Sisters of Mercy Covent
Manhattan, New York.
June, 1985
The majestic walls of the Cathedral glistened softly in the dawn light, a gentle pink hue illuminating the tranquil scene as the sun rose above the Convent. Sister Lia knelt in the memorial garden, tending to the roses, awaiting Sister Sinéad, who was deep in confession.
As she pruned the dying buds, Lia glanced at the heavy wooden door. "Confession is running rather late this morning, isn't it?" She mused, peering down at her watch. "How much can one person confess? I'm with her all the time."
Just as Lia finished her thought, Sinéad burst through the gates, eyes wide, moving like a startled bird.
"Sister Lia, do you feel that?" Sinéad's voice broke the morning's tranquility, sharp and urgent.
"Hm?" Lia looked up, her hands still dirt-streaked. "Feel what?" She adjusted her posture, focusing on Sinéad.
"There's been an energy shift." Sinéad said, glancing toward the darkening sky, where clouds began to swirl ominously above the Convent.
"Storm's a coming." Lia replied, pointing toward the horizon. "We'd best get inside." She clapped the dirt from her hands, careful not to soil her habit.
"Impossible! I heard the weather report this morning. No storms until tomorrow night." Sinéad insisted, her brow furrowing in disbelief.
"Dearest Sister, whom I cherish. Weather predictions can be misleading. We have faith that our needs will be met through divine provision. Perhaps G-d deemed a storm necessary today, us to focus on our devotions. Come." Sister Lia urged, gently grasping Sinéad's elbow, trying to lead her inside.
"No, this feels unnatural." Sinéad pulled away, shaking her head.
"Disrespectful little—" Sister Lia caught herself, stopping short before she could voice a sinful thought.
"Father Antony!" Sinéad cried out, her voice rising in urgency.
Moments later, Father Anthony appeared, his purple stole billowing like a flag in the wind.
"What is it, my sisters?" His brow furrowed, sensing the tension between them.
"There's something wrong." Sinéad insisted, her eyes darting back to the darkening sky.
Suddenly, a high-pitched wail sliced through the air, freezing them in place.
"Heavens to Betsy! What was that?" Lia gasped, her eyes widening as she clutched her rosary.
"It came from outside the Convent." Sinéad said, stepping toward the entrance. "We should check. What if someone is hurt? We could help them."
Father Anthony nodded, his voice steady. "I'll lead the way."
Sister Lia rolled her eyes. Why was Father Anthony succumbing to this nonsense? It was just a thunderstorm! The noise could've been anything, even if it did seem odd. The Lord works in mysterious ways, after all. But curiosity tugged at her, and she followed.
The three of them moved cautiously, gravel crunching underfoot, while the sky cracked and creaked ominously. As they reached the gate, the wail crescendoed again, a piercing sound that rattled their nerves. The frequency of the lightning made the air hum with electricity, and a sense of danger loomed.
Father Anthony pressed his palm against his temple and pushed the gate open. The sound faded, revealing a shocking sight on the ground: an infant, naked and afraid.
"Oh, dear G-d!" Sinéad gasped, rushing forward.
"Wait!" Father Anthony cautioned, raising a hand. "We don't know what we're dealing with."
