The Snare of the Abyss
-By Ian Campbell
Content warning: abuse, profanity, not for younger readers.
Part one- Judgement
Staring down the ever-widening and daunting strip of the ‘via della conciliazione’, Father Argo rubbed the sleep from his weathered eyes as the cold morning sun rose behind him. Placing radiant light on his black cassocks adorned with broad purple accents. His gaze returned towards the prestigious bastion of modern Christianity. Millions visit this holy site year after year, seeking the blessing of God and the unparalleled holy wisdom offered in the gifts of faith. In the case of Father Argo, he saw only the greed and sin of the modern church to which he served his sacred orders.
To be called to work in the Vatican is to be summoned to the Lord's place on Earth. It is an honor that very few of the Catholic Brotherhood ever experience. After completing his Master of Divinity and receiving the Sacrament of Holy Orders seven years ago, Father Argo was selected to work within the Roman Curia, a step in the right direction. As Father Argo prepared for his new role, anticipation outweighed any apprehension he may have had. The Vatican—center of the Church, repository of centuries of wisdom—beckoned to him as a place where he could quench his thirst for deeper understanding. He envisioned himself lost among vast tomes and lively debates, certain this was the start of a journey that would enrich both mind and spirit.
Unbeknownst to Father Argo, a gentle hand came to rest on his sunken shoulders as he stood reflecting.
“Father Argo, finding you on this fruitful day is a gift.”
Turning toward the soft-spoken but horse-natured voice, Father Argo smiled as his eyes found Father Imbrogno.
“Blessings to you, Father. Do you have any updates on—“ Father Argo asked as he was cut short in his words.
“Please, Padre, you know the answer to your question can only be told to you by the papal office itself. I know little of the matter.” Father Imbrgno’s tone conveyed a tired but respectful manner.
Over the last half of the year, Father Argo has implored his mentor and friend to support his request to transfer to the Vatican Apostolic Archives. The work of the Curia has been a stain on Father Argo’s spiritual and moral purpose. What man of God could be content with the role of Politics within the dioceses? For Years now, Father Argo has witnessed scandals and faults within the Brotherhood and has been tasked with relocating the more ‘controversial’ Priests.
As usual for the pair, the two men continued their walk in silence. Some bonds amongst some are so strong they transcend mere words. When first arriving at the Vatican, Father Imbrogno was assigned as mentor to the newly ordained Argo. During his time, Father Argo had come to truly trust the wisdom and guidance of Father Imbrogno. Unexpectedly, as the pair approached the service entrance of Saint Peter’s Basilica, Father Imbrgno spoke.
“Father, I have prayed that you will receive what you desire most in this world, and I fear today, you will have it.”
“You fear it ?” Father Argo questioned, stunned by the sudden revelation.
“ Father Argo, Knowledge is a tool for us to learn to work in accordance with God’s will. Not for us to wield in the name of what we think is right for God.” And with that, Father Imbrogno entered the basilica, leaving Father Argo more confused than enlightened.
Entering his office, the words of Father Imbrogno ate away at the edges of Argo’s thoughts like an approaching tide. Each wave eroded his focus until all that was left was his doubt. With such a toxic seed planted, darker thoughts would surely sprout.
“No! Enough of this. My intention is true and honest. I simply wish to further my studies and deepen my knowledge. How else could I possibly attempt to comprehend the magnitude of God’s plan if not through the study of his work in history? Imbrogno, for all his gifts and wisdom, is still only a man. Who is he to call into question my cause? Does my friend truly not know my heart? No, my friend? Imbrogno has known my goals for years. Why question my cause now? “
Wrapped in the thought of his role model’s warning, Father Argo was slow to note the wax-sealed letter on his desk. Time seemed to slow for just a moment. Argo had lived this moment countless times over the years. Perfectly suspended in dread and promise. The Contents of such a letter had the power to free or bind him. A decision has been made. In previous experiences, Argo would nearly flip his desk in haste to read such a verdict. Now, He waited. Focused and reflected. Was it worth it? To be denied time and time again, only to be rejected again. Is it time to stop? Give up the pursuit? Settle for a life of relocating scandalous sinners to other areas. Complement his superiors just to have a peaceful day of checking emails. How could his heart bear the failures of others? The idea calls him back to his first week within the Roman Curia.
“You’ll be working in diocese management. Sometimes we need to relocate our priests due to sickness, death, and so on. It’s simple but honest work.”
