The Devil's Labyrinth

CHAPTER 6

BROTHER FRANCIS NERVOUSLY wended his way through the Boston traffic as Father Sebastian gazed silently out the side window.

“Kip’s parents live in Newton,” Brother Francis offered, more to break the silence than anything else. “It’s a little bit west of the city, but not very far.”

Father Sebastian finally turned toward him and smiled slightly, and Francis could see why the students — at least the girls — liked him so much. There was something in his face that was both gentle and intense, giving anyone who talked to him the feeling that he was not only listening to them intently, but empathized with whatever they were saying. Combined with his olive complexion, deep dark eyes, and thick, coal-black hair, he struck most people as being someone who could as easily have been a doctor as a priest. Or even a movie star, though he seemed so completely unaware of his effect on people that Brother Francis was sure he’d never even thought of such a thing.

“Not a problem,” Father Sebastian said. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to this any more than you are. Any idea what the Adamsons are like?”

Brother Francis pulled off the turnpike, found Centre Street, and started south. “I haven’t actually met them, but I took a look at Kip’s file before we left.”

“So did I,” Father Sebastian sighed. “And it didn’t tell me as much about the parents as it did about Kip. On the other hand, there wasn’t anything negative about the family, so it seems to me that our main job is to find out if they’ve heard anything from him without getting them too upset.”

“It’s their son,” Brother Francis said, turning left on Beacon Street. “He’s missing — they’re bound to be upset.” He turned right onto Greenlawn Avenue and started looking for the address. “Here it is,” he said, pulling the car to a stop in front of an utterly nondescript middle-class home, which told him no more about Kip’s family than the file had. He switched off the engine.

“God willing,” Sebastian said, “we’ll find out where Kip is.”

“God willing,” Francis echoed.

Together they got out of the car, walked up to the front door, and Father Sebastian pressed the bell. A middle-aged man, wearing a white polyester shirt and a slightly stained tie, which was loosened at the neck, opened the door. He stared at them blankly for a moment, but as he took in their clerical garb his eyes clouded and his expression soured.

“Mr. Adamson?” Father Sebastian asked, though he was already certain they were talking to Kip’s father.

Gordy Adamson nodded curtly, held the screen door open for the men to enter, and called out to his wife. “Anne! A couple of priests are here! The brat must be in trouble again!”

Anne Adamson emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel, her forehead furrowing. “Kip?” she said. “What’s he done? He’s all right, isn’t he?”

“I’m Father Sebastian, and this is Brother Francis,” Father Sebastian began.

“Please sit down,” Mrs. Adamson said, ushering them farther into the living room. As the two men lowered themselves to the edge of the living room sofa, she fluttered nervously next to a wing chair, then settled onto its arm.

Her husband remained standing, leaning against the wall, his arms drawn tight across his chest, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as if he was already certain his son had committed some kind of offense whose repercussions were about to come down on his own head.

“Is Kip all right?” Anne asked again.

“We have no reason to think he’s not,” Father Sebastian said a little too quickly.

“If you didn’t think something was wrong, you wouldn’t be here,” Gordy Adamson announced, not moving even a fraction of an inch from his post by the kitchen door. “So why don’t we just cut to what he’s done, all right? It’s not like we haven’t heard it all before.”

Father Sebastian took a deep breath, and started over again. “Kip appears to have left campus without permission this morning. We were hoping that he’d come here, or that at least you’ve heard from him.”

“Goddammit,” Gordy spat.

“Gordy!” Anne shot her husband a warning glance, then turned back to the two clerics. “We haven’t heard from him.”

“Aren’t you people supposed to keep an eye on him?” Gordy demanded, his anger focusing on Brother Francis. “Isn’t that why we sent him to St. Isaac’s? To make sure things like this didn’t happen?”

