Book of Thomas (eBook)

Chapter 1

Rome, Italy

Although night had fallen, life filled the shadows and city lights of Rome. The distant horns of cars eked their way into the room. Light streamed through a window, casting the shadow of six panes on the floor of a simple and dark room within the compound of a monastery. The window in its an old wooden frame hung crookedly from the shifts and settlement of many centuries. Cracked paint on the wood flaked in the corners. The walls of the room were finished with thick plaster made from the mud trod upon by saints.

Thomas Adwell, spin doctor for the Roman Catholic Church, lay on a single bed and stared at the ceiling. A woolen blanket covered the lower half of his bare torso. A silver chain dangled from his neck, the weight of two pendants hiding the charms within the sheets behind his shoulders. He scratched his belly beneath the itchy covering. Irritated and unable to sleep, he threw the blanket off to reveal his fit, but not overly muscular, build. Modest and plain white cotton briefs showed he was not a man concerned with fashionable labels.

Thomas turned on his side to avoid the light coming in from the window. One more toss and he decided he’d had enough. He jumped up from the bed, unlatched the window, and pushed it open. He leaned into the night, taking in the lights glowing on the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica not far in the distance. A light breeze moved the dark hair falling over his forehead. Moonlight bounced off the few strands of silver, revealing he’d turned the corner of thirty. Thomas inhaled deeply of the city’s warm air, enjoying the breeze as it once more brushed against his face. A stranger to this place, he relished the fresh air in contrast to the stale and old smell of his cell.

Thomas leaned into a dark doorway near the window. He reached in and slid his fingers along cold tiles until he found the light switch. With a click, energy efficient fluorescent bulbs revealed a small, sterile, and white-tiled bathroom. Last remodeled in what must have been the 1930s, the white porcelain sink floated on the wall with pipes exposed underneath. The essentials of a radiator, clawfoot tub, and an industrial commode reinforced the minimalist lifestyle of the monks who built it and lived there.

Thomas grabbed a threadbare hand towel and threw it over his shoulder. Turning on the faucet, he splashed water on his face and rubbed the warm water into his two-day old beard. Steam rose from the sink as he took one more splash and rubbed his tired eyes.

Leaning toward the mirror as it slowly fogged over, he looked at the redness in his eyes. They resembled the aftermath of a hard night’s drinking. Thomas would rather have had the bender instead of the long flight from New York across Europe, landing in Rome earlier that evening. His reflection faded away beneath the thick fog of steam. With a sour twist to his lips, Thomas thought his fading image manifested the empty feeling he had lately of losing himself and his direction. He looked down into the basin as the hot water swirled down the drain. He grabbed the stopper and shoved it in the hole. With a heavy sigh that mingled weariness of both body and spirit, Thomas leaned on the sink for support as he watched the hot water fill the sink.

Thomas pulled himself together, straightened, and reached toward a shelf for a can of shaving cream. He looked back at the mirror and gaped. Words appeared on the fogged glass: Seek and ye shall find. Thomas stared at them, with horror. Was it a message written by the previous tenant confirming his faith in God? Or did a guardian angel give Thomas encouragement? He shied away from the latter, even though he believed. In either case, he truly felt the message was for him.

He shut off the water. A slow drip from the old faucet created an eerie echo. Message taken. Thomas dipped his hand into the water and rubbed it over the mirror, removing the fog and the words. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his face into the water. If he allowed his beard to soak for a moment, then it would make the task of shaving less painful.

Under water, Thomas opened his eyes and watched the bathroom light stream through the water. The water over his ears muffled all sound but the slow drip from the leaky faucet. Bubbles passed by his eyes. The charms on Thomas’ necklace fell from behind his neck and dropped into the water. Thomas watched as a Star of David and a cross sank to the bottom. Like an eclipse, the light penetrating the water in the sink dimmed. Who or what was between the light and the sink? His curiosity turned to panic at the thought that someone stood behind him in the bathroom. Thomas pulled out of the water, shaking his head violently and sending a spray of water droplets around the small bathroom. He released stale air and took a gasping lungful of fresh. Thomas looked at the mirror, fogged up once again with the words “Seek and ye shall find” etched into the fog.