“Honest.” The biggest lie of all.
On his third day, his senior, Bishop Brano, came to him with a serious look and furrowed brows.
“Ah, Father Argo, we need a relocation for a brother in Madrid, it’s… a sensitive matter. The Church would appreciate discretion on this. I’ll email the case to you now, but if for any reason you have an issue, please come see me.”
Argo remembers the unfamiliar nature of his early work for the Roman Curia. So there was no norm to base his work against. Until now, he has spent most of his day checking the status of ill priests or sending newly ordained priests to assist local churches with their more senior priests. This case was different.
The email simply read: “ Note: all content is to remain within the Office of Bishop Brano. Making or distributing hard copies is strictly forbidden. Anyone found breaching said notices will face immediate and swift action.”
Other than the warning, Argo only found a set of PDF files and one audio recording. At first, the files were basic. Father Michael, 56, DOB 23/01/1967, Cuenca, Madrid. The files continued reflecting Michael’s work, congregation, and so on. However, as Father Argo was about to move on to the next file, he noticed a photo attached to the first file. A black and white photo depicted Father Michael wearing his sacred ropes, smiling ear to ear, revealing a set of teeth pointed and jagged like the edge of a cliff face. It was what was in the rest of the photo that raised confusion in Argo. A girl. Dressed in plain but neat Sunday clothes. Her hair rested in braids that sat over her shoulders. Even in the old photo, Argo could see the clear shine from polished shoes. A black but strangely ominous black censor bar had been put over the girl’s eyes. While this could easily be put down as data protection, this photo was taken pre-Internet. The idea of child protection was unheard of. Why would someone go back to redact the identity of a child? Returning his hand to the mouse, Father Argo noticed the thick layer of grease forming within his palms. Taking time to stretch his cautious fingers outwards, he clicked the next file. Argo’s eyes found scans of what looked like journal pages. Again, names were redacted, making navigation of the text tricky. Argo’s Spanish was rough at the best of times, but transcripts below made it bearable.
Journal entry - 23rd January 2007
My lord, I have failed you once again. My will is weak and my mind weaker.
Why have you plagued me with this sickest of sins?
The vile of my stomach boils, and the idea of my actions. I know my wrongdoings are forgivable, though you so I ask for your blessings. My dark urges are deep, and I feel their hooks deep within my being.REDACTED has been helping me with my thoughts, confining them within him about REDACTED. He has encouraged me and spoken about his own issues with such situations. I pray for REDACTED. She is worthy of your love, Lord.
The more Father Argo read, the more he felt less like a priest and more like a detective. Pieces of the puzzle in his hands, yet broken into fragments. After hours of reading, Argo opened the audio file and reluctantly pressed play.
“For the record, this is Bishop Brano, and with me is Father Michael. This meeting is called into effect on July 30th 2025. The purpose of said meeting is to review the events leading up to and including the death of Maria de Silva Barbosa. Father Michael, this meeting is held in confidence of the Church, and all details will be kept within the walls of this office. Do you understand?”
“Sí, padre”.
The thick and heavy accent cut through Argo’s heart. In such few words, there was a sense of indifference in the priest.
“Ugh, English father, please.”
“Yes, yes, I get it.”
“Alright, Father Michael, can you tell me about the relationship you had with Ms. Silva?
“I have known her since she was a child; her family was a frequent member of my congregation. She was…kind.”
“The church has been in contact with a minister, Sergo. At this time, I cannot comment on his case, but he has made clear the ‘activities’ that you both take part in.”
For a few moments, all that could be heard was the chilling static softly resonating in Father Argo’s eardrum. Checking the audio was still playing, the silence was broken by the sound of a metallic clicking and a stern objection.
“Father, you cannot smoke here.”
“You want me to talk? I smoke.
“Tell me about your relationship with the girl.” There was a shift in the tone of the bishop. His words are almost pleasing to Father Michael.
“Her family had her volunteer every Sunday after service, her and her older brothers. Sweeping, dusting, that sort of thing. We became very… familiar over time. Her brothers moved on from volunteering eventually, but not Maria. Her dedication to God was deep. Her father was a drunk, you see, and I think she used her faith as an escape. It's part of the reason we grew so close. She needed a father figure.”
An ever-growing pit was forming inside Father Argo, not in his stomach but of his soul. Pausing the tape, he sat back in his chair. His moistened shirt was sticking to him like plastic wrap. Notions and ideas swam inside his confused mind. But looking back, he knew the route this case was heading. He just refused to believe it.
