Truths and Lies
Fuck!
Fucking Fuck!
Jaywalking! Fucking jaywalking!
Bea stood perfectly still with her hands behind her back as an officer of the Polizia Locale di Roma Capitale placed her in cuffs. The officer had seen her cross the street through traffic and called for her to stop to issue a citation. She had expected to simply smile, accept the citation and move on—given the current circumstances, it would in no way help her to cause a scene. That had made sense; she was just another pretty girl caught jaywalking in Rome. It happened all the time.
What did not make sense was the look of recognition that had come over his face as he approached her. What really did not make sense was that recognition immediately turning into fear. What really fucking did not make sense was the officer drawing his Beretta and pointing it at her face. That was until he pulled out a folded sheet of paper with one hand that had her picture on it.
“Sei tu?” he asked, his gun hand shaking a bit.
Bea knew what he had asked but her Italian was a little rusty and also buying some time might help defuse the situation.
“In Inglese per favore,” she requested.
“Is this you?” he asked again with a heavy accent.
It was now or never. They were far enough apart that he would—most likely—miss. Of course, there were people all around staring so she would be on the run all over again but this time with dozens of witnesses watching her every move. She wondered briefly if Dora was in the crowd watching. She caught sight of some children out of the corner of her eye, standing in the general direction that she was most likely to flee.
She nodded. “Yes. Si.”
The officer gripped his weapon in both hands. “You are under arrest! Turn around and put your hands behind your head.”
While being handcuffed, Beatrice discovered that the Vatican had issued arrest warrants for her and Ava for the previous day’s mayhem and sent notices to the polizia locale.
Fuck!
She was sure if they had more information on the current OCS that there would have been more warrants issued and could only be thankful that wasn’t the case. Once cuffed and seated on the ground, she caught sight of Dora across the street. The nun looked a little flustered, quite the accomplishment really. Bea could only shake her head and shrug.
Dora had seen the whole turn of events. She crossed the street, at the crosswalk after waiting for traffic to stop, and discreetly approached the officer and handcuffed Beatrice. Bea had apparently taken no notice of her as a police car pulled up to take her away.
Come on, Beatrice.
Bea struggled only slightly and stood tall as they attempted to put her in the car. “Where are you taking me?” she asked the arresting officer. Dora sighed in relief as she overheard their destination. She checked her watch as they pulled away. The sisters were moving to the third safe house in eight hours. She had fourteen until they fled the city. Fourteen hours to organize a jailbreak. Dora took another deep breath. It would seem the time for caution had passed.
Beatrice sat alone in a bare concrete room. The steel chair she sat in was decidedly uncomfortable, especially considering how much her ribs were screaming at her as she forced herself to remain upright. Her hands were clasped and resting on the steel table in front of her. Handcuffs chained her to a ring in the center of the table which was bolted to the floor. Her only other companion in the room was a security camera watching her from over the door. She looked at herself in the—she was sure—two-way mirror that lined the wall across from her. All-in-all she looked pretty good, there were no tell-tale marks that she was in a battle the day before; no visible cuts, scrapes or bruises. Her hair was clean and pulled back in a tight bun. She looked composed and put together; and she had certainly been in worse situations before.
If she had to guess, it had been about two hours since she was arrested.
For fucking jaywalking!
She shook her head at her luck and laughed slightly at the absurdity of it all. It was the first sign of emotion she had given since she arrived at the police station. It was apparently what the inspector had been waiting for.
The door opened and a grizzled man in a slightly wrinkled tan suit walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. He looked tired. His unkempt face needed a shave—three days ago. He looked over at her and introduced himself in Italian while taking the seat opposite her at the table. He showed her the same picture of herself she had seen when she was arrested.
“Sei tu?” he asked.
“Si,” she responded quietly. “In Inglese per favore,” she requested again.
