by Lorena
Dear Madam,
You shouldn’t be surprised to find all of us still writing notes to you even after lights out. At the moment, we’re passing around one of Jermiah’s votive candles to use for illumination. Yeah, we’re taking turns. Casey, bless his little black heart, is taking this exercise too literally—that is, so long as we’re up and about, we need to continue writing notes for your shrine.
It’s nearing midnight. Yeah, I can just hear Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue” blaring in the background right now.
Where do I start? Do I even dare?
What’s there to say? This is ridiculous! Ghosts don’t exist! Whatever it is Trowa talked about is nothing more than a waking dream. Sure, it’s cold in here. But it’s most likely an architectural defect.
Oh—here’s another explanation. What we consider to be ghosts are psychic playbacks—impressions of previous events and people being “played back” like a cassette player rewinding and replaying a song. Those things can happen, you know. Magnetic fields and stuff—those can happen. I’ve seen it on TLC before.
I’m sure that had I the right equipment, I’d be able to take some readings around here and prove once and for all that this ghost bit isn’t any better than that.
Shit, it’s cramped in Trowa’s bed. I wish Quatre would move back a little. And I wish Trowa would stop squirming so much.
Wondering what the fuss is all about,
Wufei Chang
Dear Lady,
It’s my turn with the votive candle.
This is bizarre. I’ve never been on a ghostbusting expedition sort of thing before. We’re all crammed in this tiny room, but I don’t care. It sort of reminds me of summer camp. Sort of. Only now we’ve been locked in by the nuns—no idea why we didn’t get caught, but here we are. I’m wondering if any of us will get any sleep.
I hope the ghost shows up. Wufei’s going to be pissed if it did. Mr. All Things Rational would pop a vein, probably arguing with the ghost about being phony and all that.
I, for one, believe that ghosts exist. I still remember my grandpa showing up at my mom’s garden back home while everyone was at the funeral. That bit was fucked. I wish ghosts didn’t show up to little kids when they’re alone. I still have some premature gray strands from that encounter (no, I’m not lying to you).
This damn floor’s uncomfortable—even with all the cushions we’re using (i.e., Trowa and Justin’s clothes and luggage—but don’t tell them that), it’s still annoying as hell. The only comfort I have is that Heero gets to suffer down here with me. I wonder if Casey and Herbert are faring any better by the door.
I wonder if Heero and I could get away with a quiet shag—especially since the lights are out, and I can’t see a damn thing. The moon outside the window’s obscured by clouds, too.
Aw, man—that means we won’t be able to see the ghost if it did show up.
Unless it makes us feel its presence by groping us in the dark.
Snuggling,
Duo Maxwell
Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur; tuque, Princeps militiae coelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervegantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen. [1]
Wufei had better fucking stop pushing Quatre back against me. And…
Quatre’d better stoppp wrapping h is leggs aournd m y wai st.
Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis.
Sancta Dei Genetrix, ora pro nobis.
Sancta Virgo virginum, ora pro nobis.
Sancte Michael, ora pro nobis.
Sancte Gabriel, ora pro nobis.
Sancte Raphael, ora pro nobis.
Omnes sancti Angeli et Archangeli, orate pro nobis.
Omnes sancti beatorum Spiritum ordines, orate pro nobis. [2]
Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen. [3]
Fuckum thisum.
Lusting hi s waayy tto dam nat io n,
Otrwa Braotn
Mary,
It’s my turn with the votive candle. Of course, I’d be able to write more if I didn’t have Duo wrapped around me like a human octopus. I never realized a body has enough flexibility to wrap itself around something like a life-sized burrito.
I do feel like a burrito.
I’m also starting to feel horny.
Duo’s groping me under my pajamas.
Shit.
Can we fit under Trowa’s bed?
Oh, God. I’ll talk to you later. Gotta go.
Heero Yuy
Dear Virgin,
Check this out. I’m cuddling with Trowa under everyone’s noses—managed to sandwich him between my legs even if he’s trying to push me away (as if he really wanted to keep me away—I saw that look in his eyes).
