48 Hours a Day - Chapter 522

Chapter 522 Just Wait A Little Longer
Zhang Heng and Holmes got to the church as quickly as they could. The rusty brass lock on the door wasn’t about to stop them from getting in. Holmes struck the lock with his cane with oomph and hurrah, only to find the stubborn old thing not budging an inch.

Defeated, he stepped aside and watched as Zhang Heng pulled out his revolver, firing a deafening shot at the lock. The two then ran into the church.

As was the case with Father Jacob’s residence, there was no one here. Moonlight poured through the stained-glass windows and lit up the pews with a kaleidoscope of colors, creating an atmosphere of enigmatic tranquility and stillness.

“Find an entrance,” Holmes instructed Zhang Heng before the pair split up.

Irene Adler, now underground, heard the movement above her. She struggled, twisting and squirming hard, but her hands and feet were tightly bound. Gagged with a piece of cloth, the only sound she could manage was a muffled whine.

Father Jacob continued praying fervently by a wooden table as if he hadn’t heard the gunshots.

But who the opera singer feared more was the other person in the room-a man between the ages thirty and forty, his skin paler than a ghost, as if he had never spent any time under the sun at all. His long and unkempt beard looked like it hadn’t been shaved for a long time, and he was thin, except for his pair of sinewy arms. A tattered old coat covered his body, and as he sat by the bed, he watched on at Irene with intrigue.

The priest seemed to have read the opera singer’s mind. “They won’t be able to get in. This secret room was a shelter built during the Middle Ages, and even if you were to dig your way, it’s not something to be accomplished in a day.”

Upon hearing that, Irene stopped struggling. The pale man was getting impatient. “Are you done yet? Can I start already?”

“Not yet. Just a little while more,” replied Father Jacob without turning around to look.

The priest picked up a blood-stained leather apron from under the table. He turned to Irene, “You must be wondering why we’ve chosen you… This is all because of mebecause of a mistake I made when I was young.”

“Can we leave the stories for later?!” the pale-skinned man snapped, but when he saw the apron, his eyes lit up.

“It won’t take long,” said Father Jacob. “Don’t you remember what I taught you? We have to be polite and patient.”

The pale-skinned man immediately stopped talking, and his face flushed red.

Father Jacob continued, “As I said—I’ve made a mistake. I was only nineteen then. Father Matthew wrote a letter to the church saying how short-staffed Sacred Heart had become. But at that time, priests were scarce, and barely any of them were willing to come to the East End. But I was young, zealous, and fervent, so I volunteered to go and help.

“I must admit-I came from a family of squires, and at the beginning, I had great difficulty adjusting to life here. I came to London when I was sixteen and stayed with Father Abelson. We occasionally visited the poor here in the East End, but it’s different when you actually live here. When I first arrived, I was a little depressed. I wanted to go back to Father Abelson badly, but I was afraid people would think less of me because I couldn’t bear the hardship.

“It was also around this time that I met a girl, Emma. She was a prostitute, only sixteen, and new to the trade. Her father died, and her mother ran away with another guy, so she had no choice but to do what she did to survive. But unlike the other girls, she would attend church every week, and that was also how we met.

“Perhaps because we were about the same age, that she felt I was different from the rest of the congregation, and she would often come to talk to me. I was in a rut myself, and many a time, she ended up being the one to comfort me.”

Father Jacob seemed to be lost in the past as he spoke.

“Father Matthew had warned me before, but I did not take him seriously. I thought I was doing a good thing, leading a lost soul onto the right path. I became so complacent until one night, she came to see me. It was very late; a demanding customer had just hit her, and she cut her arm on some glass. I patched her up, and as I was getting up to leave, she kissed me. It took me by surprise, and my mind went completely blank. She then threw herself on me, and I wanted to push her away, but I don’t know why I lacked the strength to do so. And then, it just happened.

“She disappeared before dawn, leaving me behind. Only then did I realize what I had done. I was filled with guilt and shame, knowing that I would have disappointed many– Father Abelson, Father Matthew… and myself especially. Whatever the excuse, whatever that happened that night, shouldn’t have happened! I wanted to fix it. So, from then on, I made a decision to avoid Emma. She came to church to see me several times, but I pretended I wasn’t there. At night, I would lock the door of my lodging and wouldn’t open it no matter who came knocking. After a while, she finally disappeared from my life.

“It was a huge relief, at first. I thought I had gotten away with it, but what I didn’t know, was how it was the beginning of a nightmare.”

“Can we start now?” the pale man interrupted, reaching for a scalpel from under the pillow. “Give me some time,” replied Father Jacob, in a stern and commanding tone prompting the pale-skinned man to put the scalpel back.

“About a year later, I found an infant at the door of the church. Amid the shrouds covering it, was a letter with no signature. But I recognized Emma’s handwriting. She claimed that it was our child and although there was nothing to prove it, I don’t know why I believed her,” Father Jacob paused. “…I just believed her,” he repeated.

Irene looked at the pale man, and suddenly, she came to an understanding. Father Jacob nodded. “Yes, he is the child. I sent him to the orphanage, but he did not live a good life there. After he came out, I helped him get a job at the hospital, but he could never last long in one place. Only five years ago, Father Matthew retired and moved to the suburbs, so I was left alone in the Church of the Sacred Heart. I allowed him to live down here, and I told him the truth about his mother and me. I only wanted him to know where he came from, and I definitely didn’t expect him to blame his mother for his miserable life.”

“Can we start now, Father Jacob?!!!”

The pale-skinned man screamed at the top of his lungs. Obviously, his patience was running thin.

“She’s all yours! I’ve never let you call me father, but now, you can call me your father,” said Father Jacob.