“Tell me more about this familiarity.”
“I … we spent a lot of time together, and I… will you take my confession, bishop? I want to… I just need you to do this for me.”
“Father Michael, please, I need you to-”
“I WILL. But please take my confession first.
A heavy and reluctant sigh sounded across the audio, followed by a low.
“Very well.”
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; it has been one week since my last confession. Father, I have betrayed my lord and my vows to him. I… had sexual relations with a member of my Church.”
“Tell me more, Michael.”
“ At first, it was just disturbing thoughts, but I…acted on my temptations. I took advantage of the girl.”
“Was she married at the time?”
“No, Father, she was…Eight at the time.”
Father Argo hit pause on the tape. A swell of anger bubbled like lava inside his chest. This is a man of God?
“Piece of shit!”
The words flew from the young priest’s mouth before he could stop himself. He needed to know more, but the idea of such an evil act made his head spin. Resisting the urge to shout profanities in the holy city. Argo centered himself. He knew he needed to remain focused for the girl's sake. His role, while small, might aid in bringing her justice. He resumed the file.
“Was it just once?”
“No, it happened… for years. I knew it was wrong, and I tried to stop. I prayed and prayed to God to unburden me from my sins, but respite never came. Please Father, I tried, you have to believe me!”
“I understand. You did a terrible thing. Do you repent your sins and promise to be better in the future?”
“Yes, father.”
“Then in the name of the Father I-”
“Wait, there’s more…”
“Go on.”
Father Argo has always been a strong believer in the power of confession, but his faith had never witnessed such evil acts in his own practices. Just listening to it made his skin tighter and his heart race. How could Bishop Brano sit there just listening without exploding? The Brotherhood is supposed to be the spiritual leaders of Christ. To commit such a vile act against a child is unforgivable, isn’t it?
“After about a year, I looked for help from my friend, Sergo. He was my most trusted minister and a kind man. I told him what I had been doing. He … he told me that he also had darker thoughts at times, and it was normal. I trusted him, you know? The more we talked, the more he understood. The way he spoke made me feel…”
“Feel what?”
“Powerful. Made me feel right. I mean… his words were empowering. He convinced me to… together we-”
Father Argo whipped his headphones off, unable to hold it in anymore. Shaking whilst cradling his head in chalky hands, Argo began dry heaving. Cold tears ran towards his bound lips.
“What the fuck…” The clergyman exclaimed between muted sobs and snot.
Taking time to compose himself, Argo dried his face while adjusting his sweat-soaked collar. Only then did he notice the hours had slipped by, and the ‘work’ portion of his day was done. Argo knew he couldn’t just pack up and leave. He had questions that burned the soles of his feet. Relocation? Who would subject a group of people to this scum?. Father Argo found himself racing toward Bishop Brano’s Private study. This is where he would take his rest and pray after hours. Despair and dread converged into anger as Argo found himself marching into the study without the notion of bothering to knock.
“Father Argo, what-” ’
“What will happen to Father Michael of Cuenca?! Argo roared over the Bishop’s confusion. With a deep sigh, the bishop effectively shattered Father Argo.
“I told you, relocation.”
“He’s a fucking rapest! Why isn’t law enforcement being involved ?” he’d gone too far. Gotten to close. Cursing alone is taboo in the papal city. But to say it to your superior was a death sentence. A moment passed while Brano eyed his latest clergyman. His cold eyes seemed to flicker from man to snake and then back to man.
“The church has chosen to settle the matter privately with the family. That is all you need to know. Now I understand that the nature of this is complex, but what happens above board is not your responsibility. Now, Maria’s suicide was a tragedy, and the Church will continue to serve and support her community, but bluntly. You have no right to speak above your station.” The bishop spoke as cold and indifferent as a politician.
Argo had nothing left. His mind had snapped under the heartless words of his elder. The very bedrock of Father Argo’s faith was to lead the people as a servant. Now he was asked to place a monster among them.
“Now, you will relocate Father Michael, and there will be no more talk of this. Oh, and should you speak to me again with the tone of a street rat, you’ll be preaching to prisoners for the rest of your days. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Father.” Argo hissed through a clenched jaw.
“Then get out now, and I’ll forget this ever happened."