With us sharing space with Wufei (and Wufei pushing me back against Trowa to keep himself from falling off the edge), I’ve got a good enough reason to cling to Mr. Party Pooper as though my life depended on it.
Nothing’s happening with regard to the ghost. I knew it was pointless from the get go. Ghosts never show up to a large group of people who’re trying to catch a glimpse of it. They always hit when you least expect it.
Well—I got to hold Trowa at least. I don’t care. I’ll see you in the morning.
Love,
Quatre Winner
Dear Madam,
Well—the good thing about being punished is that at least I don’t have to perform more tricks in front of the entire class. Sr. Lydia would have to find someone else to torment with her guitar.
At the moment, the ten of us are all back in the church, going through the Stations of the Cross (like Trowa did last year for that incest-in-the-Bible issue). I’d sooner be doing this and meditating on the church’s architecture. I’ve heard that the first song up in Sr. Lydia’s repertoire today is “The Lonely Goatherd.”
God, talk about good timing. I’d sooner be martyred by having my dick smashed between anvils and my balls hammered to the ground with rusty, ten-inch nails than skip around, yodeling like an idiot. I’ll bet you she’s got some puppets for us to use, too.
Of course, the only drawback to this is listening to Jeremiah sing his way through the entire thing and watching Casey move from one station to another on his knees. Herbert’s prattling off his prayers at a hundred miles an hour, and he’s going through the entire thing like a deranged jackrabbit. Justin and Gabriel are being their usual sensible selves and are doing what they’re supposed to do without a fuss.
Duo’s dozing off at the Seventh Station—which is pretty appropriate, I suppose, that being the station that says “Jesus falls a second time.” I’m waiting for Heero to wake him up once he catches up with him and push him off to the Eighth Station. Trowa’s praying (I think he’s praying) about ten yards away from everyone, and he refuses to have anyone else come near him. I think he’s possessed by the devil. Quatre’s pulling each painting off the wall at each station and inspecting the art and the frame. So much for spiritual development here.
Thanks for letting us get caught last night, too. I know I would’ve done a lot of damage with the door locked and with me needing to go. Don’t look at me. I didn’t choose my kidneys, you know.
Well, actually, thanks to Quatre for howling like Barney in heat. Had he not messed around with Trowa, Trowa wouldn’t have been forced to do something drastic to get him to leave him alone.
I’ve noticed that this church has a pretty impressive collection of graves under the floors. I’m calculating the ages of these people when they died.
Feeling scholarly again,
Wufei Chang
Dear Lady,
This is our final day. I haven’t gotten any still. I’m pissed off. I’m not talking to you.
Wants to go home,
Duo Maxwell
Immaculate Mother, we come at thy call,
And low at thy altar before thee we fall,
Ave, ave, ave Maria,
Ave, ave, ave Maria.
In grief and temptation, in joy and in pain,
We’ll seek thee, our Mother, nor seek thee in vain,
Ave, ave, ave Maria,
Ave, ave, ave Maria. [4]
If it worked for St. Bernadette, I figured it would work for me. Though I’ll have to question the validity of the second stanza.
And just to make sure that all my bases are covered…
Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae: vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve. Ad te clamamus exsules filii Hevae. Ad te suspiramus, gementes et flentes in hac lacrimanrum valle. Eia, ergo, advocata nostra, illos tuos misericordes oculos ad nos converte. Et Iesum, benedictum fructum ventris tui, nobis post hoc exsilium ostende.
O Clemens, O pia, O dulcis Virgo Maria. Amen. [5]
I’d pray in French, too, but at the moment, all the French prayers drilled into me by my parents have decided to abandon me.
Just for the record, you know too well that I HAD no other choice last night but to tickle the hell out of Quatre. He was clinging to me like a barnacle on a whale’s ass, and he’d no idea how close he got to compromising his virtue.
Yeah, even with all our friends around, I would’ve boinked his brains out.
