Sunday the 28th of May, 1989
I climbed off my bike and leaned it against its stand, leaving it by Sister Cecile’s front door. The nun who’d given me the rosary lived in a small cottage next to my old primary school, a magnificent Spanish-styled terracotta-coloured building, which overlooked the sparkling waters of Kiwoh Beach.
I went to press the doorbell, but withdrew my hand. I really didn’t want to be here. Although my twin had loved Sister Cecile, I hadn’t liked her... No, correction, I’d hated her. The nun had made it her life’s mission to make primary school a living hell for me. I may not have been an angel, but I still didn’t deserve to be treated like a devil. I’d just been a small, restless kid, with too much energy to be kept holed up in a roomful of rules. Maybe that was why I was here: for her to make amends for how she’d treated me.
I sighed and pressed the doorbell, just wanting to get this visit over and done with, as well as to return the rosary, because there was no way I could accept something so precious from a woman I didn’t even like. Sounds came from behind the door, causing me to tense up. The old feeling of being sent to her office returned. Even after all these years, she still struck fear in me.
The door opened. A nun in a dark blue habit looked up at me with a distasteful expression, as though I’d dirtied her view of the lovely landscape behind me. It was a look I was used to getting from older people, my penchant for black eyeliner and ‘punk’ clothes often receiving disapproval. Though, I wasn’t a punk, heavy metal and rock my thing.
“Yes?” the old woman said, her habit fluttering in the breeze.
“Is Sister Cecile home?” I asked, hoping she said no.
“I’m Cecile.”
My eyebrows winged up, skyrocketing to the heavens. “Like, no way!” I blurted out. “You can’t be, you’re—” I stopped myself just in time before saying ancient, my brain for once shutting my big mouth down.
She scowled at me, probably thinking I was going to say old. Well, at least that was better than ancient.
“I can assure you, that I haven’t forgotten my name,” she said, in that formal way of hers that reminded me of how people spoke in period dramas, like the posh tosh from Upstairs, Downstairs.
“I’m, ah...” I moved my hands behind my back, feeling like I was eight again, about to get my hand smacked for stealing another kid’s bus money. A onetime thing, Sister Cecile seeing to that. She’d hit my hand so hard that the ruler had broken.
“Um, sorry, um...” Why was I even apologising? I hated her. But I continued to stumble over my words. “Um, I...”
“Either say what you have to or leave,” she said, again looking at me with disapproval.
“Ah, I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just you look totally different from the last time I saw you,” I babbled, remembering her at my sister’s funeral. She’d gone from looking like she was forty to eighty within two years.
She frowned, curiosity now colouring her cloudy blue eyes. “Who are you?”
“Catherine Lovich. You asked me to come over.”
Her eyes widened, the nun not the only one to have changed. The last time she’d seen me I’d had dark-brown hair, that had been permed to within an inch of its life, and a curvy figure swathed in a plain black dress for my sister’s funeral.
She reached out, obviously going to touch my arm. I automatically stepped back. Her hand froze in mid-air, the surprise on her face dropping to one of recognition.
She squinted. “Yes, now I can see it, though I must say you’ve changed considerably too. You look like a totally different person.” She turned and walked further inside her house. “Come on in, Catherine.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling like I was about to enter into Hell, because although she served God, I always wondered whether she worked part-time for the Devil.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at me. “Come on, dear,” she said, softening her voice, not sounding as cranky.
Even though I didn’t want to, I followed her, again thinking the quicker I got this over and done with, the better.
I stopped just inside her lounge, feeling awkward and out of place. The cottage had an old people smell, which reminded me of mothballs and death, while the grey and blue interior made the place look bland. Only a cross and a replica of Bruni’s The Virgin and Child saved it from being barren, no fancy trinkets or unnecessary clutter, pretty much reflecting Sister Cecile’s austere personality.
“Close the door before the wind slams it,” she said.
I reached back and closed it.
She waved her hand at me. “Come, come, sit down, child.”
Begrudgingly, I headed for the blue couch, feeling like that scared eight-year-old yet again. It was amazing how she could do that to me, especially considering how small she was, even more so since her posture was now bent over.
“Would you like a glass of juice?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, sure.” I winced, wondering whether my glib response sounded impolite, but instead of telling me off, she hobbled through a doorway.
She returned with a half glass of juice, reminding me of the half full, half empty saying. She placed it on the small wooden coffee table in front of me. I picked it up, remembering to say thanks this time.
She smiled at me, the expression sending ripples through her wrinkles, like someone had skipped a stone across a lake. She didn’t say anything, just stood there staring at me, making me feel even more uncomfortable. I saluted her with the glass and lifted it to my lips, taking a drink more to distract myself than to quench my thirst.
