young and innocent, had to suffer and die without even knowing life.

When they walked out of the colonnade, Hiraga felt one of Roberto’s hands closing around his shoulder and leading him to a secondary street with a bit more privacy. Roberto stood right in front of him, a serious expression on his face, looked around for a moment to check if someone was around, then turned back to Hiraga, never loosening the grip on his shoulder, like he was scared that if he did, his friend would slip away.

“Hiraga,” he said, his voice harder than usual, “you can’t go on like this. The investigation hasn’t started yet, but I can’t tell you’re not focused. Am I wrong?” Roberto’s gaze was intense, his blue eyes determined but also filled with a shade of concern.

Hiraga blinked a couple of times, surprised by the sudden initiative. It was true, he was in no condition to reflect on a case, much less solving it. But they had accepted it already, and it was not like he could leave Roberto to his own devices. Hiraga looked down, a contrite expression on his face. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s about Ryouta, isn’t it?” Roberto’s voice softened, and his grip on Hiraga’s shoulder strengthened for a moment, a delicate but comforting gesture. He knew that they needed to finally address the elephant in the room and he understood that the responsibility fell on his shoulders this time.

Hiraga just nodded, slowly. He stood there for almost a minute, eyes stinging with tears until he eventually wrapped his arms around Roberto’s body and buried his face into his chest, starting to cry. Roberto was startled at first, but then reciprocated the hug, gingerly stroking Hiraga’s black, luscious hair. He didn’t say anything for a while, and just let him vent for a bit, holding him close.

“What do you say you call him before we go? Check on him, see if he’s fine.” Roberto asked, after a couple of minutes. Hiraga loosened the hug and wiped away some remaining tears, looking up at Roberto, who felt so sad and powerless as he desperately wanted to wipe the tears away together with the pain, but knew it was impossible. “When we’re out for an investigation you don’t always have the time to call and he gets all concerned about his big brother.”

Hiraga wiped away the last traces of tears and nodded.

Chapter Text

The train ran through an unknown countryside, a beautiful landscape filled with fields and green hills; it rumbled loudly, the deafening screeching of the brakes breaking the monotonous sound of its travelling now and then.

Roberto was staring out the window of the first-class coach they were travelling in, while he listened to Hiraga summarising their case. After crying and then calling his brother, Hiraga was definitely calmer, so much that he got completely absorbed by the files about the miracle, and even before they boarded the train he was already going through them, stopping all of a sudden to read a paragraph or stare at a picture. This obviously resulted in Roberto having to quite literally drag him across Rome so they could catch the train on time. It was probably a funny sight, but it was really stressful for him, so he was enjoying his well-deserved relaxation.

The place they were heading to was located in Calabria, in the South of Italy, and it was called Sanpezzati¹; it was a small town right beside the sea, with a steep hill up which a winding path led to a Sanctuary and a small Monastery, both built by Saint Francesco of Paola, the local patron saint and the founder of the Order of Minims. Roberto had looked it up before they left, but he didn’t find much information since the town was not famous at all; that made him very curious about Sanpezzati: places like that sometimes hid precious little gems of knowledge.

The coach was empty except for the two of them, so there was plenty of space for all the stuff they brought along. Hiraga had opened the tray table between them and put the files about the Sanpezzati case on it, then had started explaining the most crucial details to Roberto, who had only given it a quick read: most of it was made up of medical documents, and that was definitely not his area of competence. Besides, listening to Hiraga explain it was not only easier to understand, but way more enjoyable.

Hiraga held up the picture of a woman that looked in her late forties, with dark, curly hair pulled back in a bun. “This woman is Teresa Laganà,” he explained, “she claims that the Saint performed a miracle through her. She said Saint Francesco appears to her in her dreams and sometimes even when she’s awake, and that he tells her what to do. She was married twice, and both her husbands died. The first was Salvatore Filice, he died of myocardial infarction — a sudden heart attack. The second, Nicola Greco, committed suicide.”

Roberto nodded, and Hiraga put down the picture and started browsing through the file, probably looking for a second picture. He had a very focused expression, but, most of all, the weight on his mind seemed to have been finally lifted even if only for a short while.

He pulled out the second picture he had been looking for: this time it was a child, probably just in his teenage years, with brown hair and green eyes. “He is Pietro Mazzuca. He had been just diagnosed with a chondrosarcoma, a type of malignant bone tumour, in his leg and now he has been cured. Teresa washed his leg with water and prayed for him. When they took an MRI three days later there was no trace of his tumour anymore.” Roberto didn’t miss the shadow in Hiraga’s eyes, but it only lasted a moment, so he acted like he hadn’t noticed it. “Pietro’s father died two years ago. He lives with his mother, Concetta Bevilacqua.”

Hiraga put the photo back into the file.

“You know, I see why they are taking this so seriously. This has the possibility to meet all the conditions to be declared as a miracle,” Roberto observed, thinking out loud.

Hiraga nodded. “Exactly. He hadn’t started treatment yet and his healing was sudden, instantaneous, complete and most likely permanent. The only things we don’t know for sure is whether the tumour was incurable.”

Even though the conditions for a healing to be considered miraculous by the Vatican were rigorous and severe, Roberto thought that regardless of what was official, it was hard to explain what had happened to the kid in any other way. But, after all, it always looked like that at first, in their cases, and they all ended up having a perfectly logical explanation. He hoped that even if this case was like all the others, Hiraga wouldn’t be too disappointed.

His friend was tapping his fingers on the tray table, his lips thinned and his gaze fixed somewhere outside the window, the file on the tray table open to what looked like medical records. Roberto thought that the discussion was probably over and he didn’t really want to contribute to it because he was worried he would upset Hiraga; he started reaching in his bag for the book he had brought for the travel when the silence was broken by Hiraga’s voice.

“This is incredible,” he was murmuring, probably more to himself than to Roberto. “The second scan shows complete remission, like it was never even there .”

“Hiraga, are you okay?” Roberto asked, a concerned wrinkle forming between his brows.

“Hm,” Hiraga nodded, turning to look at him. “Yes. I’m just very impatient to know more. What are your thoughts?”

Roberto nodded: his book could wait. After all, it was unfair for him to keep his theories for himself just because he was scared that Hiraga would get upset. Hiraga was incredible: he surely could deal discussing the case with him, no matter how personal it felt.

“I was wondering why the kid’s mother brought him to the sanctuary after getting the news,” Roberto explained.

“Like most people, I guess she found comfort in praying to God,” replied Hiraga, puzzled. He didn’t understand the reasons behind his perplexity.

Roberto tried to clarify: “Yes, but she didn’t go there to pray alone. She brought her son with her like she was hoping they could do something about it.”

“So, you think that it’s a fraud? But why—” Hiraga was already beginning to argue with him, but he had jumped to the wrong conclusions; Roberto raised his hands and shook his head.

“No, nothing this extreme!” he smiled nervously but felt comforted when Hiraga relaxed and continued illustrating his doubts. “I meant that I feel like I’m missing a piece. Lots of people go to Lourdes every year to try to get cured, but that’s because they know that miracles might happen there. There are tons of less known springs that are believed to be blessed by Saints and to have healing properties, and even though the Vatican doesn’t recognize all of them as miraculous, some people still believe that their illness can be cured by their water.” Roberto stopped to look out of the window, then moved his gaze back to the files. “I did some researches on Sanpezzati, and nothing about a blessed fountain came up, yet you mentioned a spring.”

Hiraga nodded, looking at the files, and he seemed to understand his point. “You think that, locally, the spring is believed to have miraculous properties?”

Roberto nodded. “More often than not, superstition mingles with religion. Maybe this isn’t the first time someone says that they have been cured by that spring’s water, we just don’t know it because the friars there are Minims, and I doubt they would be eager to have the Sanctuary becoming the object of intense tourism,” he explained, then made a brief pause. “Of course, whether they liked it or not, they couldn’t ignore this one .”

The train slowed down rather abruptly, prompting the both of them to look out of the window, but they saw no train station yet; instead, outside of there was nothing but steep hills and the dark blue expanse that was the sea, with the sun slowly sinking into it in the distance.

“The view here is breathtaking...” commented Roberto, his eyes fixed on the horizon where sea and sky mixed and were painted with strokes of orange and pink.

“That’s good since it’s very likely that we will have a lot more work on our hands than we anticipated,” Hiraga replied, but he didn’t sound troubled at the prospect. On the contrary, when Roberto turned to look at him, the younger man’s eyes were looking at the sunset with a twinkle in them and he had a little smile on his face that made him look mesmerized. And, even if he didn’t realize it, Roberto’s expression while he looked at his friend was not all that different.

******

An old aquamarine Fiat Panda was running on the highway. It was dark outside and the street lights didn’t help much with identifying the surroundings, so Roberto and Hiraga could barely see anything but the road for the most part of the journey, but according to the driver, they were ‘almost there’ — even though that had been his answer for almost an hour by then. The driver was an old man called Enrico Coluccio who worked as a keeper and guard for the sanctuary; he had offered to pick them up at the station instead of letting them take a taxi.

“You don’t often see priests travelling, at least not to Sanpezzati, you know. Besides, taxis are hard to find around here,” he’d explained. During the trip, when he wasn’t illustrating facts about places they saw along the way and he wasn’t chatting with them, Mr Coluccio was whistling a cheerful tune. For the whole time, he seemed relaxed and at ease and he was very friendly. Roberto was tired, and that made him particularly silent, but Hiraga seemed to enjoy the unexpectedly entertaining company.

Sanpezzati looked like a very quiet place. It consisted of a small number of houses, all near the beach. The old part of the town was halfway up the steep hill that enclosed the place, and it was a tangle of sloping alleys and houses stacked one on top of each other. It seemed like the sound of the sea could be heard basically anywhere in that place, like a constant song in the background, and when the car slowed down and took the first of many bends of the path that led to the Sanctuary on top of the hill, even then, whenever they were silent for a bit they could hear the rhythmic crashing of the waves. The path wasn’t lit, so Mr Coluccio had to rely exclusively on the headlights of his car, but he didn’t seem to mind; on the contrary, he seemed to know the way well enough to be comfortable driving on it in the darkness.

The road was surrounded by woods. It must have been beautiful during the day, but at night it was certainly creepy. Mr Coluccio started explaining that those woods were extremely significant for the people of the town. It was like a small natural park for them, and they respected it almost religiously.

He told them that, one year back, a rich investor, a certain Mr Romeo, wanted to tear down a part of it to build a five-star hotel there, to attract tourists with luxury, a nice, peaceful landscape and a unique religious location close by. The citizens of Sanpezzati weren’t very pleased and did their best to drive away the investor: they signed a petition, made several demonstrations, but mostly they begged the friars to act as mediators. In the end, the investor desisted: that happened one day, all of a sudden, apparently thanks to one of the friars who was responsible for talking to the man and convincing him to back down.

Hiraga found the story extremely interesting, but it was Roberto who asked a couple of questions to Mr Coluccio. He didn’t know why, but he had a strange feeling about it, like he knew it was important somehow. So, he asked the name of the clergyman who had managed such a feat like convincing a businessman to abandon his greed.

“Oh, that was Brother Antonio!” exclaimed Mr Coluccio raising his voice cheerfully, a wide smile on his face. “He’s a charming one. Everyone likes him, both in town and at the monastery. He was our only hope to be listened to, but we had never anticipated that he would win the guy over so easily!”

Roberto rubbed his chin with his right hand, lips thinned in a focused expression. “I wonder what he said to get such a result…”

Mr Coluccio shrugged. “He said he just made a heartfelt appeal, and not everyone is buying it. But I know Brother Antonio, Father,” he said, getting all serious all of a sudden. “One can’t help but listen to him. I’m sure he persuaded that guy with the kindness of his words.”

For some long moments, silence fell in the car. Hiraga and Roberto were thinking about the information they had just received thanks to the chatty Mr Coluccio, and while Roberto had the distinct feeling that something about that story was off, Hiraga was thinking about how good this Brother Antonio had to be, to be capable of such a feat. He thought that maybe he could learn from him and that such skill would have helped him when he talked with Lauren about religion.

When they were about to arrive, Hiraga jumped up on his seat, like he had just remembered something important. “Mr Coluccio, are there stories about the spring?” he asked, his tone serious and composed as usual contrasting the keen curiosity in his eyes. The old man tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, and for a moment Roberto had the impression that he was hesitating, pondering his words before talking. It was a fleeting sensation, and one second later it was gone.

“The spring? Everyone goes there to heal small injuries and pains. They say it works, but I never tried it out myself! I don’t need it, I’ll let you know I’m as fit as a fiddle!” he laughed it off.

“The spring is not very famous though, is it?” asked Roberto, ignoring what he thought must have been Mr Coluccio’s attempt at a joke.

The driver seemed a bit sorry about the lack of hilarity among his audience, but he moved on and shook his head. “This is a quiet place, and everyone loves that about it. We don’t live thanks to tourism, but thanks to the products of the earth. No one advertises the thing about the spring, but it’s well known locally.” It made sense, Roberto thought: healing small injuries wouldn’t attract many people anyway, as it wasn’t spectacular enough.

After a short silence, Mr Coluccio sighed: “I guess things are going to change now, aren’t they?”

Roberto felt sad seeing the old man react that way to a supposed miracle. Such a rare and precious thing happening in his small town, it should have made him happy.

“Maybe, yes. But that doesn’t mean they’ll change for the worse, Mr Coluccio.” Hiraga anticipated his colleague, replying with a smile.

******

When they finally arrived at the sanctuary it was late in the evening. A small group of people had gathered in the portico of the monastery. It was seven of them in total, and they all wore the same clothes, their religious habit: a calf-length grey tunic with a long cowl and a woollen cord with four hanging knots; on top of the tunic, they wore a black cloak, some of them with the hood pulled over their heads.

When Hiraga and Roberto got out of the car, they unloaded some of their bags and walked towards the portico, carrying them. One of the friars swiftly stepped forward to greet them with reverence. He had the hood pulled down, and he wore a serene face. He looked old, probably in his seventies, and his hair was thin and almost completely white, with some occasional grey dustings. His face was full of wrinkles and dark spots, but his brown eyes shone with faith, kindness and life.

“Good evening, I’m Father Michele,” he said, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. “I hope this humble place will prove to be comfortable for you, and I ask forgiveness in advance for our poor hospitality. Our convent is small, as you can see, and to tell you the truth, we’re not used to having guests.”

Hiraga smiled sincerely, and Roberto, recognising the pair of dimples that formed in his friend’s cheeks when he had a happy face, couldn’t help but do the same. “Thank you, Brothers, we honestly appreciate your hospitality and your help,” Hiraga reassured the friars with one of his honest and pure smiles.

Mr Coluccio caught up with them, the last two of their bags on his shoulders, and left the luggage by their side. After wishing goodnight to everyone, he turned and left to go back to his duties of keeper.

The Friars seemed all a bit uneasy, some shifting from one foot to the other and others looking around and two of them staring to one of the groups like they were waiting for him to step forward. Roberto had the impression that they were almost intimidated by their presence, but they could just as well be really unaccustomed to guests.

A man that looked in his forties stepped forward. The hood of his cloak was pulled down, like Father Michele’s, so his face was clearly visible. Deep wrinkles at the side of his eyes made him look older from close up, but nevertheless, despite his age, there was something about him — the regular proportions of his face, the shape of his lips, the small and elegant nose, the fair skin, maybe even the greyish brown of his hair — that made him look peculiarly handsome. He had a particularly calming and reassuring smile, but neither Hiraga nor Roberto could grasp what was so charming about him.

“As Father Michele said, we’re not used to having guests, so we’re not well organized. However, we prepared a room for you upstairs, if you would follow me?” His voice was mellow and his expression gentle; his words seemed attentively measured but were said in such a tone that made them appear completely natural. He took one of their bags and led them inside, and the two priests nodded and followed their host inside the monastery.