Praying in spite of his agnosticism (once a Catholic, always a Catholic, I suppose),
Trowa Barton
Mary,
If Quatre hadn’t shrieked and given us all a major coronary, Duo and I would’ve been in deep shit. I’m only hoping that the nuns didn’t catch Duo’s hands inside my pajama bottoms last night when they raided the room.
It’s been hours later, but, God, I can still see Sr. Margaret brandishing that crucifix at everyone when she burst into the room. With the other nuns chanting Latin prayers behind her, I honestly thought we were living out some kind of Medieval holy drama.
If anything, I half-expected to get dragged out of the room with the rest of my friends, tied to the rack, and had Tomas de Torquemada do a tap dance on our genitals till we confessed. [6] Although—had this really been the Spanish Inquisition, Wufei, Quatre, Trowa, and I would be deader than dead meat by now.
My ears are still ringing from all the screaming last night—Quatre laughing his head off, Sr. Margaret and the nuns bursting in with Latin invectives, all ten of us shrieking in surprise (do you blame us?), St. Margaret and the nuns shrieking in surprise in response to our shrieking.
Was I just being redundant?
Let’s just say that the last room on the third floor of the dorm was alive with the sound of hysterics from boys AND women.
I’ll have to give you my overall view regarding Catholic retreats later. Right now I need to wake Duo up. Again.
Heero Yuy
Dear Virgin,
These paintings and frames look pretty good. I wonder how old they are. I hope I’m not committing any grievous sin by pulling them off the wall and inspecting them. True, they’re supposed to be up since they mark each station of the cross, but I’ve been pretty curious about church icons and stuff—along with relics, of course. I guess being here and being exposed to nothing else BUT icons and relics will do that to anyone.
My sides are sore. Trowa tickled me too hard last night. But I guess it’s good that he did; otherwise, no one would’ve been able to sleep a wink with all of us crammed in his room. The nuns wouldn’t have heard me scream and kicked us all out.
Well—I’ve also been thinking about St. Mechthilde’s liver. I’ve gone through every option I could come up with, and there’s only one way out of this.
I think the liver’s due for a miracle.
Where’s Duo?
He’s passed out at the eleventh station. Which one is that one? Oh—Jesus is nailed to the cross.
Love,
Quatre Winner
Dear Madam,
I think every block of stone that makes up the floor of this church is a burial spot. Check this out. Rows and rows and rows of oblong blocks with faded names carved into them. It’s a little weird seeing what’s normally sacred space being stepped on by people or being partly covered by pews and altars and so on.
I wonder if these people’s descendants know about this. Would they throw a fit? I know I would. If I were one of these dead people, I’d be haunting the church till I drive everyone insane and have them either transfer my remains elsewhere that’s consecrated or just make the church a museum.
We’re all done doing penance, and we’ve scattered. I’ve no idea where Justin and the others have gone—but I’m damn sure that they’re not joining the sessions back at the dorms. They’re probably exploring the place.
Except for Casey. I think I see him sprawled, face down, before some saint’s altar—possibly doing more penance for only God knows what. Oooookay.
Heero’s wandering around, looking puzzled. Duo’s not with him—I guess that’s why. Actually, Quatre’s missing, too. It doesn’t seem to bother Trowa as much, who’s now tiptoeing around and hiding behind statuary and inside alcoves and so on.
My God, someone needs to see a doctor.
Well—since I’m finally free from Julie Andrews’s insidious, subversive influence, I’m going to go around taking notes about early Christian architecture for my research paper. I can think clearly now.
Prayer to St. Thomas Aquinas—you’re off the hook. I won’t bug you anymore since I’m no longer being tormented. But I still expect my Social Studies grade to get fixed somehow—I don’t care how you do it. Remember, I’ve got St. Martin de Porres’s number. If social justice is needed, all I need to do is dial. Amen.
I wonder if there’s a cloister around here. I’ve never really looked.
Your long-suffering, non-Catholic son,
Wufei Chang
Dear Lady,
Yeah, I’m still sore. And when I’m sore, I don’t give a rat’s ass what I do. Right now, Quatre and I are running like hell from the vault, the cooked liver in a paper bag.
