The Shroud Codex - Jerome R. Corsi [40]
“Thank you again,” Castle said. “You have been most helpful.”
Back in the hospital room with Bartholomew and Morelli, Castle explained to them the results of the CT scans and MRI.
“How much longer will I be in the hospital?” Bartholomew asked. “I want to get back to my parish as soon as possible.”
“How do you feel?” Castle asked. “Your vital signs look good and you appear to be eating and functioning normally.”
Castle could keep him here in the hospital under observation for a few more days, but Father Bartholomew was clearly impatient. Castle also had a motive for releasing Bartholomew in that he wanted to observe right now what would happen if he sent Bartholomew back to his parishioners. Would the stigmata continue recovering, or would the wounds worsen? Since Castle believed the wounds were psychologically induced, he expected to see them worsen once Castle had the chance to act out his neurosis in public. By keeping Bartholomew isolated here in the hospital, Castle feared he would only postpone the inevitable second act of Father Bartholomew’s self-inflicted psychodrama. Castle shared Father Bartholomew’s desire to see him back in the parish as soon as possible.
“I feel a bit weak,” Bartholomew said, “but that is probably to be expected. Father Morelli is planning to stay with me at the parish and I don’t plan to resume active duties immediately. I may say Mass every day if I can, but I plan to get a lot of rest.”
“Father Morelli, can you hold him to that promise?” Castle asked.
“I will do my best.” The priest from the Vatican answered as honestly as he could.
“Okay, then,” Castle said. “I will prepare the paperwork and you will be released this afternoon. I want to see you in my office two days from now.”
CHAPTER NINE
Saturday evening
Outside St. Joseph’s Church
Day 10
Long lines have been forming outside St. Joseph’s Church on Manhattan’s Upper East Side since six this morning,” Robin Blair, the anchor for Channel 5 television’s early evening news report, said in introducing her story. “Our correspondent Fernando Ferrar is on scene. Fernando, what’s drawing the crowd?”
“You might not believe it, Robin, but these people are lined up around the block outside St. Joseph’s Catholic Church,” Ferrar said as he broadcast live from the street outside the church. “And what they’re doing is waiting to go to confession.”
Ferrar, born in Puerto Rico, was becoming a fixture on the New York local news scene. Already, his uncanny ability to sense a good story and capture a tough-to-get interview had drawn the attention of the network bosses who were always on the search for promising news talent that might break into the big time of network nightly news. He fancied himself to be a younger Geraldo Rivera and he hoped his career would have equally as meteoric a rise. Like Geraldo, Ferrar had an angular, almost sculpted face made even more distinctive by the presence of a neatly trimmed but ample mustache. His sandy brown hair and his chocolate-rich brown eyes made him a heartthrob not only in the Latino community but with the Anglo television audience as well.
“What’s going on?” Blair asked. “Do these people know something we don’t? Is the end of the world finally at hand?”
“It’s the parish priest here at St. Joseph’s,” Ferrar answered. “Father Paul Bartholomew is inside, hearing confession right now, and these people have lined up to see him.”
“I’m Catholic, too,” Robin Blair said in astonishment, “and I can’t believe it. You mean you’ve got a line there that runs blocks long just because people want to go to confession?”
“That’s right, Robin. People have lined up outside St. Joseph’s because they believe Father Bartholomew has the ability to do more than just