MARIEL

PART 2: Chapter 1 (Section 1: Fr. Paul)

October 17th, 1996: Moscow, Russia

"Did you see all those people that died yesterday?"

"Hmm?" Fr. Paul looked up from his notebook. He glanced around a moment, realizing suddenly that he had been lost in his sermon writing for a long time. A young waiter with wavy, shoulder length blond hair stood over him with a pot of coffee, prepared to refill his mug. "Oh, hi, Dimitri." Fr. Paul responded in slow Russian. "Yes, please refill that coffee for me. Sorry, what did you ask again?"

Dimitri leaned forward and the black coffee splashed into the ivory colored mug. "Oh, I was just asking if you saw all those people that died yesterday on the news. In Guatemala, before that soccer match."

Fr. Paul nodded and poured cream into his coffee. "Ah, yes, the stampede. Killed over eighty people, I think. That had to be horrifying."

Yet, interesting to think about.

He looked out of the window at the streets of Moscow, where it had been raining steadily for hours. "Who willingly tramples another human being for a soccer game?"

Dimitri shrugged and placed the check near the priest. "Not sure. Horrible. Anyway, here's your check whenever you're ready. No rush."

The black-haired, forty-year old priest with handsome, youthful features nodded in appreciation towards the waiter. "Thank you. Just a little bit longer on my sermon here and I'll have the booth free." He looked at the notebook and his blue eyes scanned the Russian text on the paper. The sermon was about fear, and finding the ability to use your fear in service for God.

He was not unfamiliar with the feeling. The humanoid had begun to harass him in the shadows of his room now more consistently. At first, the figure had been in his nightmares. Now, it seemed to appear just before he fell asleep, remind him of his past, telling him to give in to his desires as he had done before he became a priest. Usually, Fr. Paul could pray and the humanoid would leave him alone, but he felt its presence was becoming much stronger lately.

"No pay, no food. I told you this before, miss."

Fr. Paul raised his eyes upon hearing a frustrated, male voice. He saw Dimitri standing near the door entrance with the coffee pot in his hand. His eyes wandered past the waiter and made contact upon a young woman. Her long, black hair clung to her face from the rain, and she was dressed in blue jeans and a jacket with a black backpack on her back. She held the hand of a black-haired child, a little girl who looked no more than three or four years old. Both woman and child shivered.

"Please," the woman said, her hazel eyes darting around the diner. "Please just a meal. Just one, my child is starving."

"The boss doesn't like panhandlers in here much. I'm sorry about your kid, but you gotta go. I'm sure there's a shelter near here who will help you."

The woman turned her eyes to Fr. Paul. Their eyes met, and the pleading desperation in her wide eyes sent icy chills to his chest.

"Dimitri."

The young waiter turned to look at Fr. Paul, who raised his hand and gestured for him with his fingers. Passing one more glance towards the woman, Dimitri approached the priest and stopped at the booth. "Sorry, Father."

Fr. Paul shook his head. "You're fine, Dimitri. Have the woman and her little girl come sit with me. I'll buy them some food."

Uncomfortable, Dimitri hesitated, and then nodded. He returned to the woman, cocked his head towards Fr. Paul's location, and then strided to another table.

The woman grasped the child's hand and, eagerly, approached Fr. Paul's booth. As she came closer, Fr. Paul smiled and realized, despite how bedraggled the woman looked, that she had arresting features that could not be overlooked. He stood and extended his hand. "Hello," he said, his lips parting in a welcoming smile. "My name's Fr. Paul. Please have a seat."