“I hope one room for the both of you will suffice?” asked the friar as soon as they got inside.

“Yes, of course,” said Hiraga, anticipating Roberto’s reply. They didn’t have to consult on it, as they shared a room most of the time when out on investigations. To be honest, Roberto preferred it this way. He felt more at ease knowing that Hiraga had his back, and that, likewise, he would be always there for him.

From outside, the monastery looked like an old, worn-down dormitory. Inside, the impression wasn’t much different, but it was apparent that the place was in good hands. Despite its humble nature, the naked brick walls and the clay floor, there were several beautiful details here and there: most of the windows were decorated beautifully with scenes of the life of Saint Francesco, and some of the otherwise bare walls were embellished by panels or oil paintings. They didn’t look familiar, but Roberto thought they had a delicate stroke.

While he guided them inside the small building, up a flight of stairs, their host explained the hours of prayers that they usually followed and that shouldn’t ever be interrupted, and invited them to participate as well. Hiraga nodded, promising they would be there the next morning.

The small group stopped in front of the guest room, at the start of a corridor on the third floor.

“Thank you, Brother…” Roberto said with a small bow of the head.

“My name is Antonio. It’s a pleasure to have you here, Father Roberto,” replied the friar, a charming smile once again making its way onto his face. He turned to Hiraga, addressing that same smile to him. “And you, Father Hiraga. I hope your investigation will have a positive outcome.”

Watching the way the man acted, Roberto had a strange feeling, like something wasn’t right. He couldn’t explain it exactly, so he tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t help but feel jittery in the friar’s presence. Hiraga, on the contrary, clearly felt at ease, and smiled back, nodding.

“You were there when Teresa performed the miracle, were you?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him, realizing it was not the right moment only after he had said the words.

“Yes, I was lucky enough to be there. However, unfortunately, I cannot stay on talking about it for long. As I told you, our day starts tomorrow at six, so I must go to sleep. But be assured that my Brothers and I will be happy to answer all of your questions tomorrow, after the morning Mass.”

Hiraga nodded gravely, apologizing for his enthusiasm. “Of course, Brother. Goodnight.”

“I wish you a good night as well.”

As Brother Antonio left, and Roberto finally relaxed, the two of them entered their lodging. The room was spacious and, despite the modest furnishing, appeared to be comfortable. Hiraga and Roberto started to unpack their “work tools”, which meant the awful quantity of technological equipment that Hiraga brought everywhere in his two huge suitcases, and Roberto’s pack of books that he was almost always able to fit in the same suitcase as his clothes. For this reason, “unpacking their equipment” mostly meant “unpacking Hiraga’s stuff”. Roberto didn’t mind, but he was always worried about messing up and breaking something.

“What do you think about this place, Roberto?” asked Hiraga while he extracted his computer from one of the bags. He placed it on the wooden desk near the door and started setting up the mobile internet connection.

Roberto pondered for a bit. “Judging from the structure of the building, it must date back to the Renaissance period. It’s very well kept despite the few friars living in it. It’s small but it could still house at least twice as many people. I think it might be worth exploring it...”

Hiraga hid a laugh up his sleeve at Roberto’s predictable fascination with the place and sat down at the computer. Roberto took his silence as a sign he could go on and continued. “The furnishing is modest, as usual for mendicant orders, but they have some beautiful pieces of art. Maybe they got them as donations.”

For a short while, they kept unpacking Hiraga’s stuff in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, with both of them focused on what they were doing. As soon as they finished, Hiraga turned towards the screen and started typing something. Roberto got closer to him, curious to see what he was doing. He thought that maybe he was researching something, but as soon as he was at the right angle to hurl a look at the screen, he noticed his colleague was writing an email. Feeling his presence behind him, Hiraga stopped writing and turned around. “Oh, I’m writing to Lauren to tell him we’ve arrived and we’re fine. Want me to write something on your behalf?”

Roberto shook his head and refused with a gesture of his hand, then turned back and stood in front of his stack of books, wondering what to do. He felt a bit childish as he grew annoyed with the fact that Hiraga was giving a lot of attention to Lauren. He knew that he should just get over his own irrational feelings, but there was a part of him that wouldn’t let him, no matter how much he fought against it. Luckily, Hiraga didn’t ever seem to notice his inner turmoil.

He sat down, opened a book, and tried to read, but his mind could only concentrate on the fast ticking of the laptop’s keyboard, and he could do nothing but wait for it to stop.

Luckily for him, it didn’t take long.

“I can’t really imagine people like these friars organizing something dishonest like a fake miracle,” commented Hiraga after he had stopped typing for almost a minute; Roberto turned to see him pinching a lock of his own hair between his fingers while he looked at the turned-off screen. He smiled, relieved for some reason. He wanted to agree with Hiraga, but that would be a lie. Once again, the concern hit him, that hoping too much for this miracle to be true would have a terrible impact on his friend if it turned out to be a scam. He knew that this time it was his responsibility to keep Hiraga grounded and prevent him from being overwhelmed by his own emotions and demons; his friend had done that for him so many times and it didn’t matter if Roberto felt up to the task of returning that favour or not, because he just had to at that point.

“You’re right,” conceded Roberto. “But it could still be a series of coincidences or something scientifically explainable,” he said tentatively.

“That’s true.” Hiraga didn’t move his gaze from the computer screen but the sad grimace that passed on his face for a second made Roberto’s heart clench.

He sat down next to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it for a moment. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to discourage you, Hiraga.” Hiraga turned to look at him, and his eyebrows raised slightly, softening the serious expression on his face. “As of now, I do believe this could be a real miracle. But since medicine is not really my area of expertise, I’ll depend on you for more reliable insights.”

Hiraga’s face lightened up a bit, and he rested his head on Roberto’s shoulder, letting his hair cover his half-lidded eyes. He put one hand on Roberto’s upper arm and gripped it.

“Thank you for always having faith in me, Roberto,” he whispered.

Roberto was tempted to ask how could someone not have faith in him. Hiraga was his light, and he couldn’t help but trust him with everything. Besides, Hiraga was a very resourceful and smart miracle investigator: he wasn’t a good judge of character, as he was very trusting and sometimes naive, but he was very intelligent and managed to always be objective, no matter how much he hoped something was true; he came up with brilliant ideas and understood and explained so many difficult theories and concepts; he was a deeply good and innocent person, with an earnest work ethic. But saying all of that would only embarrass both of them, so Roberto held Hiraga in a hug, breathing in the sweet scent of his hair and limited himself to a simple “Don’t mention it, Hiraga.”

Chapter Text

Roberto opened his eyes and, on top of him, there was no ceiling anymore. Dark clouds filled the sullen sky as far as the eyes could see, and a smokeless fire was everywhere around him. There were no buildings, no people, there was nothing but a huge, limitless forest surrounding him; the trees were all black like they had been instantly incinerated, and yet, despite having barely anything left to turn to ashes, the fire still wouldn’t stop burning. Even the small patch of grass under his back was on fire and when he realized that, his whole body started hurting terribly, but not just his back: he felt like he was burning from the inside, like he was the forest itself.

He was thirsty. His lips were dry, his throat was dry, even his skin felt somehow arid and he felt a stinging pain in his eyes despite there being no smoke. But most of all he was thirsty, so much that he felt like he hadn’t drunk any water in days. He tried to stand up, he tried to scream, but he found he couldn’t do either. It was like something was pushing him down, and he was left completely powerless, incapable of any struggle.

He felt trapped and hopeless. ‘I’m going to die,’ he thought. He should have said a prayer, he should have begged God to spare him, or at least to forgive him, but he didn’t. He closed his eyes and he thought about Hiraga, and his prayer was for him to be safe, for him to be happy, for him to be loved and forgiven; but his prayer was also his hope, the hope that Hiraga would come and save him.

And he did.

Roberto somehow knew it had been him. He felt the burning sensation stop, and he opened his eyes to a bright blue sky and a field of tall grass all around him. Right in front of him, he saw Hiraga’s angelic face and his comforting expression, lips slightly curved upward, the light in his purple eyes soft and warm. Hiraga’s arm was stretched towards him, and he moved his lips, but Roberto couldn’t hear the words. He saw him slowly drifting away like some force was driving them apart. He tried to reach for him with all his might, but right when the points of their fingers touched, he felt an abyss opening under his back and swallowing him in.

As he fell down the bottomless pit, he could finally hear Hiraga’s voice, calling his name.

Then, he woke up.

He sat up in his bed abruptly. Eyes wide, panting breaths, Roberto desperately looked about, and instantly felt better seeing the room all around him and Hiraga still sleeping in the bed right next to his own. He was covered in cold sweat and his heart still beat terribly fast. It was common for him to get strange dreams, but he hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks. He had been sleeping and living peacefully, in one of those rare serene intervals of his life. He guessed it must have been the effect of the long and tiring trip to get there, and probably of the strange atmosphere of that place. He breathed slowly, in and out, until he felt calmer. He stood up, stepping towards the small window of the room. The decorated glass depicted a scene of the life of Saint Francesco of Paola, in particular an image of him bringing his pet lamb, Martinello, back to life. According to the story, a group of workers was hungry and killed the lamb to roast him. When he couldn’t find him, Francesco asked around for him, finally finding the workers who had eaten the lamb and thrown the rest into the furnace. Once he knew what had happened, Francesco just got close to the furnace and called for Martinello, who jumped right out of the fire. The image depicted Francesco in the act of holding the small lamb close to him and the workers’ surprise at seeing the animal alive and in one piece again.

Roberto looked outside through the decorated window: the sky was slowly losing its dark tones in favour of dawn’s pinkish hues. From there, he could see the sea. Different tones of blue made it look almost like a painting, or a photograph, like something spectacular that people don’t usually see with their own eyes. Instead it was there, calm and indifferent to humanity, and it gave Roberto a feeling of eternity similar to the one he felt in Saint Peter’s square: he felt like he was in the presence of something that existed since long before he was born, and that would still be there long after he was gone; but this time, of course, the feeling was way more intense. And, maybe because of the anguish he had felt in the dream still lingering in his heart, it didn’t feel comforting at all: it felt terrifying and cruel.

He went back to bed, but he only sat on it, having abandoned any hope of getting back to sleep. He turned towards Hiraga: he was tucked under the sheets, his face covered with messy black locks, and he seemed to be having a peaceful sleep, against all hopes.

What made Roberto so afraid, more afraid than anything, was losing Hiraga. He couldn’t just accept being separated from him as the will of God and move on with his life like nothing ever happened. It was just not something he had in himself. It was his biggest nightmare, the one thing he never wanted to face in his life; if he could ask God one single thing, and nothing else, that would be to never take Hiraga away from him. It was an egoistic desire, and he knew it, but the idea of existing in a word where Hiraga was dead was unbearable.

Hiraga tossed and turned a bit: he was probably approaching the final phase of his rest. He groaned, pushing the side of his face into the pillow and pulling the sheets closer to his face. Roberto smiled, brushing some of the hair away from Hiraga’s face, who slightly furrowed his brows, moving a bit more under the sheets, but then quickly returned to his sleep.

At that view, Roberto’s heart felt so warm and filled with affection that he had the impression it could burst. That almost cancelled out the lingering sensation of that night’s dream, the claustrophobia, the loneliness of being trapped in a situation he had no way out of, something not even Hiraga could save him from. As his heart felt less and less polluted by those feelings, he wondered if that dream could have some sort of symbolic meaning, if it was some sort of message from God. But if that was the case, it couldn’t be a positive message for sure. He decided he should be careful, from that moment on.

******

As they had agreed the earlier evening, Roberto and Hiraga followed the morning routine of the friars.

Roberto’s curiosity about it was how much all that time dedicated to prayer influenced their connection to God, how much more that strict code, the vows, and the contemplation helped them truly feel connected to Him. He wondered if dedicating himself more to prayer would have made him feel worthier of forgiveness.

Hiraga was really just fascinated by a different way to live faith — different from his own, but just as sacred. He admired the friars for their sincere and strong devotion, that made them choose to join a mendicant order such as that of the Minims.

The Office of Readings started at six in the morning, when the sky was still a bit dark and the fresh air bit the skin — causing Hiraga’s cheeks and nose to take on an endearing rosy hue, as Roberto didn’t fail to notice. Then, there was half an hour of personal meditation, relaxing and intimate; after that, the Morning Prayer, half an hour of liturgy dedicated to praising God. Finally, they attended the Holy Mass.

At the end of the morning rituals, at about half-past eight, everyone staying in the monastery could sit down to have breakfast. Since friars of the Order of the Minims didn’t eat meat or dairy products of any kind — because of their fourth vow, vita quadragesimalis — the breakfast consisted mostly of fruit from the trees belonging to the monastery. Father Michele informed them that milk could be made available specifically for them, in case they wished or needed it, and that tea and coffee were available in the kitchen. They both thanked him and got up to go to the kitchen, to later come back with two different things: a cup of green tea for Hiraga, who really seemed to enjoy both the infusion and the pear from the monastery’s fruit trees, and a cup of coffee for Roberto, who didn’t find it extremely good but appreciated it.

******

That day was when the true investigation would begin.

Before leaving the monastery to investigate small Pietro, his mother, and Teresa Laganà, Roberto and Hiraga had to ask some questions to the friars: most of them would be absent in the afternoon, occupied in various type of charitable work, but in the morning, everyone would be there. Of course, they had duties to take care of in the first part of the day as well, so, not wishing to take away more time than they needed to from both their own schedules and the friars’, Hiraga and Roberto thought that the best course was separating so that they could finish questioning easily and move on to their work in town.

Roberto spoke to three of the friars they had met the first day. Brothers Luca and Franco were two middle-aged friars that looked like a stereotypical duo, one tall and thin, and the other short and a bit on the heavy side. They were on cleaning duty and they had nothing useful to say about the miracle: they weren’t there, as they had charity duties at that time of day and were outside of the monastery.

Brother Martino gladly interrupted his work on the fruit trees to answer some questions. He was probably the youngest there, and he stood out for his exceptionally fair skin, a perfect match for his blonde hair and blue eyes; he was the one who greeted Pietro Mazzuca and his mother Concetta when they came to the sanctuary. He mentioned comforting her since she was crying, but he explained he soon left her and her child with Father Michele. He said he didn’t notice anything strange about them or in general.

The last person Roberto questioned was Father Michele, who was in the office behind the sanctuary’s pulpit, taking care of some paperwork.

The sanctuary was a small building, evidently built in the same artistic period as the monastery, and was just as humble, considering it was a church. The wooden ceiling was ornate with geometrical patterns that matched the ones on the stone floor, and the walls were decorated with paintings and frescoes. The altar was connected to the back wall of the church, it was not more than half a meter higher than the floor and it was decorated with a simple altarpiece and a big cross statue, made of painted wood.  

Just as the other friars, Father Michele was very willing to talk. Since he was the only one to be ordained priest — with Brother Martino as a deacon — he was the one celebrating the Mass, administering sacraments and performing ministry work in general; Roberto guessed that was the reason why he had office duties to perform. They both sat down at Father Michele’s desk, and the friar moved the paperwork away from the table, giving his guest his undivided attention.

“Good morning, Father. I trust you slept well?” Father Michele greeted him. He seemed more at ease than the previous day, but still somehow tense.

Roberto nodded. “We both did, thank you,” he lied, out of courtesy.

“I imagine you came here to ask me about the miracle?” said the friar, with a tone halfway between an assertion and a question.

“You’re right. Brother Martino told me that Mrs Bevilacqua, Pietro’s mother, was pretty shaken when he left her with you.” Roberto prompted him, hoping he would have something useful to say.

