Entering through a side door, I blessed myself with holy water as I walked into the sanctuary with its statues of saints guarding the cross, and crucifixion scenes in brilliant stained glass. I chose the last row of pews, and I wished for candles to light, but that ritual had stopped here with Vatican 11. Kneeling on the bench, I prayed for Ted Eddings and his mother. I prayed for Marino and Wesley. In my private, dark space, I prayed for my niece. Then I sat in silence with my eyes shut, and I felt my tension begin to ease.
At almost six P.m., I was about to leave when I paused in the narthex and saw the lighted doorway of the library down a hall. I wasn’t certain why I was guided in that direction, but it did occur to me that an evil book might be countered by one that was holy, and a few moments with the catechism might be what the priest would prescribe.
When I walked in, I found an older woman inside, returning books to shelves.
“Dr. Scarpetta?” she asked, and she seemed both surprised and pleased.
“Good evening.” I was ashamed I did not remember her name.
“I’m Mrs. Edwards.”
I remembered she was in charge of social services at the church, and trained converts in Catholicism, which some days I thought should include me since it was so rare I went to Mass. Small and slightly plump, she had never seen a convent but still inspired the same guilt in me that the good nuns had when I was young.
“I don’t often see you here at this hour,” she said.
“I just stopped by,” I answered. “After work. I’m afraid I missed evening prayer.”
“That was on Sunday.”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’m so glad I happened to see you on my way out.” Her eyes lingered on my face and I knew she sensed my need.
I scanned bookcases.
“Might I help you find something?” she asked.
“A copy of the catechism,” I said.
She crossed the room and pulled one off a shelf, and handed it to me. It was a large volume and I wondered if I had made a good decision, for I was very tired right now and I doubted Lucy was in a condition to read.
“Perhaps there is something I might help you with?”
Her voice was kind.
“Maybe if I could speak to the priest for a few moments, that would be good,” I said.
“Father O’Connor is making hospital visits.” Her eyes continued searching. “Might I help you in some way?”
“Maybe you can.”
“We can sit right here,” she suggested.
We pulled chairs out from a plain wooden table reminiscent of ones I had sat at in parochial school when I was a girl in Miami. I suddenly remembered the wonder of what had awaited me on the pages of those books, for learning was what I loved, and any mental escape from home had been a blessing. Mrs. Edwards and I faced each other like friends, but the words were hard to say because it was rare I talked this frankly.
“I can’t go into much detail because my difficulty relates to a case I am working,” I began.
“I understand.” She nodded.
“But suffice it to say that I have become exposed to a satanic-type bible. Not devil worship, per se, but something evil.”
She did not react but continued to look me in the eye.
“And Lucy was, as well. My twenty-three-year-old niece. She also read this manuscript.”
“And you’re having problems as a result?” Mrs. Edwards asked.
I took a deep breath and felt foolish. “I know this sounds rather weird.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” she said. “We must never underestimate the power of evil, and we should avoid brushing up against it whenever we can.”
“I can’t always avoid that,” I said. “It is evil that usually brings my patients to my door. But rarely do I have to look at documents like the one I’m talking about now. I’ve been having disturbing dreams, and my niece is acting erratically and has spent a lot of time with the Book. Mostly.