Excerpt

Prologue

It’s almost 6pm and night has started to fall on the city of a thousand steeples, Milana sits at her desk in the government’s library, her long black hair in a bun, and a half drank, half cold, cup of coffee in her hands. She stares at the screen, flipping through the archives, hoping to find answers to the simplest question: How are there no records of Montreal before the arrival of the French? 

It not only shocks her to discover this unlikely fact, it shocks her that no one has discovered it before – or maybe they have but haven’t talked about it. There was life here before 1642, there were Indigenous people, war, disease, tobacco, tribes, and even if she dared to consider the far-fetched, albeit completely unlikely, theory that there was no one, there were definitely at least animals. Yet, Milana goes through the city archives repeatedly, yet she can’t find anything valid. She finds ridiculousness and made-up articles, but nothing coming from a viable source. The record only starts when the church De-la-Visitation-de-la-Bienheureuse-Vierge-Marie was built.

Never had Milana gone this far back, her job never required it, but now that she has, she finds herself doubting every bit of information she has ever found. She can’t help but wonder if someone or something modified, erased, or destroyed anything that ever existed. It can’t be a coincidence that the very same church just inexplicably collapsed on itself, can it?

Chapter 1 – An Interrupted Breakfast

Milana

Milana loves her routine, and she loves her job. When she pursued her studies in History, her adoptive parents were the first one to tell her that these studies would be a moot point; “There’s no future in that Mi. Why don’t you look into computer science, or, I don’t know, medicine, at least” or, her favourite from her mother, “I bet you’re choosing history just to piss me off. You know I don’t believe in it.” Milana is used to disagreeing with her parents, she usually tries to meet them halfway, but history felt like a calling, so she did it anyway. Not only did she do it, but she worked her butt off to be one of the best and win the support of her mother. Despite her best efforts however, it took her mother a while to speak to her again, but now that Milana has found a stable, high-paying government job, her parents seem to have accepted her decision. She has no regrets, and never will she, she loves taking the time to look through the government’s archives and find answers to questions otherwise left unanswered. She brings a new perspective and additional insights to all cases she’s brought up on, and in some instances her work is essential to solve them, it’s thrilling. 

Today is Saturday though, she’s off and she loves to take it slow on weekends. At her favourite breakfast spot, Milana slowly sips her black coffee, the sharp taste tickles her tongue, bitter and satisfying. It pairs surprisingly well with the spicy huevos rancheros she ordered. It’s a nice spring day, the trees are starting to bud, the sun is peaking through thick clouds, the streets are still wet but snowless, and many birds are perched on a nearby tree, chirping. 

Everything is on point this morning; Milana should be delighted, but she is unable to fully enjoy it. There’s a hollowness within her she’s never felt before, almost as if something was removed and left in its place a strange melancholy. She is trying to move past it but it’s making her fidgety, tapping her fingers on the table relentlessly. An act so unlike her that she stops short when she realizes what she’s been doing and repurposes her hand to move her barely touched plate away from her. Great she thinks, I guess I’ve lost my appetite too. Milana looks up at the large TV on the wall, maybe she’ll catch a glimpse of some lighthearted morning talk show. No luck. She’ll have to watch the news and settle for the overly theatrical man hosting it:

A line up of firefighter trucks, police cars, and ambulance are parked in front of the church De-la-Visitation-de-la-Bienheureuse-Vierge-Marie. It’s chaos, the first ever church built in Montreal has collapsed. 

Strange, this is the kind of cases she’s usually called up on to investigate. Why hasn’t the government called her? She feels her pockets and empties her purse on the table – yes, she forgot her phone. She throws a 20 bill on the table, runs out the door back to her apartment, luckily 5 minutes away. Of course, her phone is right there on the shelf in the entrance; silly. She grabs it: 10 messages.

When Milana finally makes it to the office, it’s panic on board. The head engineer, fresh out of field duty, head in his hands, seems completely lost. She has seen him anxious before – rubbing his hands back and forth on his thighs – but she’s never seen him lost. 

“Daniel, I saw the news. Do you have any idea what happened to that church? Churches are usually superiorly built, aren’t they? Especially old ones.”

Daniel looks up, his salt-and-pepper-hair now messy. 

“Milana! Where were you? This is one of those days we could have used some historic knowledge. I can’t quite figure out what triggered the collapse. It has to be a foundation problem, but honestly, for the first time, I don’t know where to look and what to look for.”

“Ok, I got you. I’ll try to dig out some info. I’ll be in the library, and I’ll probably be there for hours.” Daniel seems to relax a little and even manages the shadow of a smile before she heads out. 

Daniel

Walking to his Muy Thai class, Daniel can’t believe the morning he’s had, he needs to let out some steam, clear his mind. He usually masters his job, it’s one of the few things he can control, but today, he’s hitting a wall. He desperately needs answers. There are no signs on this church that would point to a weakness in its construction, the only thing he can think of is the foundation, the parts that are not all the way visible yet, maybe there’s something there. Yet, he doesn’t really believe it, nothing really points in that direction. It’s such an unusual collapse that very little makes sense about it. The shape of the debris, the way they’re scattered on the ground, the way they travelled so far from their initial place… Daniel has seen it all before, it’s the work of a bomb. Unfortunately experience alone is not proof enough, nobody will believe him. If a bomb hit that church, people would have heard something, there would be fire or fire marks, or a bomb shell, anything. There’s nothing. Has he gone mad? No, probably not – well he hopes not – but that’s what they’ll all think. They’ll laugh in his face, make him look stupid, and embarrass him until he quits or, worse, burns out. Ok, Daniel, stop. Let’s avoid a panic attack. Breath. Calm down. Right, he’ll wait for Milana’s report, no need to get ahead of himself, he will get his answers then, he’s sure of it. 

When he reaches the gym, relief washes over him. Daniel no longer feels this urge to wrap and unwrap his fingers around a stress ball. The idea of punching some bags loosens him up, he looks forward to the post-workout bliss to come when he barely feels any stress. His hands on the door handle, Daniel peeks around one last time and notices a boy in the alleyway who, at first glance, looks to be creating lights with his fingers. Strange. Silly. Daniel shakes his head. Get a grip man, he’s obviously just playing with a lighter. 

No matter, it’s time for his lesson. He heads in.