Argo took a moment to observe the man. His presence seemed to shroud the room in heavy light that concealed meaning rather than illuminated it. His wrinkled hands lay motionless in his lap. In this moment, Father Argo could see it. The man before him was not one of God; he was one of them. Another man who allows the failures of the church to fester and grow. Leading to a worm-infested rot that cakes its members. Furthering sin, Smothering faith. Turning to the door, unable to admit defeat, Argo pushed.
“The wolves lead the sheep in our church, not the shepherd.”
Returning to his present, Father Argo notes that on the day his faith in the church died. Father Michael was not the first, nor was he the last. The faithful rot clung to Argo’s very essence. Now, raising the daunting papal letter in his hands, he took a breath.
“My final prayer,” he whispered to himself as if God himself stood behind him.
Pulling back the wax seal, he opened his judgment.
—End of part one—
Part two- The Bookkeeper
The next four weeks went by in a joyous blur. Since the moment Father Argo received his approval for his transfer request, his work had become his pleasure. He spent his days within the Roman Curia, finishing small tasks until his transfer was finalized. Work in the Vatican archives meant Father Argo could finally move from the political and immoral nature of the Roman Curia. Now, the young priest could focus on his passion. Now, he could have peace. After his final day in his own personal hell, Father Argo made his way to the Apostolic Archives. However, one cannot simply enter the Vatican’s Library. In his acceptance Letter, Father Argo had been assigned to work under Dr. Carolyn Shev, his handler. The letter further detailed that Argo was to meet with the Doctor in the Vatican museum at 8:00 sharp.
The morning that the pair were to meet. Father Argo found himself arriving at the museum earlier than he had planned.
“Sir, the museum is closed for another hour; you’ll have to wait.”
The voice emanated from behind him. Turning to see an older gentleman wearing a plain black suit. Lost in thought as always, Argo failed to consider the museum's operating times. One of the perks of being a member of the faith at the Vatican was that the opening hours did not apply to you in some respects.
“Ah, good morning, sir. My name is Father Argo. I have some papal business to attend to.” Agro gave his best ‘heavenly simile’, feeling like he’d been caught taking cookies from his mother's kitchen.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Is there anything I can help you with? The guard croaked.” The man had a heavy, flemmy voice that forced him to clear his throat at the end of each sentence. Look closer, Argo noted heavy bags of sleep under his eyes as well as decorative coffee stains that styled the man’s shirt to look like muddy puddles on cotten fields.
“Long night ?” Argo asked. The guard chuckled like someone caught in a lie.
“Third overnight shift in a row—nothing but ghosts and self-reflections in the night work. The man confessed. Argo couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the sight of the man now. Unsure of how to proceed, Argo pivoted.
“I uh.. I’m looking for Dr. Shev. I was told to meet her here, but I guess I’m a little early.”
“Ah, you're here to see Carolyn. She comes to see me most mornings, she bribes me with coffee, and I let her in early. The guard bellowed at the latter of his sentence, causing Argo to do the same.
“But keep that between us if you would,” the guard pleaded.
“Well, if a priest couldn’t keep a secret, what good would we be!” the priest joked.
The rapport between the two had clearly been strengthened, and the stern look of the guard melted into calm smiles and laughs.
“You’ll probably find Dr.Shev in the Borgia apartments. She spends most of her time there, but Father, if I may, Dr. Shev can be…” The guard faltered, unable to find the words.
“Well, you see.” With that, the man turned on his heel and walked back away.
Perplexed and more than curious, Father Argo wasted no time and made his way to the Bogria apartment.
Walking through the vast and expanding museum, Father Argo took it all in: the Christ, angels, popes, greed, and riches. Ignoring the art, Father Argo could never warp with head around the need for everything to be embroidered or encrusted in gold. The wealth of the church has always been a point of contention around the world. Now, standing in halls adorned with jewels and wealth, Argo couldn't help but wonder too. The Church’s official position is that the Vatican is God’s place on earth. So, it would follow that the Lord’s house be filled with the wealth of the world. Argo couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t just about showing the Church’s riches. It was about protecting and securing its power. Entering the Borgia apartment, Argo felt that wealth was smothering him, like the smoke of a bonfire; it entered Argo’s throat, tightening it for a second.
Standing in the doorway, Argo took it all in, from the floor to the high ceilings, the room was dressed in gold leaf, halos, and detailed patterns unlike anything the humble priest had ever seen. Deep purples matched with crimson reds, weaved together to create highly detailed frames that bound frescoes of saints and historical figures. The senersoy overload distracted Father Argo so much that he didn’t notice the figure standing in the archway of a window across the room.