“No wonder she was! She apparently came here right after the visit to the doctor. She sent her son off to say his prayers and she explained to me what had happened. She said doctors weren’t even sure what tumour it was, that there was a mass in his leg bones, but, honestly, I don’t understand much about medicine. I can only tell you she was desperate and nothing I would say would make her feel any better, and I was relieved when Brother Antonio arrived with Teresa: he surely did a better job than me, even before… well, what Teresa did.”

While that didn’t add much to the information he had already, two things had caught Roberto’s interest: the fact that Brother Antonio was with Teresa before anything happened and the way Father Michele spoke about the miracle, as he didn’t really believe it.

“You don’t seem very convinced that Teresa performed a miracle,” Roberto observed, hoping that Michele would disclose his reasons.

The friar shifted in his chair, fidgeting with a pen. “I’m not fit to judge such a thing. I’ll trust your final opinion. You’re the experts, aren’t you?” he smiled, the side of his lips tense as he averted his gaze.

Roberto pretended not to notice his nervousness and moved on. There would be time to address that in another moment. “What about Teresa? Who is she?”

Father Michele shifted in his chair again, a very serious expression on his face. “I don’t know her very well, Father Roberto, but I can tell you one thing: she’s a poor, sick woman. I’m happy that she never lost her faith since she met her first husband and that she still goes to the church almost every day, but I can’t really say she’s completely in her right mind. I guess losing two husbands must have taken a toll on her.”

Roberto felt a surge of empathy for the woman: he knew how losing dear people felt, and he also knew how it felt like when no one believed what you said. He wondered if the woman really was mad, or if she was just suffering from both terrible losses and exclusion and alienation. “That would probably take a toll on anyone,” he commented, his mind wandering to Hiraga and how at some point in the recent months he was the only thing preventing him from giving up on himself. If it wasn’t for him, he could have become someone like that woman, someone people regarded with pity and compassion. Despite the losses Hiraga had to face in his life, he never let them get the best of him and he didn’t need anyone’s help, not really. Roberto admired his emotional strength, the kind that seemed to be able to withstand almost anything; and yet, despite being aware of that, he couldn’t help but be terrified of the idea that the next thing could be his breaking point.

Roberto shook himself out of his considerations and focused again on Father Michele, who seemed lost in his own thoughts as well.

“Why does Teresa come here? There’s a church in town, right?” Roberto tiptoed around the question he really wanted to ask, which was what was Teresa doing with Brother Antonio before the miracle. If this was a scam, that would have been when they had the chance to set it up.

“Oh, she says she likes it better here, and she and Brother Antonio are really close friends. They spend a lot of time together.”

If that friar made him uneasy the evening before, Brother Antonio was now on his list of suspects, together with Father Michele, who continued to act nervously. He didn’t know what to suspect them of, exactly, but he knew they were hiding something.

Roberto tried to get more information out of Father Michele, but the friar either avoided the questions or simply didn’t know the answers. He tried formulating several questions to better understand the relationship between Mrs Laganà and Brother Antonio, but it was useless, as Father Michele kindly replied to each question carefully avoiding saying anything useful. In the end, Roberto left for his room, not really happy with his results.

Since they had already asked the keeper, Mr Coluccio, about the supposed miracle, Hiraga only had to question three people. He first questioned Brother Lorenzo — a bald, old man, who didn’t seem to have a reliable memory — and Brother Marco — who stood out for his particularly dark skin and for a huge scar on his face. Neither of them was much use since they were on gardening duty at the time, and therefore weren’t present; but the third person he questioned, Brother Antonio, was the one who witnessed the miracle more closely than everyone without being directly involved in it, so his contribution was meant to be useful.

Hiraga walked up to him in the cloister, where he was tending to the vegetable garden of the monastery. The priest recognized zucchini, peppers, potatoes, carrots and some very good-looking chilli peppers, but what stood out, for him, were the tomatoes: they looked so colourful and delicious that he almost wanted to taste one right away.

Brother Antonio was as Hiraga expected from their interactions from the previous day: a kind and remarkably fascinating man. He had a sort of fatherly aura about him that made Hiraga feel like a kid when he was around him, not because he felt inferior somehow, more because he felt like he could completely trust him and rely on him, like the man could take all of his problems on his own shoulders and take their burden away from him. Antonio was easy-going and sympathetic, and so charming that Father Hiraga couldn’t help but be at ease, to feel like he was having a chat with a friend. Seeing all that, Hiraga thought that Brother Antonio probably possessed the gift of many saints of the past, the one that let them convince and fascinate a significant number of people with the kindness of their souls. He was glad that such talent was in the hands of a good person like Brother Antonio.

After hearing a description of what happened, which perfectly matched and confirmed the report he had previously read, Hiraga decided to ask him some other questions. He started from Teresa, the woman who performed the miracle.

“I have known Teresa Laganà since she was a girl,” explained Antonio, raising his eyes at the sky. “We used to hang out together in the same group of friends when we were young. Those are some nice memories.” His tone turned slightly melancholic, and, for a moment, Hiraga felt the impulse to console him. He thought that the fact that Antonio was still close to someone from his childhood was a nice thing after all — Hiraga couldn’t say he shared the same luck.

“So, you two are close friends?” Hiraga asked, sincerely curious and secretly admiring someone who could say he had known a person outside their family for such a long time.

Brother Antonio stopped to think for a moment. It was like he was considering the true meaning of the question. “Friends? At this point in time, I wouldn’t say so, no. But we were.” He looked bitter, saying that, and even if he quickly covered that with a pleasant smile, Hiraga still felt he had to apologize for what must have appeared like an indelicate question.

“I apologize if I awakened unpleasant memories.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Brother Antonio knelt, taking one of the chilli peppers off a plant between his fingers and checking it out. Hiraga waited a bit, standing there and staring at him as he checked the plants of the garden with the love and care of a father towards his children. He realized he had been staring for a while, and he had to take a deep breath and force himself to concentrate before he could ask the next question.

“If I may ask, Brother Antonio, what caused your friendship with Mrs Laganà to end?”

Brother Antonio thought about it for a while, and he seemed uncharacteristically uncertain, maybe even a bit uneasy. “We’ve taken different paths in life after a terrible grief.” Hiraga thought back at the files: he was probably referring to one of her two husbands who died. Brother Antonio looked really pained while he explained the circumstances, so he must have been very close to that person. “But mostly, it’s because she’s not been quite like herself recently.”

“Recently?”

This time, the friar replied right away. “People say she’s going mad. She speaks with herself, spends most of her time alone or at the church and she says she’s having dreams and visions of Saint Francesco.”

The file did mention something about that, and even the friars in the monastery didn’t seem to be very convinced by Teresa’s claims. But the way Brother Antonio had worded the phrase, it seemed like he didn’t see it in the same way.

“You said that people think she’s mad. You disagree?”

Brother Antonio shook his head, and looked at Hiraga, straight in his eyes. “At first, I didn’t believe her, either. I thought the loss we had faced together so many years ago, together with her most recent one, had gotten the best of her.” He sighed and seemed to honestly regret not trusting her word. “But, after a bit, I realized it was the opposite. We both lost a close friend, but she also lost a husband. When that happened, we both reached for God’s hand, looking for solace in his incommensurable love. I got that by choosing this life, but she wasn’t as lucky. Despite her prayers and her honest faith, even though she found another man who loved her and cherished her, she was never truly happy. And when she lost him, too, Saint Francesco came to her aid. She’s at peace now. She doesn’t care about having a friendship anymore, but I’m happy for her all the same.”

Hiraga was almost moved by those words. He felt pity and sadness at hearing Teresa’s story, but when it came to Antonio, he couldn’t help but admire the way he gracefully faced his grief, and how it had brought him so close to God. He really wanted to believe that Teresa was nothing more than a person chosen by God, and that, not unlike most of them, she wasn’t understood by most of the people around her. But no matter how much he wished to believe that, the rational side inside of him said that she probably had lost her mind. It could have been the griefs she suffered, or simply some kind of neurological or psychological disease. He would have loved to believe she was really seeing Saint Francesco as she claimed, but experience had taught him that it was almost always not the case. Despite his rational side being pretty much convinced about the truthfulness of that impression, the fact that Antonio believed her added to his own hope that this miracle could be real, and left him deeply conflicted.

“Since we’re here asking questions to each other, can I ask you some questions too?”

Hiraga smiled and nodded, curious about what kind of questions would Brother Antonio want to ask him.

“I’m fascinated by what you do,” started Brother Antonio. “It’s such an interesting thing, going around investigating miracles!” His brown eyes actually shone when he spoke, voice sharp and passionate. “How do you determine if they’re true or not?”

Hiraga was almost surprised by how much he appreciated the fact that Brother Antonio had taken an interest in what he did. It made him feel flattered.

“We investigate to find out if there’s a scientific or logical explanation for what happened, and, when we have enough data, we file our report and make our case.”

Brother Antonio nodded, then leaned against a close wall. “So, you’re scientists?”

“I am, yes. Father Roberto is an accomplished cryptanalyst. His input is extremely helpful,” explained Hiraga, a strange, unexplainable nervousness creeping under his skin at the idea Brother Antonio would disapprove of something he said.

“You know, I was studying chemistry before I chose to become a friar.”

It wasn’t every day that Hiraga met a fellow scientist who was also a man of God: the two things seemed to be looked at as incompatible, and while there were a lot of doctors who were priests, there weren’t as many physicists, biologists or chemists. However, the strange nervousness stopped him from feeling as enthusiastic as he would have liked and kept lingering in the back of his head, like a beast ready to attack him.

“Your vocation must have been very strong if you left your studies because of it,” he observed, trying to conceal his discomfort.

“Yeah…” Brother Antonio seemed lost in thought. He was looking intently at the plants of the garden, fidgeting hands behind his back. “May I ask you another thing, Father Hiraga?” He finally asked. Hiraga nodded.

The friar turned towards him, and the nervousness that his demeanour revealed up to just a moment before seemed to have completely disappeared, as his eyes were confident and untroubled. “Father, have you ever seen a true miracle?”

Hiraga’s eyes widened and he felt his stomach drop, a violent feeling of alarm, an irrational fear gripping him from inside. He couldn’t really make sense of it, and he hoped it wasn’t apparent, when he shook his head and kept his voice as composed as possible, as he whispered: “No. That’s what I hope to see one day.”

Brother Antonio kept looking him right in the eyes, and Hiraga felt powerless, incapable to avert his gaze. “Because, the other day, I did. I felt like God’s life was shining upon me, upon Teresa and the child, upon everyone. For one moment, Father, I felt completely at peace, like I was in Heaven, and I understood how vain and feeble this life is compared to the eternity that waits for us after it. I wish you could feel what I felt, Father Hiraga. Living wouldn’t be the same.”

Hiraga stood there, listening to Brother Antonio’s passionate speech and he almost lost himself in those words. Everything was muffled and delicate, like nothing could really touch him, just graze him and move away. Even the unpleasant feelings from moments before had disappeared. When the friar finished speaking, lowered his head and apologized for talking too much, Hiraga felt like he was just waking up from a dream, and he felt his cheeks wet. He wiped the tears away.

“I— thank you, Brother Antonio, but I must go now.” Hiraga turned away, his lips thinned in the effort to control his voice while he calmed down. “You were very helpful.”

“I hope we talk again soon,” was the friar’s gentle reply.

Hiraga found himself thinking that he really wished the same.

Hiraga opened the door of the room with a slow movement, and Roberto, who had been waiting there for almost half an hour, turned to greet him. His smile died instantly when he saw Hiraga’s pale face. He looked like he had cried and like he could start doing it again at any moment.

“Hiraga, are you okay?” Roberto was swiftly at his side, arms around his shoulders and a concerned look on his face. Hiraga felt immensely grateful but shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he replied, closing the door behind him and heading towards the bed. Roberto followed him as he sat on it and drew a deep breath.

“You look pale,” observed Roberto, sitting next to him, still not losing his concerned look.

Hiraga pondered what to say for a second, and while he didn’t want to worry or bother Roberto, he felt the urge to vent to someone.

“Roberto… I know we already talked about this, but… do you think we will ever get to see a true miracle?”

Roberto felt his heart drop and his eyes sting with tears. “Of course, we will…” he comforted his friend. “I promise you.”

Hiraga gave him a feeble smile, like he was thanking him, but the words didn’t seem to have helped him much. Roberto knew that wasn’t enough, he knew he couldn’t really promise anything, but he would have given his own life to make sure Hiraga fulfilled his dream of seeing a miracle. After all, Roberto had already found his own, and it was sitting next to him. He wished he had the guts to say that.

“Have you found out something that proves this miracle is fake?” asked Roberto, trying to get to the heart of the problem.

Hiraga shook his head. “My mind says it’s probably a coincidence, my heart prays it’s not.”

Roberto nodded, understanding his friend’s struggle. “Do you want me to go in town alone?” he asked, unsure about how much staying in the monastery would have helped Hiraga.

But Hiraga refused without hesitation. “Absolutely not, I want to get to the bottom of this case with you. Besides, you said you need my help, didn’t you?”

Roberto couldn’t help but let a wide smile open up on his face. “Then, what about I treat you to lunch so you take a break from the bad thoughts? They make some nice linguine allo scoglio in a restaurant in town.”

“You looked up restaurants before coming here?” Hiraga asked, his voice amused more than surprised.

“Of course, I did!” Roberto exclaimed, playing offended, and Hiraga laughed, voice clear and bright, a soothing melody for Roberto’s heart.  

******

When the two priests got into town — thanks to Mr. Coluccio’s generous lift —  they were surprised at the number of people they found around. They expected a small and quiet town with barely anyone around, but instead, the place was lively and welcoming. Some people looked curious about their presence, but most of them didn’t seem to give it much attention. Both of them felt refreshed at the change of place: their mood improved just by seeing the kids running freely in the street, the open air market in the town centre, the people chatting while having a walk on the promenade. The wind was fresh and smelled like dry salt and sand. Mrs Bevilacqua’s place was easy to reach without getting lost and allowed them to walk on the seaside for a while, to admire the beautiful view.

When they arrived at Pietro and his mother’s house — a first-floor apartment less than half a kilometre from the shore, with a beautiful view of the sea and a small shared garden — the woman opened the door for them. Concetta Bevilacqua, Pietro’s mother, was in her thirties and had curly brown hair and a pair of very expressive blue eyes. Her dress drew attention to her wide hips but covered her large chest. She wasn’t very tall, but Hiraga found her a bit intimidating.

When they rang the bell and she opened up, she smiled at them and happily led them inside. She offered them a ton of different types of food and drinks — some that Hiraga had never seen before — while she casually recounted her version of the miracle. That was information they had explored already, but stopping her wordy chatter seemed almost impossible, so they exchanged a look and decided to let her talk.

When she finally stopped to let them ask questions, Hiraga got her to bring him the original copies of all of Pietro’s medical files, including the two MRIs, promising to give them back as soon as possible. Concetta left searching for them, a bit confused by Hiraga’s specific requests and scientific vocabulary. Roberto was sure that Hiraga was onto something, but he decided not to ask anything yet, as he knew he wouldn’t wait too much to explain his theories, as soon as he had them.

Once they had Hiraga’s files, they asked about Pietro. Concetta’s face suddenly went serious and she explained she really didn’t want him to know more than he needed to because she didn’t want him to be upset. Roberto understood her point, but wasn’t really happy about it; Hiraga, instead, seemed pretty satisfied with the documents he got.

“Are those files and scans really enough?” asked Roberto when they got out of the apartment and started walking back towards the centre of Sanpezzati.

Hiraga shot him a confident look. “If my theory is correct, we won’t need much more to prove whether this miracle is true or not.”

Roberto felt proud and relieved at that, but, deep inside, he also felt a bit useless. What if Hiraga had already solved the mystery on his own?

******

Roberto was sure that Hiraga couldn’t wait to go back to the monastery to analyze the MRI scans and all the medical files that were missing from their file, but he was happy to see that Hiraga still gladly went out eating with him. The place he had chosen was a small restaurant in the old part of town, the one with the best reviews and a restricted but extremely typical menu. The place was furnished and decorated like an old wine cellar, creating a unique atmosphere that felt marooned outside the ocean of time.