Screw it. It’s either make it look like the liver’s done a miraculous disappearing act or have the Vatican on our asses so fast our future boyfriends’ heads are going to spin. Don’t even get started on our families and how THEY’LL take to the news of us boiling a relic.
This is gross. The paper bag’s all soggy with that fluid. I can hear the liver slosh around inside. We’re going to have to find a good spot to bury it somewhere. I think I can hear Quatre gag beside me (he was the one who pulled this thing out of the tank, after all—thank God he used a couple of short poles to fish this bugger out).
Hey, I’ve heard of shrines getting ransacked and relics and stuff getting stolen all the time. I guess in a way it’s good that the camera crew isn’t here anymore, or they’ll be blamed for stealing the liver.
Okay, it looks like we’re ready to go.
Still no idea where to hide this thing.
Pissed off and going insane,
Duo Maxwell
It looks like the class is being led downstairs into the catacombs. Maybe the nuns are going to show them St. Mechthilde’s liver.
Well—I guess that’s good. That’ll keep me occupied for a while. I guess I should follow them and keep close, especially since Duo and Quatre are down there, too. I wonder what they’re doing. Quatre looked a little determined when he and Duo left us after our penance session.
I hope to God that Casey would move his sorry carcass. He’s still lying on the ground before the altar of St. Venantius, and according to this list, he’s the patron saint of jumping.
Right. I’m off.
Tormented to no end,
Trowa Barton
Mary,
The nuns are doing a tour of the catacombs, and Trowa and I have joined them. The whole class is here. We’re crammed into the passageways. We’ve also overtaken Duo and Quatre, who seemed to be running the opposite direction when we ran into them.
I’ve no idea what they’ve done down here, but both of them look like they’re going through apoplectic fits right now, being surrounded by everyone, including the nuns. Sr. Helen’s just taken them both in and given her forgiveness for last night. She’s dragging both of them off with her into the vaults.
I guess they’re taking the class to see the liver.
Is it my imagination, or did I just hear Duo and Quatre whimper?
Well, this is a surprise. I just saw Wufei trailing behind. I guess he decided to join the group, too.
Heero Yuy
Dear Virgin,
Please send lightning. Please send lightning. Please send lightning. Shoot me now. Sr. Helen won’t let go of me and Duo, and we’re being brought back to the vaults. I don’t want to be there when they see that the liver’s missing.
Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease shoot me.
I’m sorry for boiling the liver. I’m sorry for stealing the liver. I’m sorry I got into this mess. I’m hyperventilating. I’m going to throw up.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!
Wants his lightning,
Quatre Winner
Dear Madam,
Well, here’s news. One—the liver’s missing. Two—the liver isn’t real. Three—Duo’s possessed by demons.
I don’t think I need to explain the whole missing liver bit. What’s there to explain? I see a tank filled with disgusting-looking fluid and nothing else.
The liver isn’t real, apparently. Sr. Helen told the class that the shrine has fallen victim to thieves in the past, and the church has lost a few things before. The nuns decided to remove the real liver, put it somewhere safe, and just use a dummy liver for display (it’s supposedly an accurate copy of the original—okay, how can one liver possibly be different from another, anyway? They all look the same—fine, save for maybe damage caused by cirrhosis, but the idea’s there—there’s no need to say that a copy of the liver looks like the original because it really looks like a billion or so other livers out there. Am I being nitpicky?).
With that said, it was no wonder that Sr. Helen was so calm when she found the tank empty. All they need to do now, after all, is make another facsimile of the relic and dump it into the tank. I hope to hell that they change the fluid. It’s disgusting.
She was calm. I wish I could say the same thing about Duo.
The minute Sr. Helen told us that, he started to jump around, waving this soggy paper bag and screaming something about going through hell for a fake relic. It took three people to wrestle him down and drag him out and back to the dorms. I think I can still hear him screaming out there, threatening every saint there is.
And guess what. The soggy bag he was carrying? It had the liver in it.
