Chapter 2
That evening, Father Henry Martin, the pastor of St. Paul’s Roman Catholic Church in New Bern, stepped into his church with an air of quiet determination. The day had passed with its usual rhythm, and now his mind was focused solely on a few essential preparations he needed to complete in the vestry before the next morning’s service. The soft, flickering glow of the sanctuary candle, along with the gentle illumination from two banks of votive candles, cast a warm ambiance that was more than sufficient for navigating the expansive sanctuary. He chose not to switch on any additional lights, maintaining the peaceful solitude of the evening.
Entering the vestry, he flicked on the light switch, and the room brightened with the harsh white glow of fluorescent bulbs, momentarily contrasting with the sanctuary's more serene lighting. He scanned the vestry, his eyes searching for some forgotten items, ensuring everything was meticulously arranged for the Sunday Mass. For Father Martin, the foundation of his priestly duties rested on two unwavering pillars: his unshakeable faith and his steadfast belief in the importance of being prepared.
After gathering a few scattered notes that he had left behind, he turned off the lights, allowing the room to sink back into dimness as he stepped back into the church proper. This routine was one he had enacted hundreds of times throughout his years at St. Paul’s; an almost meditative ritual steeped in familiarity. However, as he walked through the sacred, hushed space, something unusual caught his attention. The light seemed to radiate more brightly and more purely than he had ever seen; it illuminated the sanctuary in a way that felt both striking and eerie.
His gaze fell on the plaster statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, standing in quiet grace amid the flickering shadows of the church. To his astonishment, it appeared to glow softly with an unearthly white light, enchanting and surreal. He blinked, momentarily questioning if fatigue was warping his perception or if he had conjured an illusion. When he chanced to look away and then back again, the magical radiance around the statue had vanished, leaving only the familiar red glow of the sanctuary candle and the warm flicker of the votive candles to fill the church.
Driven by both curiosity and a sense of wonder, Father Martin approached the statue, lingering there for several moments as he contemplated the phenomenon. It was as though a myriad of questions danced in his mind, but uncertainty clouded his thoughts. Was it merely a trick of the light, or had he truly witnessed something miraculous? He stood there, pondering the fleeting vision, but eventually shook off the strange occurrence and returned to his rectory, where more mundane responsibilities awaited him. As the parish pastor, he always carried the weight of numerous duties and an endless stream of thoughts and concerns.
Once he entered his study, seeking comfort in the familiar surroundings, Father Martin intended to review his notes for the upcoming day. But as he spread the papers before him, a jolt of surprise coursed through his body. Scrawled in his own handwriting at the bottom of the notes were two simple yet haunting words: “hear her.” A wave of confusion washed over him, and he found himself grappling with a profound sense of unease. He could not recall writing those words, nor could he understand whom or what they referred to. Who was the “her”? The very thought sent a shiver down his spine. Perhaps he had been working too hard, constantly pushing himself in his duties.
Setting the notes aside, he stood and wandered over to his small dry bar, hoping to quell the unsettling thoughts swirling in his mind. Pouring himself a shot of bourbon, he savored the warmth of the liquid as it filled his glass, feeling an odd mixture of comfort and disquiet. His life at St. Paul’s had always been marked by tranquility, typical of a small-town priest's existence, yet now, within the span of just an hour, two inexplicable events had unfolded. With the bourbon warming him from within, he contemplated the evening's events, questioning the clarity of his own mind. He was overdue for a vacation, he mused, considering whether a change of scenery might help him unravel the mysteries now tugging at the edges of his consciousness.