They ate well — two linguine allo scoglio, since Roberto choose one for him and Hiraga tagged along — drank moderately, and talked peacefully about the questionings of that morning, their theories, but also about the books they were reading and this new recipe that Roberto wanted to try. The conversation moved away from work pretty quickly, and they managed to take their mind off of it, even if just for a while.

After eating together, they both felt more comfortable with themselves, like their mind was cleared up, and they moved on with their investigation with renewed energy.

The first thing on their list was visiting Mrs Teresa Laganà. She didn’t live far: her house was located on the outskirt of the “old town”. She lived alone, as she had no children of her own, and her parents and her husband had passed away. Luckily, her relatives and both her husbands had left her a good amount of money and properties, which was why, despite the fact that she didn’t have a job, she lived in a big villa, which was where Roberto and Hiraga were heading to.

As they had the chance to observe before, the old town had the typical charm of small Italian towns, the ones that have a wonderful aesthetic appeal but no practical advantages: the streets were all narrow and uphill, the shops few, small and poorly supplied, there was no public transport and no parking spots; but, Heaven, was the place breathtakingly beautiful. It didn’t lose its charm even as they headed towards the northern outskirts of the town, where the houses became more sporadic and the vegetation more persistent.

Mrs Laganà’s house was a two-storey villa that stood in the middle of what was probably a luscious garden before it stopped getting regular care. It almost looked like a haunted house, empty and lonely — like its owner, thought Roberto. As they walked up to the front door, they noticed a red cat sleeping on the porch; Hiraga walked towards it, slowly, his hand reaching for it, and then crouched to pet its head, a content smile on his face. “Look, Roberto!” he exclaimed when the cat raised his head, pushing it against his hand, yawned and then turned around to let Hiraga brush the fur on his belly.

Roberto smiled at the endearing scene and at Hiraga’s pure, sweet smile, but then turned around to check the strange house: most of the curtains were closed and the lights seemed all out, and adding that to the run-down condition of the house, Roberto wondered if it was the wrong place, or if no one was home at that moment. He checked the name on the doorbell, to be sure, but it seemed to be correct. Hiraga didn’t appear to concern himself with the same kind of thoughts as he finished coddling the cat, stood up and simply rang the bell.

The woman who came to the door was not Teresa Laganà — unless Teresa miraculously rejuvenated by at least 20 years and dyed her hair black. She looked at them, scrutinizing them from head to toe, a bit confused. “Who are you?”

Roberto and Hiraga exchanged a look, then Roberto sighed. “Father Roberto Nicholas and Father Hiraga Josef Kou. We need to speak to Mrs Laganà, does she live here?”

The young woman looked at them suspiciously. “She lives here. Are you family? Friends?” she asked, her tone doubtful and sceptical.

“We’re from the Vatican,” Hiraga replied, holding her gaze. She seemed to have a sudden realization and nodded.

“Oh, this must be about that miracle thing. I’m sorry, I’m just her housekeeper, I didn’t know she expected someone. Come in, I’ll get her for you.” The black haired girl went inside, leaving the door open for them to get in. They followed her inside and Roberto closed the door behind them. They walked past the entrance and got into a big living room that contained four big couches with coffee tables, an upright piano, and a raffinate cupboard with porcelain displayed in it. The floor was covered with huge, expensive looking carpets, and at the wall hang at least four valuable paintings. After looking around for a while, Roberto and Hiraga sat down on one of the couches.

The girl from before came back, and she seemed even more annoyed. “Mrs Laganà says she’s not expecting anyone, and she’s busy right now.” She snorted. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know how to help you.”

Roberto looked at his friend: Hiraga seemed awkward and uneasy, and he surely was unsure about what to do. Roberto thought for a moment and, remembering what he knew about the woman, he turned to her housekeeper. “Would you try calling her again? This time, tell her we’re Brother Antonio’s friends and we’re here because he asked us to come.”

The woman nodded and walked away again. No one came back for a while, and Roberto and Hiraga had almost lost any hope to see Teresa and started wondering if they should simply leave and try coming back at another time, when they saw a different woman enter the room. Teresa looked much more normal than they expected. When she walked past the door, wearing a long skirt and a cardigan, she looked like a perfectly common person and even a beautiful woman for her age. As she got closer to them, strange little things gave away the fact that she wasn’t caring for herself much: circles under her eyes, slightly dirty hair, a pale, disoriented face. She greeted them in a polite way, then she started looking around as if she was seeking someone else.

“Uhm, Mrs Laganà?” tried Roberto. “Could we ask you some questions about the miracle you performed the other day?”

She turned towards him and stared at him for a while — a couple of seconds, but they seemed like an eternity. “Where is Antonio?” she asked, as if she never even heard what he had said.

“He’s not here,” replied Hiraga on his behalf, his voice calm and soothing, as he tried to get her to listen somehow. “But we need to ask about your visions and-”

Teresa widened her eyes and looked completely bewildered. “You lied to me! I thought he was here!” she screamed. Her face was all reddened and she looked furious.

“We didn’t lie, Mrs Laganà,” Roberto insisted, keeping his voice calm and kind. “Antonio just sent us, he’s not here.”

They heard the housekeeper’s steps as she presumably run down the stairs and then into the room, out of breath. “Mrs Laganà, what is happening?”

“They’re lying, Giovanna!” she screamed at the girl, who stepped back, visibly startled, and then she turned back towards the two priests. “You’re lying! Saint Francesco had warned me about you! Demons dressed up as holy men! Leave my house immediately!”

Both Roberto and Hiraga didn’t hesitate to follow her orders and headed for the exit right as she started praying loudly. One Ave Maria later, they were at the door. Behind them was Giovanna, the housekeeper, who opened the door for them and then apologized.

“I swear I’ve never seen her act like that. She’s always a bit of a loonie, but she was never this…” the girl sighed, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m really sorry for this.”

Giovanna seemed really disheartened, and Hiraga gripped her shoulder delicately. “Miss. Giovanna, we are extremely grateful to you for letting us in,” he said, wearing an appeasing smile on his face. When he talked in such a formal manner, he was able to sound extremely calming, so much that even Roberto felt his frenetic heartbeat slow down. “If anything, this was our fault for insisting to see her when she evidently didn’t want to be disturbed. I’m sorry if we created such an inconvenience for you.” Hiraga bowed his head and smiled again.

The girl stood on the doorstep, a dazed look in her eyes, and stared at Hiraga for a long moment, before blushing heavily, so much her ears were completely red. “T-thank you, Father.” she stuttered before hurrying back inside, closing the door behind her hurriedly.

Hiraga stood at the entry, blinking, and turned to Roberto with a confused, clueless face. Roberto couldn’t help but laugh at his disarming obliviousness.
“What?” he asked, following Roberto who was beginning to walk away.

“It’s nothing,” replied Roberto, waving his hand as he caught his breath.

“Did I say something wrong?” Hiraga asked, his worried face so out of place that Roberto almost burst out laughing again.

“No, Hiraga, you didn’t. Don’t worry.” Roberto reassured him, patting his shoulder.

“If you say so…”

******

As they walked back to the centre of the city, at the rendezvous point they had agreed upon with Mr. Coluccio that morning, Roberto and Hiraga discussed their strange adventure at the Laganà villa.

“I know this is not tangible proof of the miracle being fake, but…” Roberto took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express his now honestly compelling doubts.

“Yes, it’s difficult to believe that that woman performed a miracle. She acts almost like a possessed person.” Hiraga completed the sentence in his stead, a dark but focused look on his face, like he was reflecting on one of his brilliant theories despite his distaste for it.

“I’m sorry,” Roberto murmured, his lips contracted in a grimace.

“You have no reason to apologize.” Hiraga offered him a little smile as his own shoulder brushed against Roberto’s arm. But that didn’t make Roberto feel that much better. Seeing how Mrs. Laganà acted, it was no wonder Father Michele didn’t believe in the miracle, and Roberto wondered if Hiraga was still conflicted as he was that morning or if he had taken a precise stand. He also wondered if he understood what made Mrs Laganà act like that.

“What do you think is wrong with her?” he asked Hiraga. “Can grief do that to a person?”

They exchanged a look, and Roberto had the feeling Hiraga knew exactly who he was worried about when he asked that second question. He blushed a bit, hiding his face in his hand while he pretended to cough.  

“I don’t think it was just grief,” replied Hiraga, serious, as if he hadn’t noticed Roberto’s discomfort. “I think it’s most likely some sort of degenerative disease affecting her brain, or a mental illness.”

Roberto nodded. But deciding that someone they had barely even met had a disease was at least a bit farfetched: there was no way to prove it yet, and it posed a number of questions. “But wouldn’t someone have brought her to a doctor?”

Hiraga shook his head. “She has no family and no friends except for Brother Antonio, remember? Her housekeeper can’t force her to see a doctor, and besides, she said she didn’t know it was that serious,” he explained.

“Then why didn’t Brother Antonio bring her to a doctor?” was Roberto’s rebuttal: he did have the impression that there was something fishy about the friar.

Hiraga shook his head again. “If her behaviour is inconsistent, he might not have noticed how serious this is. He is convinced she’s saying the truth about receiving messages from the saint, but I’m pretty sure he would have sent her to a doctor if he had seen what we saw.”

“You think so?” Roberto asked, uncertain, but Hiraga was pinching a lock of his own hair between his fingers, his gaze lost somewhere else completely, and Roberto smiled and put his arm around his friend’s shoulder, to make sure he didn’t trip or get lost on their way to the central square.

******

They arrived back at the Monastery when it was nearly evening, but they weren’t finished with their investigation: they asked Father Michele for the location of the spring near which Teresa had performed the miracle: Hiraga wanted to take some water samples. The friar led them behind the church building, where a beaten path led to a small and well-lighted grotto. Inside, water sprang from a couple of stones in the back into a small natural rock basin and then flowed into a stream that exited the grotto and travelled the side of the mountain.

Father Michele left them at the entrance of the place and left to attend his own business, not without a warm smile, and Hiraga and Roberto got to work right away: Hiraga started taking out a series of phials, took three samples of that water and started labeling them; Roberto, instead, started looking around, and with the help of his flashlight, he inspected the ground and the walls from close by. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular and he didn’t really expect to find anything, so when he saw a sign on the stone that looked like some sort of writing, it took him a few moments to actually realize it. He first moved closer and dusted the surface to better see the sign. There wasn’t any word written but what he found was even more surprising.

“Hiraga, there’s a symbol here, could you take a picture?” he asked after staring at it for a couple of moments.

Hiraga stood up, putting the last sample away in his bag. He took a few steps and then stopped, taken aback by the view of the sign carved in the stone. “It’s a—”

“Yes, it looks like a satanic cross².” Roberto held the flashlight while his colleague snapped a shot with his smartphone.

“What is something like that doing here?” asked Hiraga, visibly upset.

“It looks really old, so it might be nothing concerning, but we should look into it anyway,” Roberto commented, trying to sound calming. He understood the surprise, but there was no reason to get nervous or preoccupied until they knew it actually meant something.

Hiraga nodded, but he still looked taken aback by the discovery.

“I’ll send Lauren a copy of the picture later,” he said, still turning back towards the wall from time to time while they continued inspecting the rest of the grotto for more unusual things.

Roberto took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from saying that it wouldn’t be necessary. Lauren was useful in their investigations, no matter how much he disliked him for personal reasons. “I’ll look into the past of the monastery. If something strange happened here in the past there’s bound to be a record of it. I can go to the library to dig up articles about local cases of Satanism, as well.”

Chapter Text

Hiraga was woken up by the ringing of his phone. He stirred under the covers while the volume of the ringtone grew higher and higher until he finally reached for his phone without opening his eyes, groping his way on the bedside until he found it.

“Hello?” he answered, voice husky from waking up so suddenly.

“Is this Hiraga Josef Kou?” said the voice on the other side of the phone, tone formal but with a certain urgency to it. As he recognized the voice as the one of the doctor who was treating Ryouta, Hiraga instantly got a terrible feeling. His eyes jolted open and he sat up in bed.

“Yes, you’re speaking with him. Is this about Ryouta? Is he okay?”

There was a short pause and Hiraga felt his stomach drop down into the Earth. The voice on the other side of the phone sounded far away and muffled as it said exactly the words he didn’t want to hear.

“I’m sorry you have to hear about it in this way…” “He suddenly got worse during the night…” “There was nothing we could do.” “He went peacefully…”

“Mr. Hiraga, are you still there?” The voice of the doctor was repulsive, something that he felt sick even hearing, or maybe he was just nauseous in general. He wasn’t sure of anything, really. What was happening? He felt like retching. Was that real ? Reality seemed erratic like his own breathing, he felt conscious one moment and then it was like he missed whole minutes. He lost the awareness of time. A terrible feeling of panic and pain took over his mind and his reasoning and he felt pain in his chest as he struggled to breathe. He just ended the call without saying anything, his hands trembling and his mind going in circles around that idea — “it’s not real, Ryouta must be okay, I know he’s okay” —  guilt and disbelief mixing up in his guts— ”I would have felt him missing, wouldn’t I? I would have felt our bond breaking like I somehow knew right away when our mother died”.

He only noticed he was crying when a hand — Roberto’s hand — wiped away some of his tears. He realized his face was wet and the tears poured from his eyes and he couldn’t stop them, he didn’t have the strength to.

His friend didn’t ask any question: he didn’t need to. His arms were warm as they wrapped around him, and Hiraga closed his eyes and let himself cry.

He kept thinking about how it was his fault, how he was unable to even pay for his only family member’s medical expenses. He felt like he was guilty of a sin so terrible it didn’t even have a name, so big and dark that his soul would be stained forever by that terrible guilt. All the nice words, all the knowledge and reasoning about God and His forgiveness, they were worth nothing in that moment. Because whatever that was, it was not a trial from God, it was just plain and simple punishment for something, and deep down in his heart, buried under his own denial, Hiraga knew he deserved that punishment, and he was repulsed by himself for that. He hated himself.

He didn’t deserve Roberto holding him close.

He didn’t deserve him whispering “It’s okay, it’ll be okay” in his ear.

He didn’t deserve his calming smell all around him, or to put his hands and face on his chest and cry desperately.

He didn’t deserve the love of someone like Roberto because everyone who loved him just ended up dying.

He didn’t deserve to be loved. Not after letting Ryouta’s life slip through his fingers. Not after letting the life of so many in his family just slip away without ever doing anything enough to prevent it from happening.

His mother gone while he stood there and did nothing at all to save her, gone while he was far away before he had the chance to say his last goodbye. He promised he wouldn’t let that happen to his brother, and he had broken his promise.

And now he was alone.

Almost.

He looked up at Roberto, who was sitting next to him. The older man reciprocated his gaze with teary eyes, his warmth still wrapping him in a muffled hug. Hiraga tried to calm his breathing enough to tell him to go away and leave him before something bad happened to him too. He wouldn’t be able to bear the pain if that happened.

He felt like he had barely blinked and his breathing was calmer, and Roberto wasn’t by his side anymore, but right in front of him, and Hiraga threw his arms around his neck. He stuttered his name, but then stopped, mesmerized by how Roberto’s beautiful blue eyes looked when filled with pain and grief, enthralled by his lips that whispered words that Hiraga wasn’t even listening to, hypnotized by his handsome, familiar and comfortable face. He would have looked at him and only at him for the rest of his existence, because when he did, he felt accepted, at ease with himself, at home, like everything was right as it was supposed to be.

He blinked again and their lips were brushing together.

His mind felt like it was trapped somewhere far away, and he barely understood what was happening. All he knew in that hazy state of consciousness was that he wanted nothing more than comfort, some escape from all that pain. And it worked, even if only for a moment, and nothing existed but those lips, soft and warm and salty with tears.