“Father Argo?” the voice called out.
As the sun shone through the window, the figure was cast in such a light that it appeared as a silhouette.
“Uh… yes, that's me,” Argo replied, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
Moving from the window, Doctor Shev came into view. The woman wore brown suit pants paired with low-cut boots that knocked on the ground as she walked towards him. Moving closer, Argo’s eyes finally placed the woman. Thick black-framed glasses rested on the bridge of a slightly crooked nose. Her long hair flowed into tight brown curls that came to just below her shoulders, where a white knit cardigan caught it. Confusion flashed across the priest's mind as he noted this woman was not only beautiful but incredibly young.
“Father Argo, my name is Doctor Carolyn Shev. It’s a pleasure to meet you.
“Nice to meet you, Carolyn, I–,” Argo was cut off midsentence by the young doctor in protest.
“It’s Doctor, Father,” the cold yet blunt tone of the woman told Argo what he needed to know without even asking. But, in the name of not offending anyone on his first day, he obliged.
“Ah, Doctor, I look forward to working with you. But if I may ask, why exactly are we meeting in a museum? Shouldn’t we be in the archives room? The priest questioned.
“You’re on your first day, and you’re telling me what we should and shouldn’t be doing? Am I understanding that right? While the priest stood a good foot and a half taller than the women, she still looked down her nose at him. Take a moment to pause, Argo self-corrected
“No, Doctor, I was just surprised, that's all,” Argo said, trying to stay polite.
“Well, if I’m going to be working with you, I think we should be on the same page. What do you think of this room? Notice anything special?”
Argo could feel the young Doctor’s eyes tracking his movements as he walked the length of the chamber. On the surface, the room looked like any other in the holy palace. On a deeper level, Argo knew the history.
“It’s beautiful, I believe it was once the living quarters of former popes.” Argo knew the Doctor was testing him to a degree; the same could be said for Argo’s lack of meaningful response.
“Wow, truly thought-provoking, Father. Look, if we're going to work together, I need more than beautiful. I need-” Argo had heard enough.
“And what exactly are we to work on? I was told I would be working in the Apostolic Archives. Instead, I feel like I’m being sized up for a meal. Now, you may be a woman of high station and, guessing by your age, you're some kind of genius, but dictating and sleight of hand isn’t going to cut it!” Father Argo spoke clearly and purposely so that his intent was clear; Answer’s not riddles.
For the first time, Argo swore he saw a smile slide across the young woman’s face before returning to neutral. A moment passed between the pair as they held eye contact.
“Forgive me, Father. I’ve just been through so many partners the past few months that I tend to jump to the point. How about we start again?” This time, the Doctor smiled openly and honestly. Picking up on this, Father Argo returned the gesture.
“ About the work we’ll be doing, I work in restorations. Specifically, I’m a book Conservator. Mainly, I’m tasked with repairing the older documents within the Vatican vaults. It’s detailed work, and focus is essential. So I need to know if you’ve got an eye for detail. So please, tell me what you think of the room.”
Dr. Shev had shown complete and open honesty to Father Argo. So, he decided to do the same.
“I think it’s a strain on the Lord's work. Sure, you can look around and see elegant tapestries, paintings, and engravings,but the history of this room. A brothel for Pope Alexander VI. A power-hungry and corrupt man linked to scandal and controversy since the moment he stepped into power. That’s only the public history. Other scholars have pointed to the idea of occult practices, assassinations, nepotism, and so on. It’s like a white-washed tomb, outwardly beautiful but withering and rotting from the inside. This room is supposed to showcase the love of God; instead, all I see is how worldly wealth corrupts the holy orders.” It was bold but true.
Argo stood before the woman, feeling totally bare. Why had he been so open? What was it about this woman that had caused him to drop his guard so easily? Between the conflicting thoughts, Dr.Shev stepped closer to the priest.
“That’s exactly what I needed to hear. Father, I’ll be honest, your name and application have been through our offices time and time again. Always denied. Your file notes a ‘Lack of respect for authority’ and questionable integrity. I always took this at face value until recently. Now, I need your help.” The Doctor spoke in a plain but slightly desperate tone that sent tingles up and down Argo’s arms.
“My help? How am I supposed to help? I don't know anything about restoring books.” Argo could help but feel like Dr. Shev had the wrong person.
