The faces of the angels and saints in the paintings looked down on us. I couldn’t help but think they seemed sad, waiting for someone to restore their home to its former glory. “Father,” I began, pulling my pocketbook from my purse. “I brought this hardship on you. Let me help.” I scribbled six figures onto a check.

Father Francis’ eyes softened as he took the paper into his hands. “Thank you, my child. We need this more than you know.”

“Father,” Jared said, pulling Shax’s book from under his arm.

The priest’s eyes widened and he immediately looked away, shaking his head. “Oh, no! No, no, no. You mustn’t bring that here!”

A soft ringing in my ears grew infinitesimally louder, sounding more like panicked whispers. I looked around the room, but we were alone. Just us and the hundreds of people in the paintings on the walls and ceilings.

I looked up. In a scene in which God had cast out the rebellious angels, the artist had drawn them in such a way that the angels seemed to be falling out of the painting—out of the ceiling. I looked at another mural at the back of the church, featuring Navy sailors drifting helplessly in a stormy sea, reaching out to St. Mary. In a moment of what had to be confusion, I could hear their panicked cries. I could hear them all, shrieking and wailing at the sight of the book that brought their home down around them.

I squeezed my eyes tight, and gripped my ears. Their cries became so loud I couldn’t hear individual voices, only their frenzied, collective panic.

Jared’s fingers touched my arm. “Nina?”

At once, it all stopped. I opened my eyes and looked around. Insanity was the first thing that popped into my mind.

Father Francis nodded in understanding, however. “It gets too loud for me sometimes, too.”

I peered around to the different faces in the paintings, unsettled.

The priest looked to the book, and then to Jared. “You can’t have that, here.”

“I still need your help, Father.”

“I’ve given all I can give.”

Jared shook his head. “I can’t accept that, I’m sorry.”

Father Francis left for the back of the church. Jared pulled me to follow. We kept a quick pace all the way to his quarters, where he immediately made himself a drink. He threw it back, and then made himself another. His hands were shaking, causing the mouth of the decanter to clink against the rim of his glass.

The priest closed his eyes and lifted his chin, taking in another gulp of the amber liquid with one movement. The glass dropped from his hands, crashing into the floor. Some of the bigger shards made their way to my feet, and I stared at them for a moment.