Skeletons in the Rain

CHAPTER 34 | 3 HOURS AGO

A bright light struck Ismael's clenching eyelids, disorienting him.

How long was I out? Before the priest could focus his eyes and find out where he was, the redolence of old newspapers and the coppery taste of blood clouded his mind further. What happened? His first attempt to move was met with a metallic rattle and the sudden pain of his swollen wrists against the tight steel. It took him a few tries to realize that four sets of handcuffs prevented him from moving his arms and legs.

Little by little, his surroundings took shape. He was back in the office in the Pérezes' courtyard.

"Honey, he's awake!"

Ismael turned his head, locking his gaze with Marta's. Tears of anger were swelling in her eyes. Right away, Abraham entered the room. His stony face did not bother to hide his intentions.

He is here to kill me.

"Wait for me in our bedroom, Marta." The intensity in Abraham's glare was almost unbearable. "And no matter what you hear, stay there."

Marta dithered for a few moments and then closed the office door, remaining inside with them.

"No," she said with uncharacteristic conviction.

"Honey, I swear to God—"

Despite her trembling lips, Marta's voice didn't shake. "If you must do this, I'll be here with you."

"You both need to listen," Ismael interrupted them. "Ofel—"

The blow knocked him backward.

"Up you go!" Abe grabbed him by the collar and pulled him until the chair was upright again.

The priest spat blood. "Ofelia—" Ismael tried to explain again.

"Don't you dare speak her name," Abraham warned him in a calm voice, before landing a second punch in his stomach.

Marta backed away until her back touched the door. It was easy to see she was forcing herself not to recoil from her husband's bloody knuckles as she squeezed the rosary wrapped around her fingers as tight as she could.

"I'm sorry," Ismael said before the next blow knocked the wind out of him.

"No." Abe's hands clenched the priest's neck until his eyes rolled up in his sockets. "The time for apologies is gone. I have been thinking for hours and hours what to do with you, and none of the punishments I imagined seemed good enough. Maybe I'll just strangle you."

Abraham lunged forward, putting his thick hands around his compadre's neck, pressing deep with his thumbs to crush his friend's esophagus. Ismael struggled to wiggle free, moving his whole body, arching his back in the chair where he was handcuffed. His mouth was open in a scream that remained trapped in his throat, while Abe squeezed the life out of him with all his might.

I'm about to die again.

"This is not... It's not the right thing to do, Abe. You are not a killer. Don't do it," Marta begged him, unable to contain herself any longer.

"I told you to wait in our bedroom."

She came closer to Abraham and put her hand on his shoulder, making him stop and back away. "Honey, please."

"He's a scumbag." After looking at his wife, Abe met Ismael's bulging eyes. "You're a rapist scumbag." Abraham tensed every muscle in his body and squeezed his neck until the veins in the priest's reddened face were about to burst.

Desperate for air, Ismael hesitated. Even if he uttered a single word, Abe would never listen to any pleas. To ask for forgiveness again would be a fatal mistake, too—which meant there was only one thing to do.