“I’ve been working pretty closely with Kip the last eight months,” Father Sebastian replied as Brother Francis shrank back from Gordy Adamson’s anger. “He’s been doing very well — good grades and an attitude that’s been improving. Aside from the usual mischief all our kids get into now and then, he hasn’t been any trouble worth more than a quick confession and a couple of Hail Marys for penance.” His cavalier reference to the confessional had the intended effect; Gordy Adamson’s arms finally dropped to his sides and he moved closer to his wife. “Frankly, it’s a mystery to me why he left,” Father Sebastian finished.

“We sent him to St. Isaac’s because you have a reputation for dealing with kids like that — what do you call it? ‘At risk,’ whatever the hell that means. So how could he just walk out?”

“St. Isaac’s isn’t a prison, Mr. Adamson,” Father Sebastian said. “The students aren’t prisoners, and we’re not guards. I’m a psychologist, and I treat all our students — especially the so-called ‘at risk’ group — with a great deal of respect. The school has found that for the most part our students rise to our expectations, and I’m happy to be able to tell you that Kip has done exactly that, right up to this point. Which is why his disappearance is such a mystery.”

“Something must have set him off,” Anne Adamson said, her fingers twisting a corner of her apron. “It’s what always happens. Everything seems fine, then something sets him off. It’s like he just goes crazy.” She seemed about to burst into tears, and Brother Francis reached out and took one of her hands in his own.

“I’m sure nothing like that happened at all,” he began. He was about to say more, but fell silent as Father Sebastian shot him a warning glance.

“Perhaps there was something,” Father Sebastian said. “But if there was, we don’t know what it might have been. It’s much more likely that Kip has just gone off to sort out his feelings.”

“Sort out his feelings?” Gordy shot back, his voice edged with contempt. “What kind of psychobabble is that? You lose a kid you should be watching like a hawk and you say he went away to sort out his feelings?”

“Perhaps I put it badly,” Father Sebastian said evenly. “The point is that he’s gone off before, hasn’t he? And he always came back home?”

When Gordy Adamson only glowered at the priest, his wife spoke. “He’s right, Gordy.” She tried to put her hand over his, but he pulled it away.

“We sent him to your damn school so he wouldn’t run away anymore,” Gordy said, his voice grating. “If you’re just going to let him take off, what’s the point? Maybe we shoulda kept him home. He coulda run away from here and it wouldn’t cost us a dime!”

“Gordy, please—” Anne begged.

Gordy Adamson’s expression darkened and he moved slightly away from his wife. “I’m just sayin’—”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Adamson,” Father Sebastian cut in quickly. “Actually, he’s got a point. But the odds are Kip will be back by morning.”

“And if he’s not?” Gordy challenged.

“Then we’ll talk about it in the morning,” Father Sebastian calmly replied. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in dealing with kids over the last few years, it’s never to borrow trouble. And so far, there’s no evidence Kip is in any trouble.”

“But isn’t there anything we can do?” Anne fretted. “It seems like there must be something!”

Father Sebastian smiled at her. “Actually, there is. You can make a list of anyone Kip might have gotten in touch with, and start calling. I’m talking about all his friends from before he came to St. Isaac’s — everyone that you can think of. And give us a copy of the list so we can follow up, too.”

“And maybe we should call the police,” Gordy said, his tone as challenging as the look in his eyes.

“We certainly can,” Father Sebastian said, refusing to rise to Adamson’s bait. “On the other hand, given that Kip has no criminal record, the police aren’t likely to do anything at all for at least twenty-four hours, but if you want to spend most of the night answering questions, I’ll be happy to get the ball rolling.”

Brother Francis watched as Gordy Adamson visibly deflated.

Ten minutes later, the list of Kip’s friends and their phone numbers in hand, the two clerics left.

“Well, we didn’t learn much there,” Brother Francis sighed as he started the car.

“Actually, we did,” Father Sebastian replied. “We learned that Gordy Adamson is a thoroughgoing son-of-a-bitch, and that wherever Kip goes, it won’t be home.”

As he started back toward Boston, Brother Francis decided that he liked Father Sebastian.

He liked him a lot.