Now everyone’s praising him and Quatre for finding the thing and trying to return it to the vaults. I can only suppose that the thieves dropped the liver somewhere in the catacombs (I wouldn’t blame them—have you seen that thing? It’s repulsive!), and Duo and Quatre stumbled upon it on their way down here after our penance session.
The class would be praising them to the high heavens right now, but at the moment, some of us are also carrying Quatre out and back to the dorms. He passed out completely after Sr. Helen told us everything.
Everyone’s off to check out the rest of the catacombs and finish the tour. I’m done as far as I’m concerned. I need to find the cloisters now and see if there are any more dead people lining the walkways.
Heero and Trowa have disappeared. I’m sure they ran off after their snugglebunnies.
Fascinated scholar,
Wufei Chang
Dear Lady,
I’m more than pissed. I’m not talking to you. I mean it this time.
Fucked up the ass,
Duo Maxwell
Duo and Quatre are heroes. Imagine that. I never would’ve guessed. Quatre has always had that strange sixth sense sort of thing—I don’t know—empathic ability, maybe? I’m now wondering if he sensed that there was trouble down in the catacombs when he called Duo to go with him.
He’s okay. He’s lying on his bed, just recovering from his fainting spell. I think the rest of the class will be spending whatever’s left of the afternoon in the church for a special Mass or something.
God, what a weekend.
I never realized how far a man’s limits can be tested till this weekend. No, I’m not over it yet. As a matter of fact, it’s coming back with a vengeance. I’m alone in Quatre’s room. The only other people in this building are Duo and Heero, and they’re in Duo’s room right now. There are no distractions. No danger of getting caught. Nothing.
I’m running out of prayers, and I’m running out of patron saints.
Quatre’s lying on his stomach, writing his note to you, looking so goddamned fuckable. And if I weren’t worried so much for his welfare—for his virtue—I’d…
Virtue? I didn’t just say that, did I?
WHAT virtue? Quatre lost his virtue months ago. I was there when it happened.
No. Stop. I’m trying to rationalize things here, and I’ve been doing that a zillion times since the bus ride. I need distractions. I’ve only got a few hours to go, anyway.
Domine, ne in furore tuo arguas me, neque in ira tua corripias me. Miserere mei, Domine, quoniam infirmus sum; sana me, Domine, quoniam conturbata sunt ossa mea. Et anima mea turbata est valde, sed tu, Domine, usquequo? [7]
…
…
…
…
…
Fuck it.
Bless me, Father, for I’m about to sin.
Going to hell,
Trowa Barton
Mary,
Duo’s way too upset over this liver thing. I don’t know why. He and Quatre are being regarded as heroes, after all. He’s being impossible right now—fuming and sulking and acting like a baby.
He needs a massage.
Heero Yuy
Dear Virgin,
I can’t believe it. That was one close call. I’m okay now, though. I’m alone with Trowa in my room, and he’s looking after me.
It’s been such a bizarre experience.
I never once expected the retreat to
…
…
…
…
…
(note remains unfinished)
Dear Madam,
I found the cloisters. And I found more burial spots all over the walkway. I’ve got so much shit for my research paper now. I think it’s time to celebrate and gorge on tonight’s dinner.
God, what a weekend. I’ve been avoiding Sr. Lydia like the plague at the moment. I know that we’re all forgiven for breaking rules and camping out at Trowa and Justin’s room, so she’s likely going to be all buddy-buddy with me again.
I’ll have to keep an eye out for her and her guitar.
We all leave for Victoria College tomorrow. Once we get back, it’s reckoning time. Don’t forget—I’ve got a long-ass list of grievances against heaven. I’m going to make a copy of it to take with me since I’ll be leaving this original at your shrine before retiring for the night. Then St. Thomas Aquinas needs to do a few things for me as well—for allowing me to go through Von Trapp hell all day yesterday. I’m sure St. Martin de Porres will see to it that justice gets done.