But then he opened his eyes, and there was Roberto’s face, warped by disgust.

He looked away and just listened to the sound of his friend’s steps as he walked out of the door.

The tears Hiraga shed next really tasted like a intense, oppressive loneliness until he finally woke up.

******

Roberto couldn’t help but wake up when he heard Hiraga whimpering in his sleep.

He didn’t realize right away why he had woken up, but as he shifted out of sleep he soon identified that hiccuping sound as Hiraga’s sobbing and his reaction wouldn’t have been much different if he had heard someone scream: he jumped up in his bed, turning towards Hiraga right away. His friend was tossing and turning under the sheets and he was whimpering Ryouta’s name. Roberto had never seen him having such a terrible nightmare before: Hiraga usually slept deeply and quietly, and even when he had a nightmare, it was never this bad; Roberto was the one always tormented by his own mind as he slept.

Still half-asleep, Roberto didn’t spend too much time processing his own thoughts and he didn’t ask himself too many questions as he moved onto Hiraga’s bed, trying to wake him up, to comfort him, to interrupt the nightmare. His friend was crying so much that his tears had wet the sheets and the pillow and soon they soaked Roberto’s shirt as he tried to stop him from turning again on the bed.

“Hiraga, please, wake up…” Roberto whispered as he shook his friend, who still struggled against him. The young man’s mouth was contorted in a sad grimace, his eyebrows furrowed. His crying stopped for a moment, then he started whispering Roberto’s name, desperately.

Roberto insisted, shaking him and calling him more forcefully. “Hiraga! I’m here. It’s just a dream, wake up!” Hiraga tried to push him away at first, but then he finally opened his eyes: and, all of a sudden, he jumped up with what looked like fear on his pale face.

He backed up against the headboard of the bed as if he wanted to run away from him and started stuttering incomprehensibly. “Roberto… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I...” he muttered when he managed to speak clearly enough.

Roberto had never seen him like that and he couldn’t help but wonder what even happened in that nightmare to make him react like that.

“Hiraga, it’s fine,” Roberto whispered sweetly, putting both hands on Hiraga’s shoulders, gingerly, hoping he wouldn’t push him away again. “It was just a bad dream.”

Hiraga slowly seemed to come to his senses: he looked around, his breathing slowing down, tears drying from his eyes. When he seemed to have completely woken up and realized it was just a bad dream, he put his face between his hands and whimpered again.

“Calm down.” Roberto slipped by his side and put an arm around his shoulder. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t real,” Roberto whispered, pulling him close. “It was just a terrible nightmare. Everything is fine.”

Hiraga nodded, then brought his knees to his chest and put his arms around them, hiding his face between his legs. Roberto kept his arm around his shoulder and smiled.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” whispered Hiraga, his muffled voice still shaky.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Hiraga. It’s not your fault,” Roberto replied, leaving an affectionate kiss on the top of his head. “We still have time to sleep a little bit,” he said, looking out the window at the dark sky that was just starting to brighten up. “Do you want to?”

Hiraga raised his head and turned towards Roberto, staring at him for a moment, uncertain. “I don’t… I don’t want to sleep alone,” he whispered, a begging tone in his voice.

“I’ll be here in the room too, you won’t be alone,” Roberto replied, keeping his comforting tone even though he was confused as to what exactly Hiraga meant. But his friend just shook his head, apparently unable to find the words to better explain himself. It was just after a couple of moments that Roberto realised what was the implied request, and his eyes grew wide and his ears took on a rather bright hue of red. Such a request was a very unusual one coming from Hiraga, who wasn’t what Roberto would have defined a “physical person”: it must have meant he was serious, and that the nightmare must have been really hard on him. Roberto felt his heart clenching in his chest at the fresh memory of him crying in his sleep, so he couldn’t help but accept the idea right away, despite his own embarrassment.

“You want to sleep together?” he proposed, hiding behind a warm smile the inappropriate thoughts that flashed in his mind in response to the way he himself had worded the idea. He devoted a brief, passing thought to the embarrassing confession that he would have to make in the next days, but quickly chased that thought away as well.

Hiraga raised his gaze and blushed, hesitating as his lips opened and closed wordlessly.

“I don’t mind it,” Roberto reassured.

“I- I think it would make me feel better,” replied Hiraga, averting his gaze. Roberto didn't have to be told twice, because he slipped under the sheets right away, and made space for Hiraga, who laid down facing him.

“Thank you, Roberto,” he whispered, after some moments of silence.

The light from the window was dim and it was barely enough to recognize the profile of Hiraga’s face as he closed his eyes by his side. Roberto took a deep breath, and the younger man’s smell filled his nostrils. He felt awkward. He also felt guilty, because he knew that sleeping with Hiraga was something he shouldn't be doing because he recognized he didn’t see that as something innocent like his friend surely did. He didn’t completely trust himself when it came to Hiraga, due to how beautiful and delicate he looked, but in that situation, he just couldn’t bring himself to refuse offering comfort to his friend because of something like that. But Roberto’s awkwardness was not because he felt like he could fall victim to the temptation of the flesh; it was more because he wasn’t sure he deserved to share such an intimate moment with Hiraga.

He tried to avoid touching him too much, so he wouldn’t disturb him as he tried to go back to a deserved and hopefully more peaceful sleep. He found a comfortable position that involved sharing as little body contact as possible and tried to go back to sleep.

After a short while, as Roberto’s eyelids became heavy and the embrace of sleep was coming over him, he felt Hiraga’s hand grasping his own. He opened his eyes a bit, to see if he needed anything.

“I’m sorry, Roberto,” mumbled Hiraga, his words barely understandable.

Roberto smiled, returning the grip on the other man’s hand, just a bit, his sleepy body slow and unresponsive. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Goodnight,” he whispered, words a bit slurred by the sleepiness, and he was sure the wide smile on his face was perfectly evident. Inexplicably, that hand holding his own awakened such a strange feeling of delicate happiness in Roberto, a feeling he didn’t remember experiencing before but that was somehow familiar: he felt loved, appreciated, accepted. And even if it was just for some moments, while he fell back asleep and his mind was hazy, free and unburdened, it was terribly nice.

“I love you.”

Hiraga muttered the words delicately, his voice sleepy, words slurred. Roberto’s heartbeat accelerated, but he was too tired to wake up completely, and he just laid there, in a confused state halfway through sleep. The surprise, the shock that that declaration of affection should have caused in him got lost in the hazy sleepiness of his mind, and he didn’t really understand much more than the happiness that he felt as he thought that, despite all of his flaws and mistakes, there was a person out there that really thought that highly of him, one single person that honestly, purely loved him, and appreciated him; and that person was Hiraga. It was such a strange thing to hear Hiraga say those words, but he was content with accepting them and holding them in his heart.

Hiraga’s breathing had slowed down and the warm grip on Roberto’s hand was getting weaker. Before Roberto’s eyelids fell, so heavy from drowsiness that he was unable to keep them open, he stretched out his free arm and gingerly caressed Hiraga’s face.

“I... love you too.” he whispered even if he wasn’t sure he would hear it. And when he said it, he knew, deep inside, that he didn’t mean it only in an innocent way, he didn’t mean it only as a deep and sincere declaration of friendship, he didn’t just mean that he honestly cared about him: he meant that he was hopelessly and foolishly in love with him.

But in that moment, it didn’t matter. In that moment, he just felt free to enjoy those short moments of guiltless happiness.

******

Hiraga woke up feeling tired. He slowly slipped in and out of sleep for some moments, his body sluggish, and he opened his heavy eyelids to the morning light. His first thought was that it was late and they had probably missed the morning prayer with the friars; his second thought was that Roberto’s bed, which was next to his own, was empty; the third thought was when he recognized the warmth beside him as that of a person, and he turned around: Roberto was sleeping peacefully, on the other side of the bed — Hiraga’s bed — his back pressed up against the wall. He had such a peaceful expression; Hiraga didn’t remember ever seeing him sleeping with such a face. Thinking back, he never really watched him sleep peacefully before that moment: Roberto either woke up earlier than him, or he had nightmares and slept with a suffering grimace, tossing and turning under the sheets. But in that moment, he looked so peaceful that Hiraga couldn’t help but smile.

As his mind slowly shook away the traces of sleepiness, Hiraga started remembering why Roberto was sleeping in his bed in the first place. He remembered that horrible nightmare, and how realistic it felt, and how terrified he was when he woke up. But in that moment, those feelings felt very far away and he could think about it more rationally. It’s common to see one’s fears become reality when having a nightmare, he told himself, while he held the rosary that his brother had gifted him: it was just a dream, and Ryouta was fine. It wasn’t an omen. It didn’t have any meaning.

It’s also common to just do strange things in dreams sometimes, things that he would never do if he were awake: like kissing Roberto. The thought that his mind showed him something like that truly embarrassed him, but Hiraga didn’t think it was disgusting. He actually didn’t even think of it as a negative thing: it was just not something he ever thought of doing. He looked at Roberto’s lips and thought back to the way they felt in his dream. He wondered if that was how kissing someone truly felt, and he felt sad when he realized that was a feeling that he was probably never going to experience. After all, a kiss was just the touching of two lips, but the sexual implications it had made it out of the question for him. And yet, some part of him was just so curious about it. How did it feel? Why did people like kissing that much? Was everyone else curious about the same thing as he was? He wondered if Roberto had ever kissed someone. Maybe he would tell him how it felt. Roberto was the only person to whom he could ask such a question but he was too embarrassed to actually do it.

Hiraga realised he still knew so little about him. He knew so many insignificant things about Roberto, like the way he squinted his eyes when he couldn’t see well, the way he stretched his arms when he woke up in the morning, the way his eyes softened when he was sleepy, the way his voice sounded when he was sad, the three small darker spots he had in his right  iris, and the few, rare, white hairs that he so proudly denied having, but he knew almost nothing about his past, because Roberto was very reserved about it. Whenever something came up, it was always when it seemed necessary, and Roberto almost treated it like a confession he was particularly ashamed of. Hiraga sometimes wanted to reassure him that it was hard to imagine something about Roberto he wouldn’t like, including his past, no matter how corrupt and sinful. After all, the absence of sin had nothing to do with being a good Christian: what made someone a good person, and a good Christian, were the choices they made. That’s why God forgave everyone: because no matter how many terrible things people did or why they did them, the moment they honestly asked for forgiveness they’ve chosen the right path. Hiraga was sure he would have never come to dislike his friend for a thing of his past: everything that happened to Roberto made him the man he was in that moment, a good and honest man, and the person Hiraga loved and admired.

As he formulated that thought, the memory came to his mind. He remembered lying with his eyes closed, holding Roberto’s hands between his own and whispering those words.

‘I love you.’  He blushed thinking about it, so much that he could feel his ears burning and he covered his face. What if Roberto misinterpreted those words? What if he felt disgusted by him? What if he lost all his respect because of that? And yet Roberto was there by his side, sleeping as peacefully as a child. Would he be there if he had misunderstood the meaning of that declaration?

A part of Hiraga just wanted to dismiss that line of thinking, but another part kept being haunted by the image of that dream, and Roberto’s disgusted face.

******

Roberto opened his eyes to one of the most reassuring views he had ever witnessed. Hiraga was sitting next to him on the bed, still in his silk pyjamas, legs crossed and a pensive expression on his face. He was staring at Roberto and widened his eyes in surprise when he saw him waking up. Roberto smiled blissfully. He remembered a similar circumstance but, in that case, he was feeling sick and terrible because of a poison, and Hiraga was worried for him. This time, instead, everything felt more peaceful.

“Good morning, Hiraga,” he whispered. “Have you been awake for long?”

Hiraga shook his head, then took a deep breath, like he was about to ask him something, before just adding an unconfident “Good morning” and standing up.

Roberto could feel the tension in the air staining his peaceful awakening, and he briefly thought back to the previous night. He remembered the whole thing clearly, and as he looked at his friend, who was getting dressed, he decided that since Hiraga seemed to be feeling a bit awkward about what had happened, then he shouldn’t force him to talk about it. He shrugged, telling himself that it would be okay and they would talk about it when they would have time.

He didn’t feel as relaxed as he remembered being the night before, but he didn’t regret anything of what had happened. He wanted to be there for Hiraga, no matter what, and he wanted to give him whatever he needed. He had just done that, and it wasn’t a mistake at all. It was natural that Hiraga would feel uncomfortable, after showing him such a weak side of himself.

Despite how convincingly he told himself that, for the whole day he could feel it, a barrier of awkwardness standing between them, thin but sturdy, a bubble that made him feel completely and terribly alone .

His only solution to that was waiting for that evening to try and bring up the topic, and until then, working hard to finally get to the bottom of that miraculous healing.

******

Hiraga spent his day mostly alone. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more like something he did without thinking about it because he felt uncomfortable around Roberto and unwilling to face the reason, the embarrassment of his own bold declaration. He told himself that of course he loved Roberto, he was his best and most cherished friend, for whom he’d give his life and without whom he felt lost. But was that all? After saying the words out loud, after that dream, after all the strange things that went through his mind the night before, he wasn’t sure of that anymore.

The first thing he did after breakfast was going back to his room — he told Roberto he was going to test the water samples he had got the day before and that he trusted him to find out something about the symbol in the grotto.

He went back to his room and opened his emails. Of course, Lauren had replied once again, including a bit of information about the satanic cross they had found. Lauren explained that there was nothing stored anywhere about a satanic cult in the area, not in recent times at least. He speculated that it was probably a very old thing and that the document traces it would have left could have been lost, hence there was no chance he could help him with that. Hiraga started typing a reply, but then changed his mind: he wanted to include his findings from the analysis of the water as well, just to keep Lauren posted.

He already had an idea about what kind of tests he should do. According to the friars, the water had helped to cure small injuries that had gotten infected and eased the pain of small injuries. The simpler explanation to that was that the water contained traces of substances who had such an effect, for example substances with a painkiller effect and natural antibiotics.

The results he got surprised him. There was no trace of natural substances with similar properties, but there were copious amounts of painkillers and antibiotics artificially synthesized. He grimaced, looking at the results of the tests. For a moment there, he had almost believed the small miracles performed by the fountain could have been true, or at least just a simple suggestion, or a coincidence. Instead, it was a fraud.

That made way more likely that Pietro’s miraculous healing was a coincidence or product of a mistake on the doctors’ part.

******

As Hiraga left the dining hall, after breakfast, Roberto found himself a bit lost. He already felt the burden of that loneliness, and he just wanted to go with Hiraga into their room and ask him what was wrong and reassure him that nothing had changed, he just had a nightmare and Roberto comforted him, and yes, maybe he said something he wouldn’t have said if he was lucidly awake, they both did, but it didn’t mean anything more than what they wanted it to mean.

Honestly, Roberto felt scared. Terribly scared. He hated himself because he hadn’t been good enough, because he drove Hiraga away with his superficial way of acting, with his silence and with his excessive shows of affection. Maybe Hiraga had felt violated when he woke up next to him in his bed; maybe he felt confused and scared; maybe he didn’t remember what had happened that night and was creeped out. With his silence, Roberto didn’t help clear things up, and that just ended up causing exactly what he wanted to avoid: awkwardness between them.

He took a deep breath, realizing he was the last person left in the room, and he stood up, deciding to look for Brother Martino, the deacon.

He found him in the corridors, heading for his own room. He stopped him, politely asking where he could get detailed information about the past of the monastery. Brother Martino’s attention was immediately caught and he declared he was glad to be of help, even if Roberto had the impression he was being cautious and wanted to keep an eye on him. He felt paranoid, thinking that, but then again one was never too suspicious when it came to investigations.

“In our library, we have the registers: books that one of the friars of the monastery has been tasked to update periodically with all the most important happenings,” he explained. “If you’re looking for something of relevance that happened in this monastery, it’s there. But we never got it digitized, so you’ll have to look for it manually.”