“Oh no, not like that. I don't expect you to help in the restoration process. I need you to transcribe documents for me. As I understand it, you were ‘dissatisfied’ in your last position? A certain ‘political element’ you were unhappy with?
“How exactly do you know all this?” Argo was beginning to grow cautious as more was revealed. He felt as though this stranger were reading the contents of his mind and his lifestyle.
“As I said, your file came into our question more than once, so I asked around. Father Imbrogno spoke highly of your intelligence and work ethic. Bishop Brano, however, flagged you for inseboradination. Word is, you're a liability, can’t be trusted with working in the Archives.” The doctor’s words cut through the priest like a rake through sand. Dividing him into segmented emotions.
“So, that's where I come in.” The Doctor continued.
“For the past three years, I’ve been working my way through the Archives documents as instructed, book by book: mostly older, unknown gospels, diplomatic letters, obscure prayers, and so on. Only recently, ive been able to work my way up to a higher clearance level. With it comes more responsibilities and more ‘sensitive’ work. While I'm sorting the work, you'll be transcribing them into digital format. Do you think you could do that for me?”
Argo took a moment to chew through and digest what the young Doctor proposed to him. On hand, the work would allow him a way into the Vatican Archives, which would align with his overall goals of studying the word of God. On the other hand, Argo knew next to nothing about Dr. Shev. His gut told him she was not to be trusted and that, beneath the surface, something was extremely off about her. From the irregular meeting place to private work investigations. Like a nagging toothache, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to rot within himself by the time the pair were through.
“Okay, I guess this is the best I can ask for.” Father Argo admitted, more to himself than to the Doctor.
“Great, then it’s settled. But I have one more condition before we can start: no matter what you see, read, or learn in the vaults, your transcripts must always match the original text. Always. No matter what the subject, keep to the source material. Some of the texts are complete nonsense, others are vile and filled with evil hidden for the public's own good. Regardless, you have an obligation to keep to the script. Do that, and we’ll make it work.”
The doctor spoke as clearly and precisely as she could, and she could be, and Argo felt the heavy undertone of how critical these transcripts would be. Funnily enough, the doctor's stern and strict terms settled the unease within him.
“Alright, Father Argo, time for a tour of the tunnels and then on to the bunker.” With that, the bookkeeper turned heel and strutted out of the Brogia apartments.
End of part two.
Part three-The veil of Reverie.
Following the bizarre and mind-boggling first introduction to DR. Carolyn Shev, the newly teamed pair set for The Apostolic Archives. Exiting the Borgia apartments, Father Argo instantly felt the crushing boulder of wealth fall from his shoulders as if it were a feather shawl, slipping effortlessly off his frame. Descending the stone slabbed staircase, Father Argo felt an uncomfortable silence growing. Aiming to remedy this, he decided small talk was the best course of action.
“Doctor, where are you originally from? I only ask because your English is much better than mine.” The Priest noted.
With a light sigh, the young doctor joked, “ Well, it ought to be seeing as I was born and raised in America. What about you? Russian?”
“Heh, Good ear, I come from Siberia. Brought up in the cold and the dark.” While Father Argo didn’t love discussing his native land, his Thick, almost wild accent usually gave away his nationality instantly. Leading to follow-up questions eventually, “Do you miss Siberia? How long have you been here?” As well as the ever-insulting “wow, your English is so good!”
“Well, if you aren’t a fan of the cold and dark, you’ll hate the tunnels.” Dr. Shev warned.
“Ah, you mentioned the tunnels before. What are they for?” Asked the curious priest.
“Well, the Vatican vault is one of the oldest collections to date. Some documents span thousands of years. The oldest in public record, in fact, the Codex Vaticanus originates from the 4th century. As you can imagine, these documents are highly sensitive and require proper storage conditions. Ideally, Cold, dry, and dark spaces that are free from moisture and sunlight. So, naturally, the Valuts were built underground. The tunnels connecting them are what we use to move between sections.” Dr. Shev enlightened.
As Father Argo walked, he realised he had never considered the actual layout of the Apostolic archives. In his head, he always pictures just some old dusty room with loose pages scattered amongst worn leather-bound books. Learning about an intricate tunnel system that linked a multilevel modern library certainly appealed to him. Replaying the Doctor’s words in his head, it hit him.
“Uh- Doctor, you said the oldest public record, does that mean…” Father Argo let his words trail off, hoping for DR. Shev to fill in the rest
“Yes, Father, there are Documents even older than the public is unaware of.”