She seemed to approve of this and hobbled over to a single chair across from me. She placed her hands on the armrests and lowered herself onto the cushions with a sigh, looking relieved to get off her feet. I put the glass down on the coffee table and slipped off my backpack, removing the rosary box. I lifted the lid and pulled out the blue rosary from it, still amazed by how beautiful it was.
“Why did you give me these?” I asked, dangling the beads between my fingers. “I’m not ungrateful or anything, it’s just... they must be very precious, and I really don’t understand why you gave them to me, especially since, unlike my sister, we didn’t get on.”
She clasped her withered hands together, looking like she was about to break out in prayer. Or a sermon. “There are two reasons why I want you to have them. Firstly, you’re my great grandniece and secondly, unlike most people, you have an innate emphatic nature—unnaturally so, which would give you the ability to control and use those beads in ways they were made for.”
I stared at her, not having heard past grandniece. “I don’t think so,” I said. “If we were related, I’m pretty sure my parents would’ve said something. You sure you got the right person?”
She nodded. “Absolutely, my dear, and your parents wouldn’t have told you, because they didn’t know themselves. After my twin sister and her husband died in a...” she hesitated, “an accident, their daughters were adopted out to different families. One of those girls was your grandmother Elizabeth. I only realised who you were when I saw your mother on your first day at primary school. She looked the spitting image of my sister Talia, her biological grandmother.”
“But, my mum doesn’t look anything like you.”
“Talia and I weren’t identical. Paternal twins can look quite different, plus I had an accident when I was younger, which resulted in the loss of my teeth. False teeth can change how someone looks considerably.”
I went to ask why she hadn’t told my parents, or even my grandmother, her so-called niece, but she cut me off before I could get a word out.
“When I recognised your mother, I made some enquiries, which verified my thoughts.”
“Then, why didn’t you tell us about this sooner?” I asked.
“Because I found out that your grandmother wasn’t told that she was adopted. I didn’t want to cause any rifts in her adoptive family. Plus, more importantly, our family has quite a past. I would’ve put your immediate family in danger if people knew we were related.”
I frowned. “Why would we be in danger?”
“It’s a long-winded story, my dear, which I would much prefer to leave for another day. All you need to know right now is that you’re a very special girl, one of only a handful who can unlock the power of the beads.”
I pulled a face, thinking she was starting to sound crazy, or maybe she was talking metaphorically, spouting off religious mumbo jumbo like Janet had. “What do you mean by unlocking the beads’ power?”
She pressed her lips together, looking like she was trying to find the right words. “That rosary,” she said, indicating to it, “is a weapon against evil. Each bead on the chain has individual powers. Combined with your energy, they create magic-like occurrences.”
I snorted out a laugh. “April Fool’s gone, Sister.”
She scowled at me. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Catherine. I mean every word I’m saying, and I’ll prove it. Since you’ve received the beads, have you had any unusual dreams with a nun, a priest, or even visions of Our Lady?”
My face dropped, what she’d said... “How the hell did you know that?”
“Language, Catherine.”
“No.” I rose to my feet. “How did you know that?”
She lifted her gaze. “I take it you’ve had such a dream, then?”
“On the night that I received the rosary,” I said, freaked out.
“Tell me about it.”
I shook my head. “Not until you tell me how you know about it.”
“Because I’ve had similar dreams. So, please, tell me what happened in yours.”
I glanced at the door, wishing I hadn’t walked through it, because she’d spooked the hell out of me.
“Please tell me what it was about,” she persisted, her voice softening.
I cleared my throat, thinking I must’ve gotten heatstroke, because this conversation wasn’t happening. “I dreamt of a priest hurting a nun. He also tried to burn me alive. He was holding rosary beads.”
“Red ones with a large jagged ruby?”
My eyes widened. “How did you know that?!”
“As I said, I’ve had similar dreams, plus I know the owner of that rosary.” She waved her hand at me to sit down. “Now, continue telling me what happened in your dream.”
“I, ah, this isn’t happening, you’re playing some sort of trick on me.” My thoughts went to Mum, making me wonder whether she’d heard me talk in my sleep. Maybe she’d bumped into Sister Cecile and had mentioned I’d had a nightmare.
“Did you speak to my mum?” I asked.
“No, Catherine.”
“My dad?”
She indicated for me to sit down again. “Please, calm down, I’m not asking for the world, just what happened in your dream.”
I gave the door another glance, just wanting to leave.
She rose up, her expression concerned. “I’m sorry for scaring you, but I really do need you to tell me about your dream, and what harm can it possibly do?”