He glared at her for a moment. “You are Sister Beatrice,” he said with a mild accent, “of the Order of the…” he looked down at the paper as he read, “…the Order of the Cruciform Sword.” He raised his eyebrows and chuckled to himself. “I’ve not heard of that one—a violent name for an order of nuns, no?”
She gave him what she thought was a disarming smile. “Purely symbolic,” she said. “And no I am not, not anymore. I left the order six or seven months ago.”
He watched her for a moment, his eyes calculating in a way that could be easily overlooked and undermined by the rest of his appearance. “Well,” he said finally, “the Vatican has not been up to date with their information lately. So you left the church during that trouble with Adriel and the Firstborn Children?”
“Shortly after,” she confirmed. “But my reasons were certainly related to that.”
He grunted in acknowledgement. “And what about her?” he asked, showing her the picture of Ava.
“One of my former sisters,” Bea responded evenly. “She disappeared shortly before I left my order. No one really knows what happened to her.”
“Was she the reason you left?”
Bea hesitated, looking down at the table. “Her disappearance was,” she said quietly, allowing a trace of emotion to seep onto her face. “I didn’t like the lack of response.” She took a deep breath and cleared her throat, bringing her eyes back up to meet the inspector’s.
“So why does the Vatican want you both arrested if she’s missing?”
“I have no idea,” she lied, fashioning an innocent look on her face. “I came to Rome two days ago to visit an old friend. I haven’t been to the Vatican in almost nine months.” It was always best to craft a lie with as much truth as possible.
“And this old friend?” he asked. “She can vouch for you?”
Damn. He changed tack a lot quicker than she had hoped. “She wasn’t home,” Bea responded. She looked down at the table again, a frown overtaking her lips and sniffed. “I’m not sure where she is. I had already had a key so I stayed at her place the last two nights and left the key there this morning when I locked up behind me.” She gave him the address to Mary’s apartment and looked back up at him, meeting his eyes again. “I really don’t know what this could be about. Have you talked to the Vatican yet? Surely they can fix this mix up.”
“You don’t know what this could be about?” he asked her skeptically. “You have not heard about the disturbances caused by the Swiss Guard and the Firstborn Children?”
“I overheard something about a car chase this morning getting coffee,” she said vaguely. “But to be perfectly honest I have not been keeping up on my Italian lately. What happened?” If Beatrice had to rate her performance, this lie was very well done, as it wasn’t a lie at all. She had successfully flipped this interrogation and was now fishing for information that she had been dying to learn.
He watched her for a time, absently scratching at an old scar on the back of his hand. She betrayed nothing, keeping her eyes wide and curious. Eventually, apparently coming to a decision, he nodded and shrugged his shoulders.
“There was a battle,” he said bluntly, “at a Vatican warehouse between the Swiss Guard and the Firstborn Children. More than thirty people are dead.” He paused at her look of shock and horror. “According to the Swiss Guard they were killed by a mysterious group of nuns. Apparently those same nuns then led the Firstborns on a car chase across the city. Seven vans were destroyed and most of the passengers killed. One van was split cleanly in half.” Her eyebrows rose at this. “I’m told that then multiple eyewitnesses saw a giant flaming monster fall from the sky and crash on the highway, also split cleanly in half.” Beatrice didn’t have to school her features at all for this news as genuine shock showed all over her face.
Ava, what did you do?
“You seem surprised by this information,” he observed.
She chose her next words carefully, sensing an opportunity, “As I said, I spent most of the last two days sitting in an empty apartment and my Italian is not the greatest even when I did go out. It sounds to me like the Swiss Guard caused all sorts of problems in Rome and the Vatican is looking to deflect the blame on a pair of former nuns. Although how they could possibly think the two of us could kill thirty people and lead a car chase is beyond me, especially when I haven’t seen her in months.” She smiled at the ridiculous statement—he did not. “I barely know how to punch someone.”
“Of course,” he continued, “and the flaming monster that landed on the road?” Bea could only shrug at him.
