The Black ChapelChapter 2: Silence Kept
October 4th, 2021 – 10:23 AMDiocese of Albany – Office of the Chancellor
Archbishop Roderic Favreau was the kind of man who made rooms feel smaller when he entered them. His presence was all posture, all command — white hair slicked back, rings gleaming like polished medals. His silence was louder than most men's shouting.
Maria sat across from him, the photo hidden inside her planner. The death file, however, was open between them.
"I'm not sure I understand," she said quietly, trying not to look like she was shaking.
"You're not meant to," Favreau replied, folding his hands over the folder. "Clerical D files are not under your jurisdiction."
"I thought I was assigned to digitize all legacy records—"
"And you were. Until this drawer."
His eyes sharpened, not angry, but alert. Like a hawk watching a rabbit's heartbeat.
"Some histories, Miss Vescari, exist only to be buried. We don't exhume the dead without reason."
She kept her voice level. "The report's incomplete. And there's a duplicate entry for Father Lussaro — same death, two different case numbers. One lists cardiac arrest. The other..." She hesitated. "The other doesn't list a cause at all."
Favreau leaned forward slowly, as though the desk itself might carry his authority.
"And now you've begun asking questions that no one else has asked in twenty-five years. Why do you think that is?"
Maria said nothing.
Favreau smiled faintly, as if satisfied with her silence.
He slid the file back into a sealed envelope, affixed a red wax seal, and placed it in a locked drawer.
"You're bright," he said. "Too bright to waste your time on shadows. Go home. Take the rest of the week off."
Dismissal.
Maria rose slowly, clutching her planner. She didn't thank him. Didn't look back.
Outside the chancery, the October air was colder than expected.
She sat in her car for twenty minutes, staring at the photo again.
The chapel behind the priests was unmistakable. No stained glass, no signage. Just black timber and rot. Her eyes locked on one face — younger, sharper, but familiar.
Father Anthony Lussaro.
But if the photo was taken in 1996… he should have been at a different parish entirely. She checked the diocese assignment map. In that year, Lussaro was supposed to be in Syracuse — not upstate. Not there.
He wasn't scheduled to be anywhere near St. Irenaeus.
She pulled out her laptop, logged into the internal registry system, and searched for St. Irenaeus Chapel.
No parish listing found.
But then her screen blinked — just once. A single line appeared, then disappeared.
"Sacrament Pending."
Back inside the chancery, Archbishop Favreau made a call.His voice, when it spoke, was lower. Harder.
"She found the photo."
A pause. Static.
"No, not yet. But she will. You know how they are, the ones who dig."
A longer pause. Then a soft exhale.
"Yes. Begin the watch."