On the Third Day Read Free

black phone.
    * * *
                On a nightstand across the world, another phone rang.  The shrill sound drove itself through the darkness and snatched the room’s occupant from the warm, comfortable arms of sleep.
                Cardinal Sean O’Brien, thick, swarthy, and not at all happy at the prospect of being awakened before his appointed hour, rolled in his bed and pulled the pillow more closely over his head.  It did no good.  The phone was loud, insistent, and came with none of the amenities of American phones – like an answering machine.
                Groaning, O’Brien rolled over and slapped ineffectually at the nightstand, nearly overturning the glass of water he kept by his side at night.  As he came fully awake, his fingers regained their dexterity, and he managed to snag the receiver from its cradle with an irritated grunt.
                “Yes?” he said.
                The sound of someone breathing was the only answer for a long moment, then, Bishop Michaels’ voice crackled over the line.
                “Sean?” he said.  “It’s Tony.  I . . . I’m sorry to call.  It’s so late.  I should just let you . . .”
                O’Brien sat up and ran his hand back through what remained of his hair.  He was alert now, and he detected something odd in his old friend’s voice.  Something he knew he should recognize, but that did not come to him immediately.
                “It’s fine, Tony,” he said.  “You never were one for ceremony, in any case.  What is it?”
                “I’m not sure,” Bishop Michaels replied.  There was a slight slur to his voice, and suddenly Sean knew what it was he’d heard.  Tony was drinking.  It had been a long time since he’d last helped his friend with that particular demon, but once the circuits connected in his mind, Sean knew.
                “It’s San Marcos, and Father Thomas.  You remember I told you about the – disturbance last Easter Mass?  Since then things have gotten a little crazy here, Sean.  The media is up in arms . . .”
                Sean thought quickly.  There were a number of ways this could be headed, and he didn’t like any of them, but if he chose wrong, he would be no help to his friend. 
                “So,” he said softly, “I take it you still think there’s nothing to it?”
            “How could there be, Sean?” Bishop Michaels asked.  He sounded as if he were pleading, as if he needed someone to either back up his opinion or set him straight quickly. 
                “This is California,” Michaels continued, “not the Holy Land, or even the Vatican.  Oddballs and lunatics are regular citizens here – and the Church has had its fair share.  I’m sure I’m on the speed dialer of every tabloid reporter and crackpot in the city.”
                Cardinal O’Brien leaned back against his headboard and focused.  He knew that Tony wanted something, something he could provide, but he wasn’t sure if it was help – or just a set of ears to listen, or a wall to bounce this off of.  It was critical that he figure it out, because if the slur remained in the Bishop’s voice, they’d have to send someone in – and Cardinal O’Brien did not want to see his old friend in that position.
                “What can I do,” he asked at last.
                “I’m not sure,” Michaels replied, his voice weary.  “I’m not sure if I can do anything, either, but I intend to try.”
                “How,” Sean asked.
                “I wanted to give you a heads up, Sean,” Michaels said wearily.  “I intend to attend the Easter Mass atSanMarcos this year.  I’m going to film it – cameras directly on Father Thomas.  The media will be excluded, of course.  I’ve called in favors from the