I exhaled loudly, not knowing why I was even considering telling her, this whole thing stepping into the realms of The Twilight Zone. “The priest was forcing himself onto the nun. She looked a lot like my mum.” I grimaced. “The priest burnt her alive.”
Sister Cecile nodded as though she knew all about it. “The nun you saw was your great-great grandmother Mary—my mother. The priest was your great-great grandfather Cristoforo—my father. His rosary was tainted by a demon. It influenced him into doing wicked acts, such as what he did to my mother.”
She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, then reopened them. “My father brought my sister and I up with such love and care that I didn’t think was possible for a person controlled by the ruby’s power. Though, not long after my First Communion he disappeared. My sister and I were put into a Catholic orphanage as a result.”
“It can’t be the same man from my dream,” I said, the woman definitely crazy. “He looked like a younger version of someone I saw last Sunday.”
Her eyes widened, fear colouring her cloudy blue eyes. “Do you know this man’s name, Catherine?”
I nodded. “It’s kind of hard to forget, because it’s a really weird one.”
“What is it?”
“Reprebus Rosario.”
Her hand flew to her chest, clutching onto it, looking like she was having a heart attack.
I rushed around the coffee table to her. “Are you okay, Sister?” I asked, terrified she was going to drop dead in front of me.
“Where did you see this man?” she asked.
“At my confirmation lesson. He’s the grandfather of a boy from my school. Do you want me to phone an ambulance?”
She shook her head. “And what is his grandson’s name?”
“I think I should call the—”
“I’m fine.”
“But—”
“His name!”
I jolted. “Christopher Laboure.”
“I don’t know him,” she said, dropping her hand. “How old did his grandfather look?”
“Early forties, even though he couldn’t be. He looked more like Christopher’s father than grandfather.”
She shook her head. “No, he’s my father.”
“That’s physically impossible. He’s far too young.” I looked around the room. “Where’s your phone? I’ll call a doctor for you.” I spotted it on the side table by the couch. I turned for it, stopping as she grabbed my arm.
“I don’t need a doctor and that man is my father. Firstly, my surname is Rosario. Secondly, Reprebus was the name that Saint Christopher had before he worked for God, a derivative of my father’s name—Cristoforo. Lastly, I’ve had the same dream as you, and lately I’ve been having others that suggest my father’s still alive.”
I pulled my arm free, her grip as weak as her mind. “He’s still too young to be your dad. Maybe he’s just another descendant.”
“Many things are possible with the power of the beads.”
I held up a hand. “Hold up, Sister. I realise you believe in all of this, just please leave me out of it.”
“Your lack of faith doesn’t negate what I’ve said. The legendary rosaries help preserve the life of their owner. They can stop you from aging, mainly due to the tiger iron bead.”
I lifted the rosary, which I was still clutching in my right hand. “There’s absolutely nothing magical about this rosary, other than it’s gorgeous to look at. It’s a piece of jewellery.”
She scowled at me as though I’d blasphemed. “Rosaries aren’t jewellery.”
“Okay, prayer beads then, but nothing more.”
“You’re wrong. They’re everything. My mother died because of the one you’re holding, while the Seraphim rosary warped my father and killed my sister.”
I held the beads out to her. “Then take them back.”
“No, they’re yours,” she said, now looking panicked. “I understand that I sound crazy, but I’m not. I also understand that I’m telling you too much too fast, but I didn’t anticipate my father’s return. If I’d known he was returning, I would’ve contacted you sooner, but I thought he wouldn’t risk coming back to New Zealand, let alone Agnaru. It’s dangerous for him to be here. Something serious must’ve happened to force his return.”
I took a step closer to her, still holding the rosary out. “I don’t mean to upset you, but please take it back. I’m not interested in fantasies.”
She kept her hands by her side. “This isn’t a fantasy, it’s reality. Plus, you said you would hear me out.”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“Just give me one more chance to convince you otherwise.”
“I don’t think you can say anything that’ll change my mind.”
“Then how did I know about your dreams if I’m spouting off nonsense?”
“You probably talked to my mum, even my dad,” I said, intending on grilling them over this.
“I already told you I didn’t speak to your mother, while I haven’t seen your father since your sister’s funeral. He stopped coming to church after that. Like you did. It’s why I was so surprised to hear you were getting confirmed.”
I clenched my hands, knowing why I’d stopped. I’d lost my faith, what had happened to my sister stealing it away. “I’m only doing it for my mum.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I understand the past couple of years must’ve been very hard for you and your family.”
I looked away, what she was dredging up making my eyes sting. I blinked them rapidly, forcing myself not to cry.
Sister Cecile touched my arm gently, her voice softening once more. “Please, Catherine. Sit down and hear me out. I just want to explain how the rosary works.”
I remained where I was, still trying to get my emotions under control.
