I stare at the glass.
“Makes me wish,” she continues, “I hadn’t missed so much of his life. I can’t tell you how much I regret that.”
I step back. I look at the spots of blood leading back to the bedroom. I feel the first prick of fear.
“I know I don’t have a right to ask this,” she says, “but I would love to see him more often.”
My legs carry me down the hallway. Mona’s voice trails off. The spots lead to my closet.
A sensation wraps around me like a tentacle. I kneel and search the carpet.
“What’s wrong?” Mona says behind me.
There’s nothing else here. Not another crumb. But in the corner of the closet, I find a twinkling of glass dust. Something was hidden behind the ironing board.
“Mona,” I call back, “I need you to take Peter back to Brother Samuel’s.”
She doesn’t ask why. Hearing my tone, she just tells Peter to get his pajamas.
It could be glass from Ugo’s apartment. From the broken window Peter found.
But old panes of glass don’t break into pebbles like this. This is modern glass. Tempered glass. The kind used in car windows.
I wait until I hear the door close behind them. Then I take everything out of the closet. Every pair of shoes, every cassock, every shoebox on the top shelf. Nothing.
When I empty the laundry bag, I find a mildewed towel that must be Simon’s, from the shower he took when he came home from Castel Gandolfo. But his cassock from that night is missing.
I run through everything I can remember. After Simon showered, he limped in here to dress with his muddy cassock in his hand. But I never saw him put it in the laundry bag. We left and spent the night with Leo and Sofia in the barracks. We didn’t come back until the morning.
But Simon did.
That night, he said he couldn’t sleep. He came back here and started cleaning up.
Please, Lord. Let this not be true.
I check the trash cans. They’re all empty. In the small plastic can in the bathroom, though, stuck to the bottom, is the same dusting of glass.
My body is leaden. I look around the bathroom. This was the first place Simon had a chance to be alone. He came in here to shower and came out in nothing but a towel.
There aren’t many hiding places. A drawer beneath the sink. The toilet tank. The vent grate. All are empty.
But I’m looking in the wrong places. A man of Simon’s size wouldn’t look down. He would look up.
Standing on the countertop, I prod the ceiling tiles up, one by one. Each rises with the same resistance.
And then, one doesn’t.
I lift it. I reach into the darkness.
My hands shake as I pull out the cassock and lay it on the floor. Simon’s very best robe. The one Lucio bought for his Academy graduation. The knees are muddy. There’s no glass to be seen.
My body is rigid as I reach down and turn out the French cuffs. The inside of the right cuff is powdered with glass dust.
I close my eyes. Simon is standing in the rain beside Ugo’s car. He unfolds the French cuff. Pads his knuckles with the rich, thick fabric. Knows, like any boxer, to protect his hand. It takes him just one blow to shatter the glass.
My lungs take long, shuddering breaths. I stare at the ceiling. I know something else is up there, but I don’t want to touch it.