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. 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 looking at 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 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 hair flowed into tight brown curls that came to just below her shoulders, where a white knit cardigan caught it. Confusion flushed 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.