Roberto snorted inwardly. Looking manually inside hundreds of handwritten tomes when he wasn’t even sure of what he was looking for?
“Do I need permission to read the tomes?”

“Someone else would, but not you, Father. I’ll lead you to our library.”

Roberto followed the man through the corridors of the monastery, till they got to a hall, a bit small to be a library, old looking and very dusty, where the friar showed him the shelves where he could find the books he was looking for. They filled four whole shelves, and for a moment Roberto thought that even for someone like him who loved books more than most things in the world, reading all of those volumes was an impossible feat.

He took a deep breath and turned to Brother Martino, surrendering to the fact that he had to disclose some details to get some help. “Do you know anything about some sort of satanic cult based around here in the past?”

Brother Martino went pale, his smile turning upside down, his eyes wide in surprise. “How do you know about that?” he said, a suspicious tone in his voice that the friar uselessly tried to hide behind a fake smile.

“I found a symbol in the grotto yesterday, and I think something like that would explain its presence in there. Can you tell me where in these books I can find information about it?” he said, straightforward, not in the mood for wasting time trying to word his sentences so he wouldn’t disclose too much information.

Brother Martino hesitated, then nodded. “You should check the year 1664. There was something like that, but I don’t remember the details. The volumes are old, so be careful.” He seemed to be almost disappointed by something, but Roberto had so many thoughts going through his mind that he didn’t give it much thought. He put himself to work right away, suffocating his thoughts with reading, as he always did with all the emotions he didn’t want to feel.

He didn’t even notice when a heavy rain started to fall.

******

Behind one of the ornate windows of the monastery, two people were talking to each other. Their voices were low, almost whispers, and the sound of the rain tapping on the windows almost completely covered them. Sporadic bolts of lightning flashed their sharp glow on their faces for barely a second, illuminating them with the colours of the holy scene depicted in the window, and the thunders that followed shortly after were so loud that they made the glass of those same windows vibrate.

“I can’t believe what you did,” said the first person. “They’re going to find out, I tell you, and it’s not ending well for you.”

“How did you find out?” the second man asked coldly.

“That’s not important. What’s important is that you’ve put all of us in a terrible position!” The first man slightly raised his tone of voice, and he sounded disappointed more than angry.

“Someone told you, did they?” insisted the second man, a menacing tone seeping into his words.

“I noticed myself.”

“Are you telling them?”

A short pause. No one spoke a word and they just stared at each other in the dim light and for a moment the tension was so strong it seemed they were about to fight.

“I won’t tell anyone,” surrendered the first man. “But you better set this right.”

“Even if the priests find out, that would be on me, not you, if that’s what worries you,” scoffed the second man.

“I’m worried about you!” Once again, the first man raised the volume of his whispering, earning a glare from the other.

“Then stop being worried. Faking a miracle is not a crime.” The second man shrugged.

The first man sighed. “It’s not a crime but it surely isn’t something a devout person would do! Haven’t you thought about the consequences?” he whispered fervidly.

“You’re too tense. Don’t worry.” The second man switched to a comforting tone. “I was wrong to do what I did. I understand that. I promise you I’ll take all the responsibilities, in front of God and the law. What do you say we discuss this later in the office, with a cup of hot tea?”

******

A scream echoed inside the church. Outside, the rain fell aplenty, and the sound of the storm covered the voice of the woman, so that barely anyone in the close-by monastery heard it.

Teresa Laganà had screamed, not in fear, but in horror: in front of her, Father Michele’s body laid senseless, in the middle of the aisle, facing down, like he just tripped and fell.

Brother Antonio stepped close to her, and he held her when she stumbled down, shocked at the terrible sight.

She turned to him, eyes wide and teary. “Is he…?”

Antonio knelt next to Father Michele and checked his pulse, pushing a finger on his neck, against the carotid. His eyes widened, then darkened as he stood up. He kept his gaze low as he confirmed Teresa’s fears. She fell on her knees, looking around, her eyes frighteningly wide and her face even paler than before. She muttered something while looking around feverishly as if she was following an insect buzzing all around her.

At that point, Brother Martino entered the church, shortly followed by the two priests, who were walking some meters apart from each other. The three of them stopped in shock some meters away from the body. Father Hiraga hurried to his side, to check his pulse, but was interrupted by Teresa.

“Move away!” she screamed at him, and Hiraga stepped back right away, startled. She turned towards the others in the church, a serious and intense look in her eyes. “I’m going to save him,” she explained, and her gaze shone with firm certainty. Hiraga found himself enraptured in her unblemished faith and stood there, not more than a meter from her, as she knelt next to the friar and called his name, ordering him to wake up.

There was a tense moment when the echo of her voice was the only sound in the church. Brother Martino was standing in the aisle, a couple of meters away from the body, and he was holding on to one of the benches as his knees shook. His eyes were watery and desperate, and he couldn’t look away from Father Michele. Without him even realizing it, he started praying under his breath, his lips barely moving as he hastily recited a plea to God. Father Roberto was standing behind Hiraga, just in the middle of the aisle, and he was motionless, immobile like he was made of stone, while his inner turmoil of questions and fears ravaged his heart like the storm raged in the sky outside. He realized what paralyzed him was not awe at what Teresa claimed she could do, but fear at the sight of that corpse. No matter how many times he saw a body, it was always a shock for him, but right in that moment, for some reason, it filled him with a dreadful foreboding.

Brother Antonio was standing apart from the others, in the right nave, and was staring at Teresa, his intense gaze burning with confused, tumultuous feeling. Teresa didn’t notice. No one noticed anything but the body lying in the middle of the church, limbs sprawled around, face pale, lips slightly ajar.

Everyone was tense, waiting for something to happen, for that miracle to take place. Everyone was eager for different reasons. Everyone believed, or maybe just hoped, that the miracle would really happen.

In front of their eyes, Teresa started shaking, and called Father Michele’s name again, with a trembling voice, almost begging him. In some way, it was like that broke a spell, like it broke everyone’s blissful captivation, and they all started moving towards her, realising how vain their hopes had been. When Teresa raised her voice and called the friar's name for the third time, Hiraga closed his fingers around her thin arm, delicately pulled her towards him and whispered: “Mrs Laganà. This time, there’s nothing you can do…”

He said it gently, his voice but a sorrowful murmur, his eyes low, his free hand in the pocket of his cassock firmly closed around the rosary that Ryouta had gifted him like he always did when he needed comfort. Teresa turned to look at him and, at first, she seemed furious to have been interrupted, but after she turned and saw him and everyone else, her face softened, anger slowly slipping away, and her eyes filled up with tears.

Brother Antonio left without a word. They heard his steps resonate in the aisle as he walked toward the exit, and that was when Teresa started to cry. It was like something had broke inside of her: one could almost mistake her first sob as the snap of a twig in a silent wood. Brother Martino offered her a hand, and then a shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine, Teresa,” he murmured, one arm around her shoulders as he consoled her. As he started walking away, he turned to the priests. “I’ll go call the police,” he explained, and slowly left with the woman.

Roberto and Hiraga exchanged a glance, and for a split moment it was as it always was, and they acted automatically like their bodies knew what they had to do better than their minds. But it soon passed, and they both felt that awkwardness surface again.

Hiraga checked the body’s pulse and its breathing, just to be sure. He focused on the task, and left out of his mind everything that wasn’t necessary: how he has seen that man just that morning, alive and breathing, how Roberto’s presence made him feel strange, how his stomach writhed, sick with nervousness, confusion, guilt, regret, and his lungs were like compressed, making even the act of breathing difficult; but most of all he tried to reject the thought that, if a murderer was around, then anyone in the monastery could be next. Even Roberto. As he failed to avoid considering that ominous perspective, his heart lost a beat, and in that moment he was fully, completely aware of the fact that he couldn’t lose Roberto. It was not like he had ever thought otherwise in the past, but that time, one thing was different: there was an urgency in his heart that had never been there before, and he clearly, distinctly knew that Roberto was in danger. He didn’t know why or how, he just knew it like he knew that after every night there was a day.

He looked at his friend, who was staring at the body between them. Almost as if he could feel his stare, Roberto turned, and they exchanged another look.

After a quick look at the body, Hiraga was sure. “This must be the work of some kind of poison.”

Roberto nodded, serious. “I’ll fetch your stuff,” he said, and he turned around, heading for their room. He didn’t wait for Hiraga’s nod, or for any sign at all.

Hiraga was left alone, staring at the body. No matter how many times he saw a dead person, every time it was an experience of eerie surrender to the inevitability of the end and a sad, almost desperate clinging to the belief in the eternity of the soul. Hiraga looked up at the cross statue, joined his hands, bowed his head and started praying for Father Michele’s soul to reach Heaven.

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen,” he murmured as he made the sign of the cross. Praying always granted him peace of mind, so he closed his eyes and focused on the words, on the message they were meant to convey to the Lord, and he recited, whispering, the appropriate prayer for the death of a servant of God.

“Grant, we beseech Thee, O Lord, that the soul of Thy servant Michele, Thy priest, whom in this life Thou didst honour with the sacred office, may rejoice in the glory of heaven for evermore. Through our Lord.” Even while he was still pronouncing the words, he already felt the terrible weight that had been lingering in the church lifting from the air all around him, like it was purified. After that, he recited the “Requiem Aeternam ”, murmuring the Latin words slowly, one by one. “Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiéscant in pace. ”

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” As he made the sign of the cross again, he heard a voice behind him saying the words together with him and he winced.

He turned around, startled, and saw Brother Antonio. He stood up, taking a deep breath.

“Brother, you scared me.”

The man looked around, avoiding Hiraga’s gaze. He looked sick, his face looked nauseated and unnaturally pale, and yet he didn’t look like he had cried.

“Brother Antonio, are you okay?” asked Hiraga, even if the answer was obvious. “Maybe you shouldn’t stay here, especially if you’re not used to-”

“Father Hiraga,” interrupted the friar, his voice as firm as the look into his eyes when the two men’s gazes met, “you should come with me.”

Hiraga hesitated, puzzled. “Is it urgent? I’m waiting for Father Roberto to bring my equipment,” he explained, even if he was really curious about what was going on in Antonio’s mind. Was he that close to Father Michele?

Just as Antonio was about to reply, Roberto entered the church, distracting Hiraga from his magnetic gaze. The priest was drenched by walking under the storm, and both his cassock and his hair were dripping water, but he had the suitcase Hiraga needed, which was luckily waterproof.

“No, you’re right. It’s not urgent,” the friar said, his voice low so that only Hiraga would hear, and he walked away again. If that was meant not to arouse suspicions in Roberto, it had exactly the opposite effect, as the priest watched Brother Antonio leave with the distinct sensation he had just interrupted something potentially threatening. Up until he had seen Father Michele’s body, Roberto had suspected him to have some sort of secret, to be hiding something, which led Roberto to think that he was responsible for faking that miracle somehow. But now that he was dead, that quickly took him off Roberto’s rather short suspect list, which was now left with only one name in it: Brother Antonio.

Roberto got close to Hiraga, offering a somewhat awkward smile. Hiraga wasn’t usually good at reading body language, but he knew Roberto so well that with him it was easy: for that reason he knew that Roberto was worried, even just by looking at his face.

He accepted the suitcase from his hand and thanked him. “I’m okay,” he assured when Roberto kept standing there like he was about to say something. “We can talk later.”

Roberto followed him with his gaze but Hiraga ignored him. That wasn’t the moment to address such trivial problems: a man was dead.

“Do you need something else? If not, I’ll go change my clothes,” asked Roberto, his voice the only sound resonating in the nave. Hiraga didn’t turn, but he nodded. “I don’t need help, don’t worry,” he replied, barely any emotion in his tone. But he felt a bit of guilt in his stomach upon hearing his friend’s steps moving away, and he couldn’t help but add a “Thank you, Roberto.”

After Roberto left, Hiraga focused on the task at hand with desperate determination, examining the body before the police got there. Father Michele was lying face down, but no signs of blood or any other external injury were present. His cyanotic lips and the portion of carpet next to them were wet with what looked like saliva — he took a sample of it, swabbing it from the man’s lips; his hair and clothes were drenched with sweat. His soulless eyes were open and his pupils extremely dilated. Everything pointed to a fatal seizure, which could have been of natural origin — but Father Michele had been in perfect health right up to that morning — or due to poisoning — as Hiraga suspected. He decided to take hair and blood samples while the body was still warm. Taking blood would leave a trace, so he would probably have to stay back and ask the police for permission, but it was necessary to determine if there were traces of poison, as he could get results for those tests way faster than the police usually did. He started by taking the hair sample and then went investigating the office of the church.

The place was tidy, except for some papers scattered on the desk. There was an almost empty cup of tea, like the ones they had in the kitchen; the liquid inside looked like green tea. It might have been poisoned, so he took a tiny sample. The papers on the desk were sample copies of flyers for the Sunday Mass, with some corrections made with a pen. The computer was turned off, so he quickly turned it on, checking the latest searches and the emails. As he went through the browser history, he reflected on what was the most probable reconstruction of how things went; in that moment, he really missed Roberto’s presence. If he was there, he would have asked for Hiraga’s opinion and listened to him as he explained it. Hiraga preferred exploring his theories out loud with someone else, because it helped him realize how much they actually made sense; moreover, Roberto was a perfect partner, who always had questions for him and put his ideas in discussion.

Instead, there he was, alone and clueless.

Once he finished examining the office, without finding anything pointing to a possible murder, he went outside, waiting for the police. It didn’t take long before a blue and white car, with wailing sirens, stopped right in front of the church. After a difficult explanation — during which he once again felt the absence of Roberto, who was way more suited than him for that task —  and after giving his own testimony, he obtained the permission to take his samples, while an agent from the forensic department kept an eye on him. Hiraga looked over the body to find the easiest spot to reach an artery without moving it too much, but since it was laying face down, he concluded it was not possible. The body was heavy and it took a bit of strength to turn it around. He opened two buttons of the shirt and took the syringe from his suitcase. The needle penetrated the skin near the clavicle, and he extracted blood for two different samples.

Since he had everything he needed, he announced he was done and headed outside.

He didn’t get back to the room right away. Rather, he asked Mr Coluccio for a ride to town so he could ship half of his samples to Lauren in order to ask him for more detailed tests, if necessary, since he could only bring so many forensics kits along.

When he finally got back to the room, it was tidy and empty, and Roberto was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in the library like that morning.

The room was dark — the sky was still full of clouds, even though it had stopped raining, so no light was coming from outside when he entered — and it felt gloomy and empty without Roberto to keep him company. As soon as he got back from the library, they would talk, Hiraga told himself. With renewed determination, he turned on the lights and started performing his tests.

******

Roberto changed his drenched clothes and intended to go to the library right away: he really wanted to get to the solution of that mystery, and he felt like there was no time to concentrate on anything else. He had to stop by to leave a testimony to the police since he was present when they found the body, so he went back to the church building.

While he was explaining what he had seen to a nervous young officer, he noticed Brother Antonio walking inside the monastery, alone. He wasn’t sure why, but he had the distinct impression that the man was trying not to be seen. He wondered if Brother Antonio’s actions were really worthy of attracting suspicion, or if he was being paranoid.

By the time he freed himself from the police’s questioning, Brother Antonio was nowhere to be seen, so Roberto went back to the library, where the volume he had started examining that morning was still open on the same page.

Going through those books page by page was a very demanding work, and even more in a moment like that when one person had died and both him and Hiraga were desperate to find the answers. Even if he had found something, who was to say that something would have actually been useful to them? Maybe that symbol didn’t even have any relevance, maybe someone just made sure it was visible so that they could have more time to hide their tracks while he and Hiraga looked into something completely useless.