Not surprised by the lack of transparency of the church, Father Argo pushed,
“What reason could the Church have to classify a document from over a century ago? Why would the date even matter?” Father Argo questioned.
“It’s not the date that’s the cause for classification, it's the content.” The doctor noted.
With that, the pair reached the bottom of the museum's staircase. But, instead of heading towards the exit, Dr. Shev rounded a corner, leading Father Argo to a small red roped partition that sat in front of a gorgeous but slightly daunting down oak door labeled RESTRICTED- STAFF ONLY. Gliding past the partition, Doctor Shev approached the door. Fishing into the back pocket of her trousers, she produced a keycard and swiped it against a small black electic scanned that sat on the frame of the door. Trailing through door way, trailing behind Dr.Shev, Father Argo was greeted by the sight of a rather anti-climactic hallway light by white fluorescent light.
“You're not a conspiracy nut, are you?” Dr. Shev asked bluntly.
“What?” Father Argo asked, a little surprised by the sudden and completely random question.
“You know, like a flat-earther, the moon landing was fake, controlled explosion kinda guy?” Dr. Shev spoke with a flat tone, but with just enough of a hint of judgment that Father Argo picked up on instantly.
“I’m a man of the cloth, Doctor. I don’t spend my time chasing fairtales.” Father Argo said, annoyed by the random and slightly accusing remark.
“Good, because there are a lot of people who believe that the Apostolic archives are filled with secrets and powerful relics. Bunch of fools if you ask me, but…” the Doctor trailed off, unable to finish her thought.
“Why would anyone even believe that nonsense?” Father Argo asked perplex by the absurdity of the notion.
“Well, considering the previous name was “Archivum Secretum Vaticanum,” it's not that impossible to imagine how people could run wild with the idea.” Father Argo noted how, when Doctor Shev spoke, it felt like listening to a history teacher in school who knew everything about absolutely everything.
“Given the name,” Dr. Shev continued, “conspiracy theorists jumped on the ‘Secretum ’ as secret, but the true meaning is-”
“Hidden,” Father Argo interrupted. Feeling like he finally had something useful to add to the conversations.
“That’s right, Father, essentially, people ran with the idea that the Vatican had this vast secret underground vault that contained the secrets of the world, the holy grail, secrets about the life of Christ, and whatever other fictions that people’s minds will lead them to believe.” Dr. Shev expressed.
As the pair reached the end of the hallway, another large door stood before them. This one, however, had a more ominous feel to it. The entrance bore a large crest of the Vatican seal cast in iron. Two keys shaped in an X, one silver and one gold, were carved into the metal surface of the door. Silver bolts ran the perimeter of it and were darkened by heavy-wielding marks. Beside the door, stood a middle-aged man dressed in a sleek black suit. Father Argo took the man as security, but of a higher class. The man wore a high and tight haircut that screamed military. Physically, the man was quite imposing.
“Good morning, Dr. Shev.” The man spoke with a calm but direct tone.
“Good morning, Veigo. This is Father Argo. He’ll need to be cleared. Could you look after him for me today? Dr.Shev asked politely.
“Of course, Dr., leave it to me.”
Turning to face Father Argo, Dr.Shev smiled politely at him.
“Father, this is where I leave you for now. But we’ll start our work process tomorrow.”
Argo was taken aback by the sudden separation from his new coworker.
“I don't understand. I thought we were going to be working together.”
“Don’t worry, we will, but to work here, there are some background checks and security clearance that you'll need. The problem is, it takes a while with all the checks. So, it’s best we just start tomorrow fresh. Veigo will let you know about different points of access from different places in the Vatican. Other than that, try to be here at 8 am tomorrow. Think you can do that?”
Taking in the Dr’s instructions, Father Argo felt an unfamiliar warmth emanating from her that he hadn’t before. The Cold and blunt Doctor he’d met less than an hour ago had transformed into someone else, as vacant expressions were replaced with bright eyes that matched wide smiles.
“Ah, I understand, alright, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Doctor.”
“Don’t keep me waiting, Father.” Dr. Shev joked as she turned back towards the tower door.
Slipping inside, Father Argo caught a glimpse past the entrance before the door shut once more. The light that emerged from within had hues of gold and white. Unable to discern anything physical in the room. The smell reached him from deep within the chamber. The scent of dusty pages and ink was refreshing at first, but something else was catching in his nose. Beneath the intoxicating stench of the parchment, Argo caught a musty smell clinging to his tongue. An impure note of earth. Like a rotted branch of an oak tree. Once strong, now, weathering away. The smell was subtle, but present.
