Chapter 1.2 - A Church's Secrets

The Clerk of Thomson and French of Rome, whom many a whisper had now been passed around the town of Marseille, made his way to the Church on ___________ street, where he mounted the stairs and opened the door to the tomb like building. Stepping through, he found himself bathed in grey drieryness. A drieryness that was only broken by the pools of glorious, riotous colour that reflected upon the floor from the stained glass windows. The only sign that it was still day out side. The Church grew darker as he made his way towards the pulpit and alter, the strong smell of rose wood and polish filled the nose, tanging at the senses like lemon juice. The fat dripping candles spattered intermittently in their holders about the great hall, lighting up sullen corners of the Church, in which stood a dedication to some saint or dead patron. The Catholics seem to mourn their religion. They don't celebrate it.

Dantes sat in the front pew on the read satin bench cushion. He stared at the effigy before him of a man in pain and suffering, betrayed by his friend and punished by his country. A hollow crown placed upon his head. Monte Cristo looked to his hands, their pale hue was obvious, even in the dim light they almost glowed like moon light. He stared back at the effigy and it too had the same quality.
"I am no saint, nor am I a sinner..."
"I'm certain you are not my Son." The voice came from the quiet like a sofly spoken whisper. Dantes turned to find out where it came from. and before him stood an Abbe in the standard dress of the church, with red flashes which lined the edges of his gown, finishing in the collar of preist hood.
"My appolgies abbe, I did not mean to offend the church. But you seem to lack a congregation?"
"Yes indeed. Our church is less busy it seems these days. But as you are here, I am sure you are here becuase you are looking for something, or may I venture to say, an answer to something?"
"Yes, I am seeking confession... forgiveness... direction. I was betrayed, by those close to me. My parent punished because of it, my faith tested and my life left broken. All I am left with now is my return to
life in resserection. I know my task, but not how to carry it out. So, yes, you can say that I am seeking direction, answers and help."
"I understand, shall we ..." the priest motioned towards the confession box and Dante soon found himself in the small seated room with its latticed divide seperating him from his confessor, who would give him absolution and spiritual counsel. "Begin when you are ready my son. God hears all and forgives those who are sinners and those who have done others wrong. Speak when you feel ready. I am simply the divine lords messanger. I do not pass judgement."
"Then father, I am not here for a confession. I have not done wrong yet, but been wronged. I know what I must do, but I need to find the faith in myself to carry it out."
"If it is revenge you are seeking my son, then I must warn you, it is that way that madness lies. I fear that if you tell or even attempt to whisper your dreams to the devil, it is to risk their loss. It will cost you a high price and your soul will be lost. Do not tell me of your intensions, but simply explain to me your reasons."
"As you will father, I was once a very successful young man. I was to be promoted to captian of my vessel and to marry the most beautiful of wives ever to be found around the mediterranean. We were happy and we were in love. But as all successful men have their admirers and patrons, he also has his adversary, his betrayer and enemies who plot and whisper of his down fall and try to thwart every attempt an honest man makes for success and happiness. They are riddled with jelousy. I, father, was a target of such men. It took me much time to discover this, and when I did, it was from the help of others that I found out who they were and where they were to be found. They must be punished Father, they took away my youth and a large part of my life. They also stole my true love. Now I am nothing, but broken and disheartened. Only revenge burns in my heart."
"Then my son, if it is revenge upon those who have so mercilessly betrayed you, and that is what it will take to settle the fire in your heart, so be it. I cannot condone it as a man of god, or support it. But I do offer yo uthis piece of advise. If you are to punish, how do you know that you are punishing the right person? That they are not ruthless enough to pass your punishment onto others and meet out retribution for what you have done on your closest and dearest? So that they are truely the ones that suffer?"
"Because father, those who were close to me are either withered or dead to me. I have no one close to me. I am like a ghost born of the grave. I have no attachments to this world around me anymore."
"Then my son you are truely a lost soul. All I can do for you is pray for your soul and hope that it finds peace. But, like the Isralites that wondered the deserts, so will your soul, for if you are going to have true revenge that punishes, it must be done slowly, unexpectadly and gifted onto those who are diserving. You have some very hard trials ahead of you. They will not be fun. You will not enjoy them, and even if you survive them, your firey desire for revenge will consume your soul. I beg of you not to follow this path. But if you do, you must set yourself rules, boundaries, guidelines. You must know when you  must stop before it goes too far. I fear though that for you to know this you must experience such things first. This learning will cost you dearly. Prepare yourself. Find peace my son..." and with his final words the Abbe was gone. His abscense could be felt like a void that sucked at it's surroundings leaving it feeling cold and alone. Dantes stepped from the confession box and closed the ornate, smooth door behind him with that undenialble creak that comes from worn wooden hinges. He made his way to the front of the pews and stared again at the effigy, 'I am your avenging angel, lead me to my weapons so I may carry out judgement on those diserving.'
His thought was interrupted by the priest of the church who was walking toward him, each step sounding clearly on the stone floor, his voice echoing about the hall and his presence very human. "May I help you my child?"
"No, thank you father. I have just had my confession. I have much to dwell upon."
"So be it my son, but to whom were you confessing? I am the only priest in this church." a queried look comes over Dante's face and he quickly checks the priests side of the booth. There is nothing there. Much to the priests surprise and puzzlement, he looks upon Dantes as though he may be going mad.
"It is nothing father, I must have been talking to god. But there is something the divine cannot help me with but that you could."
"Oh, how may I help my child. Speak firmly and loudly, my hearing fails me at times."
" I wish to look at the marriage and death certificates. I am trying to locate my mother. But my enquires must be kept secret. No other can know."
"So be it my son. This way, I will show you to the Parish records." The old preist seemed to verbally creak as he rotated on his heals and headed towards a small narrow door, pinched to a point at it's top, that lead to a ambulatory off of which the record rooms were held.