Thomas ran his fingers through his wet hair and pushed the short, wavy locks back. Rivulets of water streamed down his back over tense muscles and stopped at his briefs which soaked up the moisture. With the wet cotton clinging uncomfortably to his butt, Thomas looked around the simple bathroom and into the dark, adjoining bedroom. A dark shadow glided across the floor. His eyes widened. Was it good or was it evil? His thoughts raced. Almost in time with the drips, Thomas took a step. His bare feet made no sound on the cool bathroom tile. His toes curled from the fear of what might have been in the other room.

He paused at the entry to the bedroom. Again, a shadow crossed the room. He stepped into the bedroom and looked toward the window. Relief made Thomas chuckle when he saw a perfectly white dove pacing back and forth on the window sill.

With a rustle of wings, the dove flew into the room over his head. Thomas instinctively ducked. The dove alighted on a large wooden crucifix hanging on the wall – a simple relic carved from the trunk of an olive tree. It slowly rotated from the dove’s weight and gave way. Without so much as a coo, the dove took flight and flew out the window. Thomas followed the bird to the window, then closed and latched it. He looked back to the crucifix, now hanging upside down. Thomas, puzzled, walked to the crucifix and turned it right side up. He took the towel from his shoulder and wiped his wet hair without another thought of the dove or the crucifix.

Thomas returned to the bathroom, grabbed the shaving cream, and squirted the sharply scented foam into his palm. He spied a shadow out of the corner of his eye as he lathered the shaving cream over his face. He jerked around and faced the bedroom, listening intently for any sound in the other room. His breath and the drips of the water in the sink filled his ears. Suddenly, he heard a click. He gently set the can down and walked to the bedroom, that time charging through fear.

Inside the room, Thomas looked around, peering at the closed window and then into every corner. No wandering dove. He yanked back a heavy tapestry hanging from rings; it served as a door for a small closet. He looked inside, finding only naked hangers moving and clanging from the sudden reveal. Nothing there. But something had caught his eye. An intellectual man, Thomas wasn’t prone to seeing things that weren’t really there. He looked at the door to his room. The doorknob turned and the door opened.

In haste, Thomas looked for some sort of a weapon. It was a monastery, for God’s sake. He opted for a wooden hanger in the closet and held it above his head. A dark figure stepped into the doorway and turned on the light. A monk, Brother Michael, stood stunned in the doorway, wearing a traditional tunic and a beaded rosary around his waist. His widened eyes inspected Thomas who faced him, naked except for his briefs, a hand full of shaving cream in one hand, a hanger in the other. Water in Thomas’ hair dripped, streaking through the lather on his face.

Brother Michael stammered, “I—I’m sorry Thomas. I didn’t mean to disturb...” His voice faded off, embarrassed by the state of things.

“It’s okay. Is there something I can do for you? Brother Michael, isn’t it?” Thomas tried to keep the awkwardness to a minimum. He returned the hanger to the closet and used the hand towel to wipe the shaving cream from his hand.

Brother Michael gladly accepted the other man’s civil offer to ignore their shared discomfiture. “I heard your door close and someone walking down the hallway. I wondered if you had left. Now I see you have not. That means...” Brother Michael hesitates, ready to drop the hammer on Thomas. “We are not allowed guests, not at night, and especially for acts of...”

Fear fading into annoyance at both the absurdity of himself and the monk’s unjustified innuendo, Thomas cut him off before Brother Michael jumped to the wrong conclusion. “As you mentioned when I checked in earlier. I’m not sure what you heard, but it was not my room. Maybe one of the brothers stepped out?”

“No one else is on this floor but you and me, I’m afraid,” Brother Michael clarified.

“Afraid that makes two of us.” Thomas tried to lighten the mood and ease tension by toying with Michael, inviting him to share in the joke, poor as it was. “Maybe one of brothers who used to stay here?” Thomas’ mouth stretched into an unconvincing smile.

“Ghosts? Please, no more guests or ghosts entertained after dark.”

“Of course not. I would never—nor did I—have someone in my room. Especially dressed like this.” Thomas, realized the discomfort he has created for them both,...