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I did think the police could help, but the amount of confidence in her voice had me suddenly worried. 
    “What in the world are you two? A cult?”
    She laughed again. “No.”
    “Then what?”
    “You have much to learn about us,” she said, “but only after you take it.”
    “If the police can’t help, then I’ll call other people for help. I’ll call a pr-” she cut me off.
    “A priest? You think he can help?” She smiled widely, and then laughed again. “Why don’t you call your little priest when you get home?” 
    By this time, I was almost certain I was dealing with something supernatural. I have always relied on logical, scientific answers to this strange world, and they had never failed me before, but I’d never experienced anything like this before either. Even though it was ridiculous, I was starting to think I was talking to some kind of demon. 
    I had no idea what Rose meant by your priest, but I wasn’t going to get any answers from her. The night had slowly started settling in, and I wasn’t going to get stuck on the trail with this possibly ageless demon. I got back on my bike and pedaled away from Rose, who never moved from the bench. 
    I got on the bus at the last moment and was a complete wreck during the ride home. When I got to my house, I opened a big bottle of Jack Daniels, sat in my chair, and tried to analyze it all. Nothing made sense, but I had a feeling that I should know about this priest she was talking about. I am far from a religious man, and the last time I was in a church was when I got baptized at the age of six back in Montenegro. I assumed that the priest who performed the baptism was the one Rose was talking about, so I gave my dad a call and asked him to go to the church and see if the man was still there.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    NINE
     
    The Baptism
    I was baptized in Montenegro in a church called Ostrog. I am in no way a believer, but this church is truly amazing. During the Turkish occupation, my people tore the original Ostrog apart and carried it rock by rock to the top of the mountain to ensure that no Turkish soldier got to it. They then rebuilt the church at the top, making it a true miracle of architecture. If there is one place on earth where I feel something “spiritual,” it’s there. 
    When I was six, my dad decided to baptize me. Neither of my parents are or were particularly religious, but baptizing kids was a tradition in the Balkans, and my dad is a traditional guy. I remember him having to call ahead and schedule the baptism because of the extremely high demand for that particular ceremony. There were so many people trying to baptize their kids, I had to do it with several others in one take. I just wanted to get through it as soon as possible.
    When we arrived at the church, there was already a line of kids waiting to get in and be washed clean from the sin of their ancestors. Finally, the priest, Father Srdjan, started letting us in. However, when my turn to walk in came, the priest stopped me.
    “You, you can’t go in,” he said, grabbing and holding me by my shoulder. I didn’t know what to say to that, but my dad quickly jumped in.
    “What’s the problem, Father Srdjan?” asked my dad, laying his hand on my other shoulder. I guess you could say I was being held by two fathers.
    “I know you, my son,” Father Srdjan said to my dad. “I baptized you long time ago, when my beard wasn’t as grey as it is now.”
    Indeed, this same man did baptize my dad some twenty years ago. He had been the priest of this church for many years.
    “But your son can’t go in there,” continued the father, pointing at the baptizing chapel. 
    “Why not?” Dad asked in a surprisingly respectful tone.
    “I shouldn’t tell you. It is better if you have him baptized elsewhere.”
    “But Father, this is the most sacred place of all,” responded my dad.
    “Son, I can’t tell you much more. But I will say, you must baptize him. Don’t dare not