Romans & histoires Pope Francis Memoir Audiobook

Only blood—slick and fresh, running along the grout and into the drain. Larkam stood in the doorway, face grim. He pulled out his phone and dialled. Thousands of kilometres away, at a private medical ward inside Vatican City, Father Francis lay in a hospital bed surrounded by candles and murmuring clergy. “It’s happening again,” Larkam said. Father Francis inhaled slowly. “Then we must stop it. You and your prodigy… you’re the last hope.” Back at the bar, Horatio looked around. The crowd had grown louder. Something was off. He rose and wandered toward the alley exit in search of Robert.

Ruiz Giovanni ~•~ “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” My shrill voice echoed through the church. “It has been long since I had my last confession.” “What troubles you, my child?” The priest's voice echoed from the other side of the confession room. “I have killed a total of fifteen persons in the last twenty-four hours,” I said and closed my eyes tightly as the memories of the previous day replayed in my head. Father Francis let out a loud gasp and I put my hand over my mouth to prevent myself from laughing. “Did you at least do it for a good cause, Ruiz?”

That voice. It was Father Luca Valenti, 38, a Vatican exile, and he was the priest I’d interviewed six months ago for a story on church wrongs in Boston. He’d sat across from me in a small rectory room, hands folded, eyes gray like wet ash, and he’d answered my questions with a calm that felt like a dare. He’d touched my wrist just once when passing tea, his thumb brushing my vein too gently, too long, and he’d left me hot in the pew, thighs clenched, pretending to take notes while my recorder caught every word and my body caught every glance. He continued, his voice velvet over gravel, the kind that could absolve or condemn with one syllable.