Chapter 57 - Ambush at the Cathedral of St. Jude
The rain over Boston fell in heavy, freezing sheets, turning the cobblestone streets of the historic North End into slick black mirrors. The blackout was still absolute. The city looked abandoned, a silent labyrinth of brick and shadows beneath a stormy, lightless sky.
Elena moved through the alleys like a specter.
She had stripped off the remnants of her ruined wedding gown, replacing it with dark tactical gear and a heavy canvas coat she had salvaged from Julian’s safehouse locker. In a specialized harness strapped tight against her chest, Scarlett was secured, shielded from the elements by a waterproof ballistic vest.
In Elena’s hands was an M4 carbine with an infrared optic, two spare magazines jammed into her pockets, and the flash drive containing Julian’s confession tucked securely next to her heart.
She arrived at the Cathedral of St. Jude.
The ancient Gothic structure loomed against the storm clouds like a sleeping leviathan. Its twin granite spires vanished into the low-hanging fog, and the massive stained-glass windows were dark, reflecting only the periodic flashes of coastal lightning.
Julian’s final words rang in her mind: *Father Jerome holds the original 1964 charter.*
Elena pushed through the heavy, iron-studded oak doors. The interior of the sanctuary was cavernous and freezing. Hundreds of unlit votive candles lined the side chapels, their cold wax smelling of vanilla and decay. The only illumination came from the massive rose window above the altar, backlit by the distant flashes of lightning over the harbor.
"Father Jerome?" Elena called out, her boots clicking softly on the marble floor as she advanced down the center aisle.
Her carbine was held at the low-ready, her eyes sweeping the shadowed pews, the towering stone pillars, the carved wooden crucifix suspended high above the chancel.
"A soul seeking sanctuary," a voice echoed from the darkness behind the high altar.
An elderly priest stepped forward, his white cassock stark against the shadows. His face was weathered, his eyes sorrowful behind thick wire-rimmed spectacles. In his wrinkled hands, he carried an ancient, brass-bound leather codex.
"Elena Vance," Father Jerome said softly, stopping at the communion rail. "Julian told me this day would come. Fifty years ago, I swore an oath to old Arthur Montgomery that I would keep this ledger until the true heir appeared."
"The true heir is dead, Father," Elena said, stepping closer, her weapon still raised. "The whole family is a slaughterhouse."
"Not dead," the priest whispered, his eyes sliding past Elena, toward the dark choir loft above the entrance. "Just transformed."
A crimson laser beam snapped into existence, painting a dot directly on Father Jerome’s forehead.
"Get down!" Elena screamed.
The high-caliber rifle shot sounded like a thunderclap inside the enclosed cathedral.
Father Jerome’s head snapped back, his spectacles shattering as he fell backward across the altar steps, his blood spraying across the pristine white altar cloth. The ancient brass-bound ledger flew from his hands, tumbling down the marble steps toward Elena’s feet.
From the shadows behind the stone columns, four armed operators in matte-black armor stepped into the aisles, cutting off every exit.
And descending the spiral staircase from the choir loft, moving with a predatory, mechanical grace, was Thomas Montgomery.
His face was unmasked now. Half of his skin was raw and blistered from the engine room fire, but his smile was blinding, white, and completely psychotic. In his hands, he held a carbon-fiber recurve crossbow—silent, elegant, and lethal.
May you like
"Welcome to the family reunion, sister-in-law," Thomas whispered, leveling the crossbow at the baby on her chest.
***
