"Yes, Father," Friedrich replied. "I do have something I've been meaning to ask you since I woke up but I kept forgetting."
Taking a deep breath, he met the priest's gaze. "Was I... was I the only one? Did any of my family members survive?"
A heavy silence filled the air, following the question. Clearing the table, Anna quietly excused herself from the room.
The chubby priest on the other hand, briefly closed his eyes, grief visible in his expression. When he opened them again, he spoke in a soft voice.
"My condolences Herr Friedrich. You were the only survivor of the attack."
Despite having expected it, the words still weighed down on Friedrich, slumping his shoulders.
Without realising it, his mind drifted back to his past life as Damian where he'd been orphaned at the young of five. In a cruel sense of irony, his parents had also died in a terrorist attack.
And since he was their only son, he'd become orphaned.
Now again in this world, he was orphaned and alone once more. No family to lean on, just him and the world.
*Fate really does have a twisted sense of humour.* Friedrich thought. Exhaling softly, he looked up, meeting the priest's gaze.
"Then I must ask another thing, Father. Where were their bodies taken? My parent's, brother's and sister's." Without waiting for an answer, he added, "I must pay my respects, and see their bodies to rest. It is my duty as the last Kata."
The priest nodded. "Of course, it is only right. Do not trouble your heart on that account. The victims were brought here, and are currently being kept at the crypt. And we've been preparing them for a mass burial that wil be held soon."
*So that's why the whole place always seemed deserted.*
"I see." Friedrich murmured under his breath. "Thank you, Father for the care you have given me and for theirs." The priest nodded, a smile on his face.
"But I must ask to be discharged, Father."
"If I may ask, Herr Friedrich. Why?" The priest inquired, genuine concern on his face.
"I feel a pull Father. A need to stand on my own two feet, to put my family's affairs in order." Taking a deep breath, he gestured around the room. "I cannot fulfil it from this room. And I fear if I stay in place any longer, I may never recover from the grief."
Seeing the hesitant expression on the priest's face, he pressed on. "The wound is stable, Father. The Lord has healed it."
After a minute of observing Friedrich, with his mind warring between the professionalism of a healer and the spiritual respect for a man's duty, the priest finally relented.
"Very well. Faith without works is dead, as the Scripture tells us; 'To linger in convalescence when duty calls can be its own sin.' After I dress the wounds, you may leave today to see to your affairs."
"But," he added, raising a finger, "you will return here each morning for a new dressing until I am satisfied. The body may be touched by God, but it is still flesh, and flesh can fester."
Friedrich nodded, his lips curling upward, "Of course, Father."
"Good." The priest's gaze swept across the room, then settled on the plates atop the table. "I'll leave you to your meal then. Come find me after you're done with it."
Seconds later, the door closed with a slow, winding creak.
A heartbeat later when the sounds of receding footsteps coming from behind the door dissolved, a thought crossed Friedrich mind.
*Shit... I forgot to ask him where his office was.*
Shaking his head, he walked toward the table for his meal. A bowl of corn porridge, paired with a loaf of bread.
•••
Ten minutes later, having completed his breakfast, Friedrich left the room, with the intention of finding the priest, and rounding up his discharge.
The bright orange glow of the sun hit him like a flash bang the moment he stepped into the churches square, prompting him to briefly close his eyes to readjust.
Opening them, he swept his gaze around him, taking in the sights and sounds. A slow current of water ran to his right, extending as far as the eyes could see, on both sides.
To his left, a two-story gothic building with stained glass windows eclipsed the infirmary. Directly in front of it, stood a second brick structure that stretched into the sky.
*That must be the church.* Friedrich thought, his eyes still sweeping around him. On the far end of the square, he saw an elderly, hunched man wearing a brown Franciscan robe.
As he neared the man, he said, "Excuse me sir. Can I ask you something."
Slowly looking up, the man's grey eyes settled on Friedrich's figure. Pointing to the clock tower in the distance, he replied, "Sure. But let me ring the bells first."
Without waiting for a response, the man continued forward, with a slow, methodical step. Running his gaze around the almost empty church square, Friedrich found no-one else to ask for directions.
Exhaling softly, he followed behind the priest. After the elderly man walked into the bell tower, a loud toll rolled through the air, enveloping the area around the church.
Two more tolls separated by a ten seconds interval followed.
The entrance door creaked open some seconds later, and out came the elderly man. After he locked the door, he turned to face Friedrich. "So, how may I help you?
"I'm looking for a priest." Seeing the man's expression which said, 'which one', he continued, "I think he's the one incharge of the infirmary."
"Hmm." The elderly man muttered. After about ten seconds of consideration, his eyes lit up, as he asked "Is he about this tall?" His hand hovering somewhere around Friedrich's chest.
Seeing Friedrich nod, he smiled. "Ah! So you're looking for Father Bekker?"
Waving his hands with a forward motion, he added, "Come, come I'll show you to his abode."
As they moved through the square, the old man kept asking questions. From his name to why he was looking for Father Bekker, to if it was related to the bandaged running across his chest.
Questions and words never ceasing to leave his mouth.
By the end of the third minute, they reached the foot of a one story brick building with a slate-shingled roof, and a rounded chimney jutting out on its far left corner.
Gesturing toward the building, the elderly man said, "That's the priest's residence."
"Thank you." Turning around, Friedrich thanked the elderly man, who simply waved it off dismissively, and walked away.
Just as Friedrich was about to knock on the door, it opened with a slow creak, revealing a chubby priest with a ceramic jar in hand.
"Ahh. Herr Friedrich," Father Bekker said, upon sighting Friedrich. "I see you're done."
"Yes, Father. I am." Friedrich said, then cleared his throat. "About my requests—"
"Wait a minute." Father Bekker interrupted him, then turned around and headed back inside. Two minutes later, he returned with an additional ceramic jar in hand.
"Follow me," he said, leading Friedrich back toward the infirmary.
Once inside, Father Bekker gestured for him to sit.
Moving with practiced efficiency, he unwrapped the old gauze, briefly examined the wound, then retrieved a fresh strip of linen from a small wooden chest.
"This will only take a moment," he murmured, carefully applying a thin layer of salve from the ceramic jar before beginning to wrap the wound anew.
His movements were methodical and precise, the motions of a man who had performed the same ritual countless times.
Three minutes later, he secured the final knot and straightened up. "There. You'll return tomorrow morning, and we'll do this again."
"Thank you, Father." Friedrich said, rising from the chair.
Father Bekker simply nodded and headed for the door, with Friedrich following close behind.
•••
Outside, the previously empty church square was now filled with a steady stream of men, women, each engrossed in their own little world.
Most of the whom upon sighting Father Bekker greeted him. The priest returned their greetings with a curt nod, a small smile on his face.
Upon getting to the church building, he suddenly paused, then turned to face Friedrich. "Would you like to see them?"
"See who?" Friedrich blurted out.
"Your family?" Father Bekker replied, his head tilting slightly to the side, "I assume that's why you've been following me."
"Ah. Yes Father. I'd love to." Despite the reason why he'd been following Father Bekker being a subconscious act, Friedrich nodded in response, awkwardly scratching his head.
Four minutes later, Friedrich, lead by Father Bekker descended a dimly lit stairway. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly, as it rebounded off the browned brick walls on both sides.
Soon, the stairs gave way to a dimly lit room supported by half a dozen brick pillars.