After watching the movie and reading the book, I found myself thinking of a story about Camerlengo Ventresca. I was disappointed that he immolated himself in the end. Kudos to Ewan McGregor for playing the camerlengo well in the film. This character was one of the most awesome I've ever known, whether in literature or film. I want to warn you about a few changes here and there. I will be combining concepts from both the book and the movie. I hope it works out.

Disclaimer: I don't own A&D but I based a few events from it. Dan Brown wrote it. I don't own the film as well. I only own the unfortunate soul here who unknowingly puts herself into trouble.

Chapter 1: Forgive me, Father

Madness.

Guilt.

Shame.

Morphine.

This diabolical combination surged within his veins. His tired feet were racing to the Niche of the Palliums, fingering a combustible object in his pocket. His pale flesh shone brightly in the ninety-nine lamps, which seemed to shine brighter at the sight of him.

Taking one of the oil lamps, he descended, almost floating down the niche. A solitary death? This would never do! Christ died in the eyes of the world. His contemplation ended by a stroll to the balcony, where he would appear before the people, but not after pouring the butane from the oil lamp onto his hair, clothes and skin.

Smelling sweet…just like mother…but burning like Hell…

Dressed immaculately in white, he glistened in a flurry of flashbulbs, the world spellbound. As he raised his hands to heaven, the world prayed with him. When they bowed down their heads, he reached for the golden lighter in his pocket.

And there was fire…

They thought he was ascending into heaven…no…he was not. He was in pain…burning but he did not flinch. It seemed to be a miracle for the eyes staring from below. No one could have ever said he looked awful even if he was in flames. He might have been the image of unearthly beauty.

Then, he was gone.

While the whole world was hypnotized by the divine sight, she went into the basilica. Nobody would stop her anyway. Everybody was frozen. Even in the dark, St. Peter's Basilica was an awesome sight, especially upon seeing the imposing monument over the tomb of the first Pope.

There were sounds bouncing off the wide vaults and columns of the church. Find the camerlengo! Were they real? WHAT HAS HE DONE TO OUR CHURCH? Eerily, they resounded like large bells booming in the distance. He killed the Pope! He set up all of this!

She did not move, eyes glowering in the dark. She heard the truth.

No one would mind an extra hand in the search…I'm going to find him too…and BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF HIM. She thought, trying to find a path to the balcony. She was immediately captivated by the ninety-nine lamps of the Niche. Walking slowly, her every step echoing in the silent hall, she almost slipped as she neared the Niche.

"WHAT ON EARTH IS THIS?!" she saw a slippery liquid on the floor. Oh, great. Someone spilled lamp oil. Wait..what…the… The liquid seemed to leave a trail, going to another area of the great structure.

She ran, running a track parallel to the oil spill. She went up a flight of stairs which seemed to be a mile long. Where on earth is that bastard?

He did not ascend into heaven. How could a murderer, a fraud and a lunatic do so? He just disappeared behind the walls of the Papal balcony. His body seemed like a torch, glowing orange in the darkness. Still no sound of agony went through his lips. It was not the morphine.

This shall be my end…I shall be with you, Father…finally. It is finished.

In a burning heap, he fell on the floor. Before being consumed by the darkness, he heard the loud thumps of a pair of shoes. Who could this be? It doesn't matter…I will die.

The owner of the boisterous steps had found the camerlengo before anyone else could. He was still burning, yet the flames seemed to grow dimmer. How could I beat the crap out of a burning guy? Mercy painfully pinched her heart and it hurt. She scanned the area for anything, a blanket, water, whatever could put out the fire.

A shiny object caught her eye. THANK GOD FOR CO2 FIRE EXTINGUISHERS! With a rush of adrenaline, she yanked it off the wall and started removing the seal. Positioning the hose at the base of the flame, she let the foamy substance douse the flames until the body seemed to be covered in snowballs.

She could smell the sweetest of scents there, yet as she knelt near the unconscious chamberlain, she knew what gave off the odor: the butane poured all over.

