Picture by @f3nix
Source:https://steemit.com/finishthestory/@bananafish/finish-the-story-contest-week-50

Here is my entry for Finish The Story Contest - Week #54!

You can find the contest at:

https://steemit.com/finishthestory/@bananafish/finish-the-story-contest-week-54

Original Story

Ora et Labora

^{A fiction short prompt by @f3nix, based on real happenings}

The tapered fingers came to life, maneuvered by invisible threads, following the murderous order whispered by the woman. The blow fell on the victim, surgical and impregnated with inevitable fate.

"We took it, Agnes."

Finally, the peace of the monastery's kitchen had been restored. A fleeting veil of reproach slipped over the cook's cheerful gaze as Flynn swore triumphantly at the fly, spread on his notebook.

"But now let's get back to our business, barley soup doesn't cook itself and ... not even your thesis".

"It's a nice association, even if it's my brain to cook," said the young man with his eyes shining curiously between the pots.

"If Father Thoram saw us wasting time chasing flies, you already know he'd send you to the library," the cook remarked.

Flynn threw her an accomplice grimace, before returning to dive into the pages of his thesis. No, all in all, the friar would not have thrown him out of the kitchen so easily.
Agnes could not have known what long walks in the cloister's rose garden had slowly revealed to his confessor father. That laborious daily harmony had a different taste for Flynn than what his other contemporaries of the Benedictine community felt.

Flynn sighed as the words drifted slowly from the pages, evaporating intertwined in his thoughts. Every moment, every little ritual within the silent walls of the monastery was like prickly air that swelled his lungs, giving him life. Those were precious moments far from the creature who, just two blocks away, waited every night for satisfying once more his craving for pain. Far from his stepfather.

The echoes of vespers suffused in his ears: soon the refectory would have been populated. It was almost time to help Agnes set the tables.

While books and notebooks were swallowed up by the backpack in random order, Flynn found himself thinking of that strange event months ago, when he was still an occasional guest of the monks' community. There was, indeed, another reason why he preferred to study among the noise of the pans. He would have never wanted to see that internet page, hastily closed but clear enough to impress itself deeply into his retina. All in all, the friar would not have thrown him out of the kitchen so easily.

"Flynn."

The backpack fell, spilling its content onto the floor.

"Son, follow me, Agnes can set her own."

Father Thoram didn't even seem to have noticed the mountain of papers scattered on the brown tiles. Standing out from the sagging features of his face, his eyes looked blacker than usual.

---

Here is my ending

"Jesus man! What the hell happened to you?" said Agnes.

"Is he gone?"

"Yes. And you'd better hurry, the friar had the face of few friends."

Flynn felt his sphincter loosen.

"Take this, in case I disappear, you'll be the only one who knows the truth."

"Hell no! If you disappear, I'm sure I'll be the next one to go down"

"Huh-uh," replied Agnes shaking her head.

Flynn put lamb half dead's eyes and his lip trembling

Agnes sighed and grimaced.

She reluctantly took the flash drive and hid it in her bra.

"Mr. Flynn!" a scream sounded from afar.

"I’ve got to go," he turned around and walked out the kitchen door like a soul claimed by the devil.

"Dead man walking," Agnes said to herself as she crossed herself.

The father was already in the office when Flynn came panting.

"You wanted to see me? Your holiness"

"Have a seat, my son."

The father rang a small bell and on one side of the office opened a small door that Flynn already knew. Another acolyte came out with a tray with two cups of tea and left it on the table.

Before leaving, he scratched his neck with his index finger, making a sign that Flynn recognized as death.

Flynn swallowed hard.

After leaving, the sound of the lock was heard behind the small door.
They were silent looking at each other.

"Let's have tea before we begin," said the Father

"If I may, Your Eminence. I've always wanted to know if that painting behind you was drawn by Leonardo Da Vinci himself?"

The friar turned proud of his latest acquisition.

"Of course, it cost me a fortune."

Flynn drank his tea while listening to the friar take pride in his treasure.

"Actually, it didn't cost me anything. The institution was the one that paid for it" said Father changing his voice to a lower tone.

"I know very well what you saw," shouted the old man.

"I have no idea what your eminence is referring to," Flynn replied with an angelic face.

"Cut the crap!" he shouted again.

Flynn left his cup of tea on the desk.

"I'm an undercover Interpol agent, and I have evidence that you embezzle monastery funds and use the facilities for teen trafficking."

"Damn old pervert." said Flynn

Father laughed loudly, his laughter echoed throughout the office.

"You can't do anything anymore"

"non fueris locutus est mortuus" added the Father with a diabolic smile

He laughed and laughed until he ran out of air and perished.

"That's right... 'The dead don't talk', you depraved sicko," Flynn replied.

Flynn had swapped the cups.

The agents raided the monastery and Flynn was finally able to rest from his facade.

---