I’ve heard that the TV crew will be stopping by Victoria College sometime to talk to the students about miraculous apparitions and so on. Yeah, wait till they get a load of our Mother Teresa potato—which has long gone the way of the garbage bin. Hopefully we’ll get hit with another divine event, and we’ll have something to share.
God, I can only imagine the rest of the student body just salivating over that Zechs guy.
Ah, yes—dinner’s finally here, and—shit. And so is Sr. Lydia.
I’m hiding under the table. Anyone who tries to lead her to me will have his shins gnawed to a pulp and shredded with my pencil. I’m not kidding.
Waiting for reparation,
Wufei Chang
Dear Lady,
I can’t move. Oh, dear God. I’m in a daze to boot.
Christ, where did THAT come from? One minute I was ranting about how fucked up this retreat has been, the next minute Heero’s riding me like a madman, his tongue glued to my ear canal, and sending me speaking in Babylonian.
I feel like I’ve got arthritis. I’m so sore all over. And I never knew how flexible Heero really is. Have you seen the positions he took? Never mind.
I’m in shock.
But, hell, I feel damn GOOD.
Yeah, I guess we’re friends again. I need to eat. I need to gorge myself. Hot, sweaty, incredible monkey sex always does that to me. And we didn’t even need the whipped cream.
Hey, what’s Wufei doing under the table?
Finally sated,
Duo Maxwell
Adeste fideles laeti triumphantes;
venite, venite in Bethlehem;
Natum videte Regem Angelorum:
Venite, adoremus,
venite, adoremus,
venite, adoremus Dominum.
Cantet nunc Io chorus Angelorum;
cantet nunc aula caelestium,
Gloria in excelsis Deo:
Venite, adoremus,
venite, adoremus,
venite, adoremus Dominum. [8]
Hallelujah.
Speaking in tongues and happy at long last,
Trowa Barton
Mary,
I think I can get used to weekend retreats. Of course, I’m going to get into trouble with my mom and admin for forging my mom’s signature on the permission slip, but what the hell.
Kinks and all, this has been one hell of a ride.
I think I’ll be able to persuade my mom about letting me go next year. She’ll have her own brand of penance for pulling this stunt, yeah, but I’ve been there, done that. It’s not going to be too bad. Besides, I can always have Duo keep me company while going through Yuy-style punishment.
Hmm. It looks like Sr. Lydia just snagged someone else to sing a duet with her. I hope she makes it a dinner song. I still don’t understand how “Edelweiss” could be connected to food.
And what the hell is Wufei doing under the table? I’m sure he knows he’s safe at this point.
Heero Yuy
Dear Virgin,
My butt’s sore. I might have to eat my dinner standing up. I never expected Trowa to have that much stamina. How many times did we do it, anyway? I think I lost track after three.
I’m feeling so mellow after all that. I never thought that sex could be so therapeutic.
I guess I should faint more often.
Of course, that also means not being able to sit down for a while.
About that liver, too—should Duo and I ‘fess up sometime? I want to, but at the same time, Trowa’s been extremely snuggly with me since the incident. I think believing what everyone else is might have something to do with him doing me blind—I mean—he did call me his hero about twenty times when we were going at it.
How many Hail Marys will it take for me to be forgiven if I were to not say anything and let him believe I’m a hero—okay, for only a little while—like, till tomorrow? He did say something about celebrating my moral uprightness a little more after dinner—in one of the spare rooms.
I’ll have to check back with you on that. Is that cool?
I need to eat.
Love,
Quatre Winner
[1] “Oratio ad Sanctum Michael” (Prayer to St. Michael)
[2] an excerpt from the “Litaniae Sanctorum” (Litany of the Saints)
[3] “Doxologia Minor” (Glory Be)
[4] the Lourdes Hymn (Immaculate Mary)
[5] “Salve Regina” (Hail Holy Queen)
[6] Tomas de Torquemada was the inquisitor-general who established the local tribunals of the Spanish Inquisition.
[7] an excerpt from “Psalmus VI” (Psalm 6)
[8] an excerpt from “Adeste Fidelis” (Oh Come, All Ye Faithful)