He stared at her blankly, betraying nothing of his thoughts to her. “Well, Sister Beatrice, I have not called the Vatican yet. First I am going to spend the time to figure out what a nice girl like you could have been doing mixed up in something like that. When Vatican troubles spill out into Rome, I like to know why.”
Bea could not think of much that she could say in response. She could probably get herself out of this here and now, but in the moment she could not think of a way to do so without giving up information that was far too valuable, and he might not believe her anyways. “So,” she said delicately, “I guess I am staying here for a while?”
“You could say that,” said the inspector, rising to his feet. “If the evidence clears you then the Vatican may not even find out you were here. Make yourself comfortable.”
She looked at him with a half-smile on her face and dangled the chains attached to her wrists, raising an eyebrow.
He smirked at her. “You know there’s a chance they’re right about you and you might be the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met. Until I find out, those stay on.” He turned and left the room. All-in-all, she had certainly been in worse situations before.
The minutes passed by interminably. Beatrice was pretty disciplined. She could go through hours of boredom utilizing meditation and other mind occupying techniques. The problem was that it had already been hours even before the inspector had stopped in to interrogate her and that was likely at least two hours passed. She had not had any visitors since. She was tired and hungry and was forced to lean across the table as best she could to give her exhausted and pained ribs a rest. She was starting to wonder if the seclusion was getting to her. Her mind had begun playing tricks. Surely she did not actually see Ava’s face in the wall.
She stood up from the chair and bent herself over the table, moving as far back from it as she could to allow space to stretch her back and torso.
This would be a great time for him to walk in.
As if on cue, the door opened. In an effort to school her features and not show him any weakness, she accidently knocked over her chair when she bolted upright. Luckily he didn’t see her wince in pain but he was forced to have her stand to the side so he could right her chair for her.
Taking his seat opposite her, he sat in silence for a full minute, simply watching. “Bad news,” he said eventually, “we got back our fingerprint analyses. Do you recognize this?” He slid a photo across the table. Bea carefully kept her features blank as she looked down to see her bladed staff that she was forced to leave behind at the battle. She crumbled a little on the inside.
“I cannot say that I do,” she replied as she looked up at him.
He scoffed. “I thought as much—your fingerprints are all over it, as are too many different blood samples to count. Any ideas as to how all of that got on there?”
“I cannot say,” she repeated.
He leaned towards her on the table. “Now listen, I am no fan of the Vatican’s after all that happened with Adriel and I like those damned Firstborn Children even less. They all can…” She stopped listening. Something had caught her eye in the wall in the corner over his right shoulder. She kept her gaze steady on him, discreetly peeking into the back corner. When she saw Ava’s face pop out she nearly screamed.
What the fuck is she doing here?
“Look,” he said, bringing her attention back to him, “I’m not saying I can get you out of this mess. But if the Vatican wants you because you got caught in the middle of their religious war I would like to know. We might be able to help each other—keep you in Rome.”
Bea, still flustered from seeing Ava, had to take a moment to respond. She opened her mouth to speak when Ava’s face reappeared in the corner and smiled at her. “I, um…”
He caught where she was looking and turned in time to see—nothing. The wall was blank. He looked back at her, clearly wondering if she had lost her mind. Bea took a deep breath, took a moment to compose herself and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, inspector. There really is nothing I can tell you about any of that.” She glanced at the corner again to see Ava’s face sticking its tongue out at her and was forced to bite her lips to keep from laughing. Luckily, she was able to pass it off as a guilty look.
The inspector sighed. But before he could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. He got up and left the room. Ava finally phased fully into the room. “Don’t look at me!” she said urgently. “The camera’s still on—I already made sure the room behind me was empty.” She slinked across the mirrored wall, out of the camera’s line of sight, Bea watching impassively. Once Ava was under the camera, she levitated slightly and reached up to unplug it. “There!” she said with a satisfied smile.