Page 65 of Vicious Behaviors
“I’ll give your offer some thought. But I think we can agree to give you a trial run. How does the first Saturday of the upcoming month sound to you? Can you commit to that?”
“I’d be happy to,” I reply, the knot in my chest loosening just a bit.
Progress. At last.
“Very well,” Sister Margaretta says. “Sister Agnes will show you the gym area we have on the premises. I’m hoping we won’t need to purchase any additional equipment.”
“All I need are a few mats, and I’m good to go, Sister. I’ll email you the proposal so you can review it further. Still, I’m confident that once you hear the girls’ feedback, you’ll see how valuable these classes really are.”
“I should hope so. For your sake.” She dismisses me with a wave, leaving Sister Agnes in charge of showing me around.
Classes are in session, so the hallways are mostly empty. I hear faint voices and the occasional shuffle of feet and chairs behind closed doors.
“Sister Margaretta is quite the ballbuster, isn’t she?” I ask, testing the waters with the more easygoing nun.
Sister Agnes chuckles. “It’s in her job description, I’m afraid. This school needs a firm hand. Most kids here are entitled, and it takes a strong will to handle their… let’s say, occasional lapses in conduct. You’ll see soon enough.”
“I’m not surprised. But I’ve dealt with my fair share of unruly teenagers. Might not look it now, but I used to be one.”
“Really? You seem so put together.”
“The Army helped with that,” I say, flashing a grin, conveniently leaving out that Quantico also played its part in sanding down my sharpest edges.
Unlike the students here, my background didn’t come from wealth. Quite the contrary. South Side made sure to teach me how to grow a thicker skin if I wanted to survive in my neighborhood. And sometimes that meant getting in fights that could have been solved with words instead of fists.
We continue talking as she leads me down a wide hallway into the school’s gymnasium. It’s well-lit, state-of-the-art, and honestly more impressive than I expected.
“Your students must pay a hefty tuition to afford equipment like this.”
“That, and we receive generous donations,” she explains. “We’ve been very fortunate. Good patrons are hard to find, but we’ve been blessed with a few very influential families who support us annually.”
I don’t need to ask who she’s referring to, as I bet my last dollar Marcello’s family is one of these generous patrons.
“I can see how students at the academy might come off as a little entitled, especially if they’re used to having the best, state-of-the-art equipment.”
“That’s not the case for all of them,” she replies. “The children from St. Mary’s Orphanage attend this school, too. It gives Sacred Heart a good balance. Not every student here takes the privileges we offer for granted.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.”
Sister Agnes gives a small nod, her expression thoughtful. “It’s not something many outsiders realize. St. Mary’s Cathedral was the first to be built, over a century ago. The convent followed soon after, housing the sisters who served the Church and cared for the parish. When the orphanage was built down the road, it was meant to be a sanctuary, a place where the children could be raised with dignity and compassion.
“Eventually, we realized the children needed more than shelter and sermons. They needed structure. A future. So, the Church originally founded Sacred Heart Academy for the orphans. But to ensure it would always have funding, we opened its doors to the public and made it a private institution. That’s when families of influence started sending their children here.
“But make no mistake,” she adds, her eyes meeting mine with quiet conviction, “this place was built with the orphans in mind. The privileged ones may benefit now, but Sacred Heart exists because of those children.”
We walk a bit more before I gently steer the conversation toward what I really want to know.
“I heard your community suffered a recent tragedy. My deepest condolences.”
Sister Agnes’s expression shifts. Her smile fades. “You’re talking about Father McDonagh, I presume.”
I nod.
“Yes, it was quite a blow to us all. One day he was here, and the next… gone. Lord knows what really happened.”
“Have the police made any progress?”
She shakes her head. “Honestly, I think they’ve given up. At first, they were everywhere, asking questions, combing through St. Mary’s records for any lead that might explain his sudden disappearance. But once the press stopped covering it, the police lost interest too. Not only did he vanish off the face of the earth, but I doubt we will ever know what happened to him.”