Arguing in her mind were the options whether to turn him in and let him face terrible punishment or to give him a second chance. She looked at his forlorn face, wracked by the look of pain. She closed her eyes, still deciding. He may have done insane things…but his behavior does not entitle him to suffer this way. If I would be excommunicated or something, I don't care…at least I knew my cause was worthy.

She latched his arm on her shoulder, while trying to find an easier escape. She knew where…the gardens. She clumsily walked, slightly dragging the camerlengo, who appeared more drunk than dying. In the darkness, they were well-hidden. By some miracle, they got out of the complex structures which comprised the Vatican. They were now outside it.

She took out keys from her pocket and pushed a button. The headlights of a black Fiat flashed. Opening the back door, she almost shoved the camerlengo irreverently. Bless me, father, for I have sinned. This will not be a leisurely ride.

She slammed the door of the driver's seat shut, and she had one destination in mind: Aurelia Hospital on Via Aurelia.

She went past the speed limit. Everyone was at the Vatican anyway. In a surge of urgency, she reached the place in a few minutes. She parked her car on impulse, knowing that a life could end here and then. She turned off the engine, got the priest out and ran…but not to the emergency room. She went through the back door.

He was one of the resident doctors of the hospital, a dermatologist, but he was also working in the emergency department but no emergency would prepare him for the one which was to come right now. Doctor Elijah Cruz sighed in exhaustion. Heart attacks, stampede victims and a few shootings were common in the ER at the moment. Almost like the scenes in the ER's of his home country, the Philippines, except this hospital was probably better-equipped.

"Dottore, suo cugino è qui." A nurse said, with panic in her tone. MY COUSIN?! WHAT HAS SHE BEEN UP TO AGAIN? "Vengo." He said, as she nodded. He knew she'd sneak again through the back door and talk to Sabina Pietri, the nurse who told him of her presence.

He made long, fast steps to reach a private room at the end of the corridor. Sabina had gone ahead of him and went into the room. When he opened the door, he found her, tired and probably in trouble…again. But this time, she was not alone. She was with a man, and he was unconscious on the bed.

"Elijah…I need you to help me. This guy got burned. Just do anything to keep him alive." Her voice was pleading, far from the tone she had always used. "Helena…who the hell is he? Wearing a burnt white nightgown, no less." "Could I trust you and Sabina?" she said, fear in her eyes.

Sabina's hazel eyes became as big as saucers as she seemed to recognize the injured man. "He's the…" "Sabina, tutto spiegherò (Sabina, I will explain everything.)" Helena said. Out of shock, Elijah said in his native tongue,

"MAGDADALA KA NG MAMAMATAY-TAO RITO? HINDI MO BA ALAM KUNG ANONG PWEDENG MANGYARI? (You're bringing a killer here? Don't you know what could happen?)" he said, obviously afraid. "ANONG MAS IMPORTANTE SA'YO: MAKALIGTAS NG ISANG TAONG PWEDE PANG MAGBAGO O IYAKAN ANG NAMATAY NA? (What's more important to you: to save a person who could still change or cry over the dead?)" she said, brown eyes showing unshakable conviction.

Elijah sighed. He knew he could not stand against her. "This will not be my fault if we get caught. He should be in the asylum…not here. I wish you heard what the scientist and the American guy said on TV." "To hell with being caught! We're doing something noble!" Helena blurted.

"Maybe I could give a suggestion to keep the guy's identity a secret. Give him a good codename." Sabina said, going out to get some supplies for the immolated priest. "I'll think of one. Thank you, Sabina. Now please, Elijah, work well on this one. I can prove the world wrong." Helena said as Elijah's face softened.

He looked at the poor man. "Alright. I'll do my best. I'll cover the brand mark when Sabina comes back. That way, other staff won't suspect him." Elijah quickly cut off the burned clothing and bit his lip when he saw the hideous brand mark on the camerlengo's chest.

Helena sat beside the bed, throwing her head back and staring at the ceiling. "As far as I remember, his name is Patrick McKenna…right?" she asked as Elijah was now cleaning the fire extinguisher foam and looking at the burns.