The local law enforcement authorities weren’t used to murders and tragic happenings, and he wasn’t sure they could rely on them for a swift resolution of the murder. And what if the murder was linked to the miracle? What if Father Michele had been killed because he didn’t believe it was real? Did it mean that he and Hiraga were going to suffer the same fate? He couldn’t sleep easy until he knew they were safe — that Hiraga was safe.

He just closed the book and exited the library, heading towards Father Michele’s room. He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly, but he was sure that if he had been killed because he was being a nuisance for the person who organized that fake miracle, then maybe there were some clues in his room.

When he got there, the room was luckily open, and no one seemed to be around. There was a possibility that the killer had been there to take away any important information or clues. But he could also not have had the chance since there were a lot of people around the monastery and all the friars had been really busy with helping the police, calling an ambulance for Teresa, organizing the funeral for Michele. Not much time had passed since the moment they found the body, so it was possible that he got there on time.

He opened the door and slipped into the room. He looked around: it was not much unlike their own, as it contained very little furniture. What made it different was a bigger desk and a private bookshelf. Roberto started from there, scanning the backs of the books, looking for titles that didn’t belong or that looked recently used. There didn’t seem to be any of them, so he moved to the desk, trying to find something in there. In the drawer of the desk, he did find something. Particularly, an envelope. Inside it, there was a check, for the sum of thirty thousand euros, signed by a Mr Romeo, with the beneficiary name section left blank. Together with the check, there was a note. It said “The rest will come after you make me rich. Remember what we agreed on.”

The name Romeo was familiar, but Roberto didn’t realize exactly why until, a couple of minutes later, while he kept searching the room for some other clue, he remembered the first conversation he and Hiraga had had with Mr Coluccio: Mr Romeo was the businessman interested in building a hotel there.

So the man was bribing Father Michele in order to be able to build that hotel nearby? Why? Father Michele had no power whatsoever. How could he make the man “rich”? Didn’t Brother Antonio convince him to build it somewhere else?

Had that happened two hours before, Roberto would have been instantly convinced that the check was proof enough of Father Michele’s involvement. But, was it? Now that Brother Michele’s body lay lifeless on the church's floor, he wasn’t really sure he could have been involved in the whole business: because if he was, then why would he be dead before accomplishing anything?

******

When he heard the sound of knocking on the door, Hiraga didn't even think twice before muttering a "come in!", without even turning or asking who it was. So when he heard Brother Antonio's voice, he shuddered.

"Uhm, am I disturbing you, Father?"

The sound of his voice filled Hiraga with a strange sense of foreboding, the feeling he wasn't bringing good news. He closed the laptop, putting off finishing the email to Lauren until the friar left. He turned towards Brother Antonio with a smile.

"Not at all, Brother. Is something the matter?"

Brother Antonio looked around the room quickly, then grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear. "I think I found a clue about who could be behind the death of Father Michele."

Hiraga's eyes went wide in surprise, but he also felt confused. What was the point of telling that to him?

"Shouldn't you go to the police with that?"

Brother Antonio shook his head with force. His face was pale and his eyes bewildered, and if he didn't know better, Hiraga would have thought he had seen a ghost. "Are you okay, Brother?"

"Yes." The friar took a deep and long breath. "I want to show this to you first, Father. I'm scared that if I call the police I might end up just like Father Michele."

Hiraga nodded, finding it impossible to say no to that pleading voice, even if he wanted to. It was like a compulsion. "Okay then, let's see this."

They both left the room with a quick pace, and Hiraga barely had the time to close the door behind him before hastening his pace to catch up with Brother Antonio, who seemed to be in a hurry. The friar guided him outside the room and down the stairs and followed an unlighted corridor in an unused area of the monastery. Hiraga followed him without asking questions but focused on memorising the path.

The corridors they followed were dark and dusty, neglected, but not enough to make them completely unusable. They were just in need of a good cleaning.

Finally, they entered a big room, with mostly empty bookshelves lining the walls and covering them up to the ceiling, and some others standing in the middle of the room. Hiraga concluded that this was probably the old library before they moved it to a larger room. What he wasn't sure about, was the reason why some books were still in there. Probably Roberto would have known what they were about just by looking at their backs, but Hiraga didn't have that kind of knowledge.

Brother Antonio stopped near an apparently empty bookshelf, and seemed to be looking for something on it, or maybe behind it. His hands moved feverishly, shaking and hesitating, and Hiraga just wished he would calm down and explain.

"So, where is this thing you wanted to show me?" he asked, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort the friar. Right then, Brother Antonio stepped back, and some sort of mechanism activated, moving the shelf away from the wall and revealing a secret passage. Brother Antonio pointed at it with a nod.

"I don't know where it leads and it could have nothing to do with the murder, but..." he explained, as Hiraga stepped closer to the opening that continued downwards with a flight of stairs. He couldn't see much, and he had left his flashlight in the room, so he groped around in his pockets for his phone, when a sudden, dull pain on the back of his head made his vision go black.

******

Roberto was really trying not to get worried. He really was.

"Brother Martino, have you seen Father Hiraga?"

"No, I haven't. Is everything okay?"

"He's not in our room, so I'm looking for him."

When he got back to their room and Hiraga wasn't there, he didn't really think much of it straight away. It was after an hour passed that he started getting nervous, and tried to call him on the phone, yielding no results, because his phone was apparently turned off. By dinner time it took all the force of will Roberto had to ignore the panic welling up in his belly. Rationally, he had no reason to get all worked up like that: it was strange that Hiraga wasn't back yet, but there could have been a lot of different reasons for it. And yet, he had this feeling that something was terribly wrong, and he couldn't shake it. He felt like there was an alarm ringing in his mind, and he had to take some deep breaths to try and calm down, to think straight.

Even in the dining hall, no one had seen him and no one seemed to know anything, until Brother Antonio walked up to him. "I saw Father Hiraga. He said he was going into town to do some errands. He's just late, don't worry too much."

Roberto looked at him directly in the eyes, and he knew clearly what he felt about him: he didn't trust that guy. Not one bit. When they first got there, it was a gut feeling, but now it was way more than that.

"He would have told me." His lips moved before he knew, and he whispered, his tone bitter and curt.

As expected, Brother Antonio didn’t even react and kept a perfectly straight face.

"Maybe he didn't think it would take this long. Come on, don't be a worrywart, you're not his mother! He'll be back." Brother Antonio's reassuring smile was probably convincing for everyone else, but Roberto knew something was off about him. He also knew he was most likely lying: he had asked Mr Coluccio, and the man had assured him he hadn’t seen Hiraga leaving that place, let alone driven him into town. Of course, Roberto’s suspicion toward Brother Antonio was a baseless conjecture and he knew it, but he also knew that the friar was hiding something, and with the fact that he had been involved in the negotiations with Mr. Romeo, it was very unlikely that he didn’t know anything about the promise to make him rich. In a situation like that, he couldn’t afford to ignore his gut feeling, but he also didn’t feel confident enough to lay his cards on the table right away, especially when the person responsible for this probably had Hiraga as a hostage.

He scoffed and left the dining hall, since he wasn’t hungry or in the mood to eat together with those people, and went back to the room.

Even if some small part of Roberto really hoped he would, Hiraga didn't come back after dinner either. The bad feeling he had was stronger by the minute, and he just spent the time putting together pieces of the puzzle, in that frenetic state of panic and urgency that made his reasoning faster than ever, or maybe just made him disregard small uncertainties to get answers as fast as possible.

Father Michele didn’t believe in the miracle, or at least he said so to them. It was possible that he had a suspect, that he thought someone inside the monastery was behind it. If that person had realized, they could have decided to stop him from finding out anything else. After killing him, that someone had planted the check inside of his room, to make him a suspect. Or was that all a part that Father Michele had played for their sake, to be clear of suspicions, while he was actually behind the whole thing? In that case, then why did he die? Who would kill him? Could it have been a natural cause and not poison, as Hiraga suspected? Did he have an accomplice who killed him to get all the money? Was Brother Antonio the culprit, or just the accomplice?

Roberto wasn't convinced of any of the two theories. It was like something that could make everything fit in its place was missing. What did convince him, was the fact that he did not trust Brother Antonio, for some reason. He was sure that the man was hiding something. And now that the only other suspect Roberto had was dead in mysterious circumstances, everything pointed to him. Whether he was an accomplice, or the only party involved, there was no doubt in Roberto’s mind that Brother Antonio was involved.

Roberto looked into Hiraga's computer to see if he could find some clues as to what he was doing before he went missing. He hadn’t done that before because he didn’t want to read Hiraga’s personal correspondence without his permission, but also because after that morning’s awkwardness, he was scared of what he would find; but the fear that something might have happened to his friend just erased every other concern as he turned the computer on and typed in the password — they always made sure to tell each other their passwords, in case something like that would happen. Much to his relief, there was nothing about him on the computer, but much to his disdain, there was nothing useful to track Hiraga down either. The only useful thing there was the half-written email to Lauren that explained all of Hiraga’s progress with tests and investigations which barely added anything to what Roberto knew already. The interesting part was that it was left open, a sign that Hiraga must have left in a hurry, or just planned to come back right away.

As midnight approached, Roberto took a decision: he couldn't just stand there and wait. He was going to face Brother Antonio.

Chapter Text

Roberto was walking in the corridor, approaching Brother Antonio’s room, when he heard a noise: a door opening, then closing; steps, coming from farther ahead of him, moving away from where he was. They weren’t loud, but the position was still easy to identify since the place was completely silent at night. He quickly hid in a dark corner and listened carefully, only sticking out his head to pry when he was sure the person was enough far away. Even from the distance, he instantly recognized the man walking away as Brother Antonio.

Determined to make the most out of that situation, and mostly just to find anything at all that would point him to Hiraga’s location, Roberto waited for the friar to disappear from sight, then sneaked inside his room.

The light was very dim, even more than in the corridor, and it took his eyes some awfully long moments to get used to the darkness in the room enough to distinguish silhouettes in it. As soon as he did, he instantly knew that the whole place was a mess. It was like someone trashed it, looking for something, or maybe taking out anger and frustration.

He reached for the phone in his pocket and turned the flashlight on. Amongst the chaos covering the floor, one thing stood out: a sheet of paper, crumpled and then straightened out again, apparently more than once. It seemed old, not only because it was run-down and crumpled, but also because the paper was yellowish and the ink a bit faded.

Pointing the flashlight at the page, he started reading it. It was a heartfelt letter addressed at Brother Antonio, and the person who wrote it was Salvatore Filice, Teresa Laganà’s long departed husband.

“My dearest Antonio,

My heart is heavy as I write this letter. But we were always aware that we have was never meant to last. Soon, as you know, I will promise my heart to Teresa, in the eyes of God. I hope that I will be able to give her even half of the happiness that you were able to bless me with in these years of our youth.

I never had much of a way with words — that’s your talent — and I know that, despite the fact that this is the thirteenth time that I rewrite this letter, it might sound cruel and cold to you, and I will understand if you decide to never talk to me again, but know that I will never stop loving you and caring about you. I wish for God’s blessing to always be with you.

We knew this time would come, and I wish we could enjoy even one more summer together, but life has other plans for us. Nevertheless, you are, and you will always be, the other half of my soul.

Yours,

Salvatore.”

Roberto read it once, then twice, because he was too bewildered to at first to fully understand it. So Brother Antonio and Mrs Laganà’s husband had been… lovers?

He wasn’t sure that the information really did help him in any way, and maybe he was just guilty of curiosity, but that letter left him with so many questions. He started looking for some other clue, and as he leafed through one of the notebooks that were thrown on the floor, he heard the door of the room closing.

Maybe he had been distracted and didn’t hear the steps of someone approaching, maybe the person who had just entered the room had really been that silent while he approached, but the fact was that he was definitely in trouble.

He turned around — and he barely had the time to recognize Brother Antonio’s face before something hard hit him on the forehead, and he blacked out.

******

When they woke up — when someone woke them up — Roberto and Hiraga found themselves in an unfamiliar underground room. As soon as he came to, Hiraga started looking around, trying to get an idea of where he was. Their wrists and ankles were tied up tight enough that it was hard for them to move, and they were positioned shoulder against shoulder. From its appearance, the place they were in didn’t look as if it had been built, but rather as if it was actually dug into the rock. It had no windows, and air only filtered through a couple of ventilation tunnels that were visible on the ceiling. The room was pretty much empty: they were sitting on the floor, against one of the walls, and the only piece of furniture was a chair — on which Brother Antonio was sitting, staring at them; behind him, two guys that Hiraga had never seen before in his life, each with a gun in his hand. It took a moment for Hiraga to take it all in. Had Brother Antonio kidnapped them? And where did those guys even come out of? Was the friar working together with organized crime?

Roberto woke up with a piercing pain on his forehead. He groaned, shifting in place and trying to stand before he realized he was tied up.

“Are you okay?” Hiraga whispered, turning his face towards him. As Roberto did the same, Hiraga caught a glimpse of his face and got instantly alarmed. “That wound on your forehead looks like it needs attention. How are you feeling?” he added, still whispering, but with almost a panicked tone.

“Dizzy,” replied Roberto, as shortly as possible because he felt like he would throw up if he talked too much; he also felt like there was something pointy stuck inside his brain, but the symptoms were slowly becoming more bearable.

“Oh, he’ll live,” Brother Antonio spoke, intruding in the conversation.

Hiraga turned towards the friar. There were a lot of questions in his mind and yet he couldn’t choose one. His mind felt numb like it was just still half asleep. “Wha— Why?”

“I expected a smarter question from you, Father Hiraga. Don’t tell me — you didn’t suspect me?” His tone was teasing, almost plain mocking by the end. The way he stood there bragging about being a coward — it made Roberto so angry that he almost forget about the headache and the nausea altogether.

“Wouldn’t Salvatore be ashamed of you for doing this?” he challenged, fighting against the pain to stay lucid. It was time to lay his cards on the table and to go all-in.

“Oh, so you read that letter?” Brother Antonio laughed, but there was no joy nor humour in his voice. “You’re such a stubborn man, you know, Father Roberto?” He stood up and walked towards them, stopping a step away from Roberto. “I know that, even under the effect of drugs, not everyone can be as easy to manipulate as Teresa was — I guess the whole thing about me fucking her husband and then killing him must have taken a toll on her — but you were a particularly tough cookie.” As he said that last part, he took Roberto’s chin between his fingers and turned his face towards his own. “Maybe I could have done it, if it weren’t for that accident with Father Michele.”

‘Accident?!’ Even if Roberto did suspect him of a number of bad things, hearing Brother Antonio refer to a fellow friar’s death as an ‘accident’ still managed to surprise him.

“Drugs?” That was Hiraga’s voice, coming from right behind him. In response to that question, Antonio’s expression turned into a malicious smile.

“Hypnotizing unwilling people is not that easy, you know. The drugs make it easier. If only I had a couple more days with you, Father Hiraga...” He smiled maliciously, then turned his back to then, walking away to sit back in his chair. “But enough of it— this is not why I brought you here.”

“Why did you bring us here, then?” Roberto pressed for an answer as soon as he saw the chance.

Brother Antonio shrugged. “To give you a choice. It’s simple really: just say that Teresa’s miracle was true, and be done with it.”

“Why would we do such a thing?” Roberto retorted.

Hiraga took a deep breath and then spoke, slowly and clearly. “Any good doctor looking at those two MRI scans would be able to say they’re from two different people. Same sex, same age, yes, but different people. Pietro was simply never sick, to begin with. We can’t say such an obvious lie, it would be found out right away.”

“What?” inquired Roberto, feeling left out.

“I noticed earlier today. He caught me right before I had the chance to write to Lauren about it. Or to tell you,” explained Hiraga.

Brother Antonio looked at the priests coldly and scoffed. “Okay, then we’ll find two MRI scans that are believable and switch them.” He took a pause, almost as if he wanted the proposal to sink in. “Of course I’m not just asking you to lie for my sake. Just ask for something in return, and I’ll see what we can do,” he added.

