The Hammer of God

29

S amuel dangled his arms out the window, four stories above ground, in the tower of a brown brick medieval building that reminded him of the old castles in the Robin Hood books he enjoyed reading at school. He didn’t know exactly where he was, because Father Sin had covered his head with a hood on the way there.

When they arrived he could tell they were close to the water from the sound of waves crashing when they exited the car, and the odors that came with fish and algae. As far as he could tell, he’d been at the castle for three days.

He leaned out the window as far as he could, but only saw water stretched out to the horizon on his left and right. As far as he knew, they were in the middle of the ocean on some small island, a thought that left him feeling depressed and hopeless. The nearest landing below was solid rock, inviting only if suicide was the order of the day.

Damp and rank, the room at the top of tower was barren except for a small cot, a beaten down couch with its stuffing protruding from holes splattered all over it, a rickety wooden chair, and a small table with a single large candle next to a large pitcher of ice water. A fireplace roared and crackled, the one item Samuel was happy to see. Without it I’d freeze at night.

He flopped down on the cot, which sent a cloud of dust bunnies into the air, and tried to organize his thoughts. He squeezed his eyes tight and cursed under his breath, imagining Luciano dead in the trunk of the Mercedes, his body now who knows where.

Samuel sat up on the side of the bed, arms on his knees, his brief depression mixed with anger. They need me, but for what? Why haven’t they killed me? If they were going to I’d be dead already. He walked back over to the small square window and stared out at the endless body of water. For some reason they need me. I don’t know why, and don’t care. I’m going to push until I find out why they took me. He planned to be more aggressive. If they were going to hurt me, they would’ve after I ran away.

The more he thought about having been caught, the more upset he got, especially when he remembered Dianora and her father, Rinaldo, who made a fool out of him, preventing him from getting to the U.S.

Embassy. For the first time in his life, he understood why some people killed.

Samuel poured himself a glass of cold water and plopped down on the couch, which to his surprise launched less dust than the bed. He sat there, wondering what he should do next. Since he figured they wouldn’t kill him, he decided to be more demanding, and press and push for more information. Wear them down the way only a kid could. Afterwards, he’d plan his next escape, but carefully this time. First, he had to find out where he was and get them to let him outside. The drive they took to the castle wasn’t long, so he knew he was still near Rome.

The idea of battle, of having some kind of plan encouraged Samuel.

The stronger he felt, the hungrier he got.

“I’m hungry, when can I get something to eat?” he bellowed, banging and kicking the weathered wooden door.

Nobody answered, but fifteen minutes later, he heard keys rattle and the door unlock. Sister Bravo walked inside, carrying a tray of hot food and a newspaper. She ignored him and sat it down on the table.

“I’ll thank you not to bang on the door,” she finally said.

“Then don’t take so long with the food next time,” he snapped, eyes tight, brow furrowed.

Sister Bravo quickly crossed the room, hand raised, ready to strike.

Samuel stood firm. She hesitated, then lowered her hand. “You can’t manipulate me,” she said. “Eat your food. I’ll pick up the tray in an hour.”

“Good, because I have a few questions,” said Samuel, forcefully.

Sister Bravo slowly sat down on the cot. “Fire away,” she sneered.

“Why am I here?”

Sister Bravo carefully pondered. “Because you’re very valuable,” she answered..

“How so…I mean, how much have you asked for?”

“This isn’t about money.”

Samuel’s face twisted. “Then what?”

“I can’t say at this time, but when instructed to do so, you’ll know right away.”

Samuel’s mind raced. This has something to do with the CIA and my dad’s work. I know it! “How soon will that be?

“In due time. Anything else?”

“Where are we, and what is this place?”

Again, Sister Bravo mulled over her answer. Samuel could almost see the wheels turning. “You’re in Torre Astura Tower, in the city of Nettuna. It’s a small castle fort, very secluded, very quiet.”

“So, we’re still close to Rome?”

Impatient, Sister Bravo stood. “Enough questions. I’ve already told you more than I should have.”

Samuel jumped to his feet, determined and angry. “I want to talk to my mother and father!”

“That’s not possible.”

“Why not? They don’t know where I am. I just want to tell them I’m okay.”

Sister Bravo bristled. “No! And don’t ask again!” Samuel rushed toward the nun, open hand held high, ready to strike.

Sister Bravo took a step back. Samuel saw a flash of fear streak across her face. He stopped short of her, and slowly lowered his hand, a strange burst of power radiated all over him. Anger mixed with strength.

“When my father gets hold of you, you all will be sorry,” he said.

Sister Bravo regained her composure. “Now that I guarantee won’t happen.” Samuel looked up at her, curious. She handed him the newspaper. “Your father’s dead.”

He unfolded the paper. Bewildered, he stared down at a photo of his mother, dressed in black, following a coffin down the familiar stairs of the Assumption of Our Lady Church. The headline read, Father of Kidnapped Boy Killed in Tragic Crash. Reality crept in. Samuel wobbled and swayed, tears burst from his eyes and dropped on the paper.

“This… is a fake,” he sniffled.

“Don’t be dismayed,” said Sister Bravo. “He’s only your earthly father. You have another who’ll take much better care of you from here on out.”

Samuel didn’t understand her words, didn’t know what she was referring to, and didn’t care. My father’s dead. He hobbled over to the bed and collapsed.

Sister Bravo walked to the door. “Sorry I had to bring you such bad news.”

Samuel looked up. Sister Bravo wore a faint smile. “I thought priests and nuns did God’s work,” he said, sniffling.

“This is God’s work,” she answered, closing the door behind her.

Samuel fell back on the bed and cried. Twenty minutes passed before he sat up, wiped his face and stared down at the picture. Seeing his mother gave him relief, but didn’t stop the ache in his stomach. He ran his fingers down the page across her face, wondering how she was holding up with the two men of the house gone. The thought of her loneliness hurt him all the more.

He went back to the window and stared out at the sea. I have to get hold of myself. I have to think. His mind raced. I have to get away. I have to escape again. He decided he wouldn’t disrupt things after all. Instead, he’d play along and act as though he’d been broken, that the news of his father’s death made him more cooperative. He’d watch, wait, and at the right time, run away, for good this time, live or die.

Samuel looked down at the paper again. Something caught his eye.

He looked closely at the faces of the pallbearers. Most of them were family and friends he recognized, but he was still confused.

“Where’s Uncle Robert and Aunt Nikki?”