“Even if you think I’m spouting crazy gibberish,” she continued, “just allow me to finish what I have to say. Once I’ve said everything I need to, then you don’t have to see me ever again.”
I turned my head towards her, wanting that, the woman dredging up nothing but bad memories. “Fine. How do they work?”
She exhaled, looking relieved that I hadn’t left. “Many ways, but foremost, they feed off your prayers. Not just the normal rosary prayers of Our Father or Hail Mary, but individual ones unique to yourself.” She took the rosary out of my hand, rubbing the beads between her fingers, her expression turning mournful. “They also work with your empathy. Empathy is your greatest power. It allows you to understand another person. Once you master empathy you can enter a person’s mind through the beads. Not in the sense of reading their mind, but drawing on their feelings, adding them to your own. These emotions fuel the rosary. The more you’re able to understand a person’s feelings, the more you can shape the raw energy and use it to your advantage. However—” she cleared her throat, “—less emphatic people can also use the beads, specifically if they’re able to control other people’s fear. They’ll intimidate a person enough to provoke fear within them, then feed off the emotion for their own benefit. Fear is such a raw and powerful force that, when combined with the energy within the beads, will create massive amounts of power.”
I stared blankly at her, hearing nothing but mumbo jumbo.
She barrelled onwards, “This is how my father killed my mother. He used her own fear against her. That’s the harsher side of the legendary rosaries. Nonetheless, they weren’t made for cruel intentions. They were created centuries ago to exorcise demons as well as to free people and their crops from disease and pestilence. They were meant to help, not harm.” She held the rosary out for me to take back. When I didn’t take it, she thrust it in front of my face, her expression determined.
I exhaled and took it. “Well, how do I make them work?” I asked, now humouring her, hoping once she was done I could leave.
“The beads will teach you how to use them through your dreams. And when you go out, wear them under your clothing or put them in a secure pocket. Don’t let anyone see them. Ever.”
“Why?”
“They will try to take them by force.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, not believing her. “But I want to know what the rosary can do.”
“Wear it and the power will come.”
I bit my bottom lip to stop from smirking, the woman definitely a looney tune. “No instructions other than to wear them?”
“I realise you’re humouring me, Catherine. But I’m not lying or a crazy old woman. The rosary beads do have powers.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really think I’ve heard enough.”
“Just please put them on, because no matter what, I refuse to take them back.”
“Fine,” I said, popping the rosary around my neck.
She indicated with her finger. “Hide it under your top.”
I slipped the rosary under my Guns N’ Roses shirt.
She continued, “And when you discover I’m not spouting rubbish, come back to me so I can start on your lessons.”
As if. “Sure.” Now, can I please go? “Is that all?”
She nodded.
I refrained from exhaling again and turned to grab the rosary’s box off the coffee table. I stuffed it into my bag. “If you change your mind and want the rosary back, just ring and I’ll return it,” I said, zipping my bag up.
She started babbling, “No, I already said it’s yours. I don’t have what’s required to use the beads. I was never a good Merge,” she added, as if I knew what that meant.
I nodded, hoping it would stop her continuing if she thought I agreed with her. “It was nice to see you again, Sister,” I lied. “But I really should go. I have to be somewhere soon.” Another lie. I had the whole afternoon free, my confirmation class not until seven.
She nodded. “Thank you for coming, it’s great to see you again. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Yeah.” I turned to leave.
“Oh, one more thing, Catherine.”
I turned back. “Yes?”
“Be wary of the boy you mentioned and especially his grandfather. He’s a very dangerous man. Whatever you do, keep away from him and don’t let him see the rosary,” she said, giving extra emphasis to her last words. “Promise me that.”
I grimaced. “It’ll be a bit hard avoiding him if he turns up to my confirmation group again, not only that, his grandson’s in three of my classes.”
“Why are you grimacing?”
“Because I can’t stand the creep. He’s always bugging me.”
“What is he doing?” she asked, looking even more concerned.
“He seems to think annoying me is his job.”
“Oh,” she replied, her expression relaxing a touch. “Tell a teacher.”
“He’s not breaking any rules, just being annoying.”
“Then, ignore him.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried. At least he’s lightened up a bit over the week. Maybe he’ll get bored with me and find someone else to bug. Anyway, I have to go.” I walked over to the door and opened it.
She hobbled after me. “Just be very careful around the boy and his grandfather.”
I smiled at her. “I do karate, so if they bug me, I’ll karate chop them,” I said, trying my best to reassure her.
“That’s good to know. Well, take care, dear, and remember, if anything happens that proves what I’ve told you, come back to me.”
“Okay,” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t. I grabbed my bike, relieved to be finally leaving.