“So, Father Argo, let’s see if we can find any skeletons in that closet of yours,” Veigo said through grinning teeth.
The rest of the day might have been the most stressful day Argo had experienced in recent years. Hours of interviews questioning every moment of his life at the Vatican. Followed by an even more intense investigation into Father Argo’s early life before becoming a member of the church.
“So you were adopted in 1973. Is that correct?” Veigo asks plainly.
“Uh, yes, my parents adopted me from Ireland, but I have little memory of it. I never knew my biological parents. My first memories are of Sybriea.” Argo felt as though he was guilty of something, even though all the information he gave was the truth.
“Ever try to tack them down?” Veigo questioned
“Once, in my twenties, it uh.. . wasn't what I expected.” Now a lump had formed in the base of Argo’s throat that grew with every passing second.
“What do you mean, Father?” Veigo pushed.
“Just never found them, is all,” the priest said in defeat.
There was his first lie in the interview. Not because of any immoral issues within himself. But issues on the topic of his heritage. As the day progressed, the hours of interviews shifted from interrogation into general rules and protocols of working in the Archives. Finally, Armed with an ID badge and a swipe card, Argo was sent home and instructed to return tomorrow.
With that, Father Argo exited one of the service entrances just as the golden sun was setting over St. Peter’s Basilica. Take a moment to soak up the fleeting moments of the sun’s warmth. Father Argo shut his eyes and listened to the sound of the busy city. Then, opening his eyes, Father Argo put on his wired earphones and headed home. The life of a priest can be extremely busy when working in the Vatican. So much so that the late hour meant Father ARgo would be unable to attend mass this evening. Regardless, Father Argo was used to it. So much so that he used this time to walk home to listen to a rosary recital. A weekly podcast that the Priest admired had uploaded the Rosary in full recently, and he had yet to have a chance to listen. Pressing play, he set off home.
“CREDO in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae….”
As Father Argo recited and walked while the sun finally set, he noticed the unusually quiet streets of The Vatican, given the hour. The brightly lit streets filled with masses of tourists and locals had suddenly given way to dimly lit streets vacant of life. The pavement exhaled subtle fog that wrapped around Argo’s ankles. Feeling the uncomfortable shift in the evening, Father Argo quickened his pace. Unbeknownst to Father Argo, due to his heavy focus on his eerie and deathly still surroundings, he failed to realize the more startling change in his podcast. The once tranquil rosary had slowly begun festering into a chant. The words were correct, but the speed was increasing. Turning onto his Street, Father Argo felt the cold sweat on his neck creep down his spine, raising the hair on his back. Unsure of himself, Argo felt his vision tilt and blur. The volume increased yet again. Unable to bear it any longer, the priest reached for his earphones only to discover them hanging around his neck. In his quickened pace, he had failed to notice they had fallen from his ears. The noise was deafening. So much so that Argo couldn’t even understand it.
The words, they aren’t Latin. It’s something else, what– what is happening to me.
I feel them. The words. I can feel them in my head. Like worms surfacing for air. They wriggle in my brain.
Now stumbling down the street, Argos ’ critical thinking was defeated by pure panic. His home was in sight, but with every step closer, the twisted words dug deeper into his mind. The once cold sweat dripping from his neck now boiled hot with a rage that held him in a vice grip. The pressure was collapsing his posture into a hunch as he trudged towards his front door.
“What? How? Argo thought to himself in disbelief.
Looking up from his feeble stance. Father Argo’s eyes came to a cast-iron door stamped with the seal of the Vatican. However, the once silver and gold keys had gone. Left in their absence were two slim, veiny lungs cast in iron. Even in his current state, Argo could see the iron bulge and bubble in rhythm with the demonic chanting in his ears. Argo’s body abandoned him. No longer in control, He felt his legs pushing him up his home’s front steps. Eyes blurry, Argo’s hand came to grip the handle. Then, silence. Blinking his eyes with laboured breaths, the deshevled priest took in his surroundings. Turning to the street, he saw groups of people walking in glorious sunlight. A couple walked hand in hand while their young child ran ahead. Peace and beauty graced the world. Unable to process the events of his walk, Argo bolted to his door and slammed it behind him. Retreating in fear.