"Yes…that's it…and whatever fire-fighting technique you did, you somehow saved him from a few second-degree and third-burns. The burns are mostly on his arms and hands though. His face was somehow spared…his hair…a bit. He seems to be under the influence of morphine." Elijah said, somehow panicky that Sabina had not yet entered the room.

"How about 'Carlo'?" "It's pretty common. Good enough. Now give him a surname." "Just let me think. There are a lot of nice surnames…" while Helena was still thinking, Sabina burst into the room, her hands full. Efficiently, she and Elijah had him monitored on machines and treated his wounds. All his vital signs seemed to be on the low end, yet stabilizing.

"Sorry for being late…stupid air vent repairmen got me looking for another way here." "Vent? I got it! Ventresca!" Helena said, like saying "Eureka!" Sabina was stifling a laugh, while Elijah looked dead serious.

"Alright, Archimedes. Now don't you run naked through the streets of Syracuse…alright…we now call him Carlo Ventresca. We need you to go out for a moment. We'll call you when it's okay. Where do you want to stay for the time being?" Elijah said, not even lifting his head.

"I'll be in the hospital chapel." Helena said. "Thank you so much guys. You can blackmail me into anything if you keep him alive." She left the room, not making another sound.

As people passed by her, they gave her a strange look. It wasn't because she was hard on the eyes but she seemed to give an air of authority even in streetwear. She could remember a conversation with her mother when she was a teen.

The boys on the street just had to give a helpless wolf-whistle. She was eighteen, studying criminology at the Philippine National Police Academy, wearing a cadet's uniform which seemed a bit tight on her.

"Hey, isn't this the daughter of Dolores? The whore? She doesn't look like either her father or her mother!" one of them said, suddenly cut off by another, "Oh…she'll be like her mother, some sleazy woman who went abroad…but this girl is a goddess!" Upon that, they toasted their beer glasses and drank.

She looked ahead at the road, not minding. "Hey miss, want to be with me tonight?" a shameless one asked, holding her shoulder. She did not even look back. She just gave a quick side kick to the man's chest and sent him reeling backwards.

At home, she talked to her mother with an air of disgust and disappointment. "Why do people notice me when I don't want to notice them? Hooting…shouting…flirting. They called you a whore…I know you aren't." Her mother sighed, "Perhaps, I should tell you the truth."

"What truth?" "Your father…" "What about dad?" "Listen. The man you look up to as a father in this house is NOT your biological father. Don't you notice that he seems so apprehensive to call you "anak (daughter)?" "Then who, Inay (mother), who?"

"I went to Spain to work…and there I met your father…Joaquin Cuesta, who was my boss. I had a relationship with him and I never expected this to happen. When he found out, he left me…and there I met one of our countrymen…later, he thought that you were his child…so he married me…but when he learned the truth…he didn't pour his rage on me…he didn't want you." She said, crying.

No words. No flinching. Nothing.

Her hair was a cascade of black ink ending in curls, framing her light tan face. Her brown eyes were darting straight ahead, her full lips slightly frowning. She was lanky, going down the halls like a flickering silhouette.

Dressed in a black shirt, a checkered and tasseled red scarf tied like a neckerchief and dark blue jeans ending in faded sneakers, she seemed edgy in comparison to the people in the chapel she was entering.

She knelt down after going to the backmost pews and gazed at the crucifix for long. Forgive me, Father. I don't know if what I am doing is right or wrong. Grant me courage to face whatever happens. Thank you that somehow, he's still alive. If he's insane, restore his sanity. If he's lost, be the Light to guide him. If he's dead, restore his life. If he is evil, help him change. I am now harboring the most despised man in the world. Help me…help him…and…

"Amen." It was the only word she said after ending a long prayer. She sat down. She was hoping he would live. She felt sorry for him because he tried to make things right…yet using wrong means. She fell asleep on the pew, exhausted and drained.

Thank you for sparing me a few moments of your time. For questions, review or PM me. I will be more than happy to answer your queries.

For now, arrividerci.

-TDYSG