“We won’t lie. No matter the offer.” Hiraga’s response was firm, unyielding.

“Oh, why? Because it’s immoral ?” Brother Antonio laughed again, this time sounding actually amused about something. “You wanna know what else is immoral, Father Hiraga? The things that Father Roberto thinks about you.” Roberto froze up, averting the friar’s gaze. How did he know? Was it that obvious? Was Brother Antonio just bullshitting his way through the conversation looking for an opening — that he had just served him on a silver plate?

“Oh, I’ve seen how you look at him,” insisted Brother Antonio, talking to Roberto, this time. “I’m not dumb, you know?” Roberto couldn’t stand to listen, and he instinctively closed his eyes, grinding his teeth. “Must be frustrating, spending so much time together, when you can’t help but—”

“You’re just projecting your sinful way of thinking on everyone else,” Roberto interrupted him, desperate to make him stop. “Not everyone is like you.” He opened his eyes to see how he reacted to being talked back, but Brother Antonio didn’t even flinch; on the contrary, he smiled, baring his teeth.

“Oh but you are, Father Roberto. It takes one to know one.” He took a small pause, his gaze piercing into Roberto, and the priest felt like he was actually right. After all, he had that constant drive towards sin, that constant impulse to surrender to temptation, that evil part of himself barely hidden behind his faith, just waiting to come out. “You suspected me right away, didn’t you? You could tell because you’re exactly like me.” Maybe that was why he always felt like it was so difficult to make the right choice. Maybe there really was no hope for him. Maybe he was just meant to end up like that, an angry, frustrated, small person, who hurts others to feel better about himself.

“Shut up.” Hiraga interrupted the conversation, and Roberto’s self-deprecating line of thought, with an angry grunt, something that was really unusual for him.

“What?” Brother Antonio turned his attention back to the younger priest.

“Shut up,” Hiraga reiterated. “Father Roberto is a better person than you ever were.”

Roberto’s eyes widened: no matter how many times Hiraga said something nice about him, it always seemed to come as a surprise — but that time, it was almost like he had hit him on the head and turned his mind into the right direction.

“You can’t know it—” Brother Antonio tried to object, but Hiraga didn’t even let him finish.

“I do. I trust him,” he said, firm. “Nothing you can say will make me change my mind about him.” Roberto could imagine the determined look on his face just by listening to his voice, and he felt comforted. If Hiraga trusted him that much — more than he trusted himself — maybe he should give more credit to himself.

“You said you were going to give us a choice, but I heard no choices so far.” Hiraga pressed him, shifting uncomfortably next to Roberto.

Brother Antonio shrugged. “Lie about the miracle, or I’ll have to kill you.”

Roberto felt Hiraga’s movements stop for a second, probably in surprise. Roberto would have been glad to say that he expected Antonio’s request to escalate in such an extreme way, but he didn’t either. Nevertheless, he tried to keep his cool.

“Three murders for a miserable check? You need to sort out your priorities, Brother Antonio,” he teased.

“A check? Oh, no, no, they’re not paying me with a check.” Brother Antonio’s lips thinned in a malicious smile. “You see, I’m leaving this place. I’ll move somewhere else. Mexico, or maybe Costa Rica. I’ll start over. I’ll finally leave this godawful place for good.”

So he wanted to leave. It made sense, leaving the place where everything was connected to his memories, everything reminded him of his regrets. But how much can one run from his own dissatisfaction? Roberto knew something about that — and one never run far enough.

“You can’t run from your conscience,” Roberto retorted.

“My conscience is okay, thank you for worrying,” Antonio replied straight away, and he didn’t seem in the mood for bragging or laughing anymore. Maybe he did finally strike a nerve? From Hiraga’s movements, it seemed like he was trying to free himself, so Roberto tried to keep the friar busy a little bit more.

“Why become a friar in the first place?” he asked, holding the man’s gaze.

“That’s not any of your business. Now, make your choice, we don’t have much time.” Brother Antonio cut it short, apparently pissed off, or maybe actually short on time.

Hiraga stopped his shifting with a sigh, that sounded pretty clearly like resignation.

“We’re not lying for you,” said the younger priest, coldly, laying his head back against Roberto’s shoulders.

“You’ll die,” Antonio threatened again, but that didn’t have any effect on Hiraga.

“If that’s God’s will, then I accept it.”

Brother Antonio scoffed, turning his attention back to Roberto. “What about you, Father Roberto? Are you okay with letting your dear friend die?” He went back to that mocking tone, but Roberto was too tired of that whole conversation and of his pounding headache to rise to the bait.

“Don’t stain your soul with any more sins, Brother Antonio.” Hiraga murmured. “You can still be forgiven, as long as you regret what you did. God will forgiv—”

“I don’t give a damn about God’s forgiveness!” Brother Antonio burst out, raising his voice all of sudden. “Like He ever gave a damn about me! You’re ridiculous — sacrificing your life for the sake of a pathetic idea of morality based on some cruel God’s teachings. You won’t lie for your own sake but you would die in His name? Hope you’ll have fun in Heaven.”

He took a moment to catch his breath after screaming at them, then turned towards the two men who had been standing there in silence the whole time.

“Kill them.”

******

The two men put cloth bags on their heads, cut the ropes that kept them tied shoulder to shoulder, than those which kept their ankles together and dragged them out. Roberto could feel the warmth of Hiraga’s body right next to him, walking by his side, just as clearly as he felt the barrel of the gun pushing between his shoulders, and he felt so many different emotions. He was angry, angry at those people, angry at himself, angry at Brother Antonio, for putting them in that situation; he was sad, that it really had to end up like that, that it was probably his last time seeing Hiraga and hadn’t even told him everything he wanted him to know; he was desperate, resigned that there was nothing he could do, and he blamed himself for it; but to his surprise, he wasn’t scared.

As he kept walking wherever those people were bringing him, Roberto knew that, after all, there was nothing to be scared about. He wasn’t about to go down without a fight, of course, even if it was pointless — but, knowing that Hiraga was by his side and that he trusted him and believed in him, reminding himself of that, made him feel brave. He needed to be if he didn’t want to betray his friend’s trust.

At some point — neither Roberto nor Hiraga would have been able to say after how much time with precision — they stopped. The men removed the bags from their faces. They were in the woods, presumably the ones near the monastery. The sun was about to rise, the dark colour of the sky was brightening up and most stars had already disappeared.

Roberto and Hiraga exchanged a look, then they both nodded.

Roberto was starting to get nervous. Even if Hiraga managed to cut the ropes, what then? The men still had guns, while they had a couple of rosaries. Would have been useful with demons, maybe, but, with criminals, they weren’t very effective.

Hiraga hid behind him and started to try and undo the knots tying his wrists.

“What do we do now?” he whispered while he was at it, gaze fixed on the two men who seemed to be enjoying taking their sweet time loading their gun, making them wait.

“Run?” suggested Roberto, uncertain. Bad idea.

“Yeah, good idea. Now?”Terrible, terrible idea.

It was pointless: those were killers with guns, not kids with water pistols. Running wouldn’t help unless they could run faster than a bullet.

But he nodded anyway.

“Now.”

He hadn’t even taken one step when the sound of a gun firing filled the silence of the early morning. Roberto instinctively closed his eyes, wondering how painful that kind of death would be. But when the pain didn’t come, he quickly opened his eyes, turning around, expecting to find Hiraga lying on the grass, and as much as he didn’t want to see that, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Stay right where you are.” A familiar voice came from behind him exactly when he saw Hiraga — lying on the grass, yes, but without any injuries, and with a surprised but relieved expression painted on his face.

“Police, drop your weapons!”

One of the two men was also laying on the grass, his hands pressing on a gun wound on his leg, while the other looked around panicked for a moment before surrendering to the fact that there were agents all around him, each of them pointing a gun in his direction.

Mr Coluccio — the familiar voice from a moment before — offered Hiraga a hand.

“You’re quite the reckless pair, eh, Father?” he commented, helping him up.

******

“How did you find us?”

A while later, Hiraga and Roberto were sitting in the back of an ambulance — an unnecessary thoughtfulness, in Roberto’s opinion, since they were actually fine, except for some bruises here and there and a very mild concussion for him — and Hiraga had just asked that question to Mr Coluccio, speaking both their minds: they were both curious to know how their saviour had pulled off his heroic entrance.

Mr Coluccio seemed embarrassed but also proud of himself. “With the murder and everything, I couldn’t really sleep,” he explained. “Then I saw some movements inside the monastery and I came to check. I caught Brother Antonio dragging Father Roberto inside a strange passage — I thought he had killed you, Father. So I called the police and stayed alert,” he said, satisfied, then continued after a short pause. “I saw them come out from the back of the Church after a while, with two hooded people walking ahead — you two — so of course I followed them, with the police that had arrived in the meantime. Actually, they were about to leave since they didn’t believe me!”

Hiraga stopped his chatting before it was too late, but his smile was sincere. “We don’t know how to thank you, Mr Coluccio.”

“No need to thank me, Father. It’s just duty, you know.” He sounded like he was boasting, but no one felt like blaming him for that, especially not the two priests.

The man walked away with a proud walk and a nice story to tell to his nephews, and probably a significantly downsized trust towards friars.

As they watched the police handcuff and take Brother Antonio away, Roberto turned towards his friend, a question about that case still on his mind.

“Hiraga... Did Brother Antonio actually kill Father Michele?”

Hiraga stared at the car Brother Antonio had just got into and kept looking at it as a policeman started driving away. “He didn’t mean to,” he explained, after a short while. “Lauren will have to confirm this, but I think he meant for that to be a second miracle. A bit ambitious, if you ask me. He used a poison — tetrodotoxin, I suspect — that, in small doses, can feign an apparent death. But he messed up the dosage.”

“He couldn’t convince him by making him a witness, so he made him the object of the miracle?” He got into something that was bigger than him and failed to meet the expectations. He relied on his charisma a lot, but he didn’t realize his own weak points, and that was probably why he made so many mistakes.

“I didn’t think of it in this terms…” Hiraga seemed perplexed. “But now that you say it, I think it’s possible.”

They sat in silence for another short while, shock blankets still wrapped around their shoulders, looking at the chaos of the arrest slowly settling down, as things were already going back to normal.

“Roberto, why do you think he decided to become a friar? He never answered the question.” It was Hiraga’s turn to ask a question.

Roberto took a deep breath. Despite himself, he felt like he understood the guy pretty well, even if he didn’t share his motives. “Guilt,” he explained, briefly. “You have no idea how many people do that.”

Hiraga turned to look at him, a doubtful expression on his face. “For killing his friend?”

“For being in love with him, too.”

Chapter Text

It was late at night, and Roberto and Hiraga were relaxing on the couch of Roberto’s apartment. The last case had been really exhausting, and even after coming back to Rome it took a whole day to consider it actually closed, since they had to report back to Archbishop Saul, and then go to the a clinic for a series of health checks — having unknown drugs in one’s system wasn’t exactly something healthy — and they were finally enjoying some well-deserved time off.

Roberto cooked, as always. This time it was very good spaghetti with clams and they drank white wine with it. Hiraga didn’t really understand much about cooking or about wine: his judgement was limited to how good things tasted. Nevertheless, Roberto was always happy to cook for him and seemed to take his opinions really seriously. This was why he felt very proud that evening, for not only having cooked a good pasta but also for having chosen a wine that Hiraga enjoyed a lot. The younger priest didn’t usually drink more than a glass, but that night they finished the bottle together. Roberto did feel a bit tipsy, but nothing that good night’s sleep couldn’t wash away without consequences; but he realized, a bit too late, that he had overestimated Hiraga’s capability of holding his liquor.

In fact, Hiraga was sprawled on the couch, his cheeks and nose red from the alcohol, laughter coming to him easier than usual. Roberto was sitting by his side, enjoying their closeness while he thought about what they could do in that week of hard-earned free time.

“Roberto?”

“Mh?”

“I might have said unusual things under the effect of a strange drug while we were in Sanpezzati, and I hope that didn’t upset you.”

Roberto smiled and shook his head, and despite how much nervousness he had felt when he thought about approaching that topic, in that moment he was completely calm. “You didn’t.”

Hiraga returned the smile, looked at him straight in the eyes, and Roberto thought to himself that alcohol certainly made his friend bolder than usual. “I’m glad because what I said was not a lie.” Hiraga blushed, his face going even more red than it already was thanks to the wine, but his gaze didn’t budge.

Roberto was sure that his own face was pretty much of the same shade of his friend’s but, as he was the soberer between them, he tried to pull himself together.

“Okay, Hiraga, you’re drunk and it’s time to go to bed,” he announced, prompting him to stand up with a gesture of the hand.

“I’m not drunk, Roberto.” Hiraga’s tone was completely serious, which made Roberto turn back towards him, confused.

“You’re certainly not sober,” he observed, quietly, and he couldn’t repress a giggle when he saw Hiraga’s offended pout.

Hiraga moved closer to him on the couch until he was almost sitting on his lap, then he leaned his head against Roberto’s shoulder. He caressed his chest over the shirt, while Roberto was clearly uncertain about how to act.

“Okay, I realize I’m a bit drunk.” Hiraga laughed a bit, stopped caressing him and raised his gaze to meet Roberto’s blue eyes again. “But I really do love you.”

Roberto stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say while the only thoughts screamed repeatedly in his mind were ‘pull yourself together!’ and ‘be the sober friend’, and a passing estimate of how many prayers he would have to say, after another very embarrassing confession, to feel worthy again, especially now that he couldn’t blame some mysterious drug administered to him without his consent.

Hiraga insisted, impatient. “What I mean, Roberto, is that you deserve someone who will appreciate you and remind you how much you’re worth, since you have a tendency to forget it. And I’m going to be that person.”

“Hiraga—” ‘you’re drunk,’  he meant to say before his friend put a finger on his lips to shut him up.

“I’m serious.”

Roberto sighed deeply, and he knew that Hiraga was perfectly aware of the elephant in the room. It was big, loud, and particularly clumsy, and it was impossible to ignore. Roberto didn’t want to ask the question in fear of the answer. He kept Hiraga in such high regard, that he was scared to lose that vision of him; and mostly, he was scared that even if he lost that opinion of Hiraga as an incredibly pure and innocent person, as someone to look up to when it came to their calling and job as priests, that even then, his feeling wouldn’t change. He was scared that he would actually realize where his admiration for him ended, and where his love for him started, and how much they mingled and influenced each other.

He was desperately trying to find the right words to ask the unsaid question, as he told to himself he absolutely wasn’t drunk enough to have that conversation.

“I thought a lot about it,” whispered Hiraga, sparing him the trouble of asking. He shifted a bit in his seat, straightening his back. “And I don’t want to feel guilty about having feelings. That’s not what our faith is about. I can resist temptations, but loving you is not a temptation: it’s a beautiful feeling that God gifted me with. And I’m thankful for it.”

‘I don’t deserve this.’  Roberto felt his eyes well up with tears and he wanted to punch himself for having doubted Hiraga’s pure heart even for a moment. If God had sent a gift to someone at all, that someone was Roberto, and the gift was being blessed by Hiraga’s existence and his friendship — or better still, his love .

And it was right then that words hit him, the right words to express his feelings, and it was funny how he had known those words for so many years, that he had heard them so many times, studied them, recited them, and yet it took him so long to find his way to them.

“And it came to pass that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul,” he recited by heart.

Hiraga smiled, and Roberto was sure that the joy in the curve of his lips was the only thing in the world actually worth fighting for.

“And Saul took him that day, and would let him go no more home to his father's house,” continued Hiraga, leaning his head against his shoulder once again. Roberto put one arm around his shoulder and pulled him closer, leaving a kiss on his forehead.

“Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul.”

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