Skeletons in the Rain

CHAPTER 5 | OVER A MONTH AGO: GOLGOTHA

They are not just recording this. A wave of anxiety hit Ismael as he realized that he was also on a video call with the sadistic leader of one of Venezuela's most feared gangs. The Mime King is watching me, studying my every move.

Without turning his attention away from the masked man and woman, he shouted to his altar boy, who was still outside in the nave.

"Pedrito, leave and lock the door behind you!"

"But—"

"Do as I say! And not a word to anyone." Ismael's eyes were fixed on the unnerving white mask on the screen. "I'll deal with them."

Pedro did not hesitate and left as fast as his legs would carry him.

The mime clapped mockingly before returning to his keyboard. "What's the verdict, Skulls?" He asked in that disembodied, monotonous voice. "Is this altruism?"

Light Skull shook her head, "Never!"

"Hypocrisy," replied Dark Skull.

"Do you have any idea who you are messing with?" Ismael said. Now that he knew who had been harassing him, he couldn't keep his hands from shaking. The Skulls had been the subject of every major headline in the local press for months, graduating from robbery to murder in record time. Aware that any mistake could be fatal, he still thought bluffing was his best option. "I'm friends with the chief of police and he will—"

Light Skull shushed him.

"Listen to the king!" Dark Skull pointed to the tablet. "His word is the law, little priest."

Ismael suspected if they wanted him dead, he would already be six feet under—but the fear was taking hold of him all the same. Do something. He sharpened his senses, trying to recognize anything that might help him identify who his attackers were.

Ismael approached them, reading their body language. He ran his fingers over the surface of the small table where he'd put jigsaw puzzles together during so many sleepless nights. He knew it was silly, but it comforted him that they hadn't touched his model of the Sistine Chapel.

In fact, the more he looked around, it seemed clear that except for the Skulls and their jerrycan of gasoline, everything else in the sacristy was the same as always: modest and suffocating. No. This wasn't true. The wooden trunk and the old cupboard (next to the door leading to the alley behind the church) were dripping with fuel.

A single spark will turn this place into hell.

Until tonight, it had been enough to throw away and destroy the defiled religious images they left for him, but a fire would be impossible to keep a secret.

The synthetic voice came from the tablet. "Ah! I can see it in your eyes. You understand, right? The time for secrecy is over." The Mime King moved closer to the camera, nearly covering the entire screen with his expressionless mask. "Why hide our gifts?"

"Why?" asked both Skulls, like an echo.

"Here's why." The king paused. "'I, Ismael Niebuhr, request my... Excardination?' Does that mean you want to leave San Isidro, Father?"

The shock stunned him. Did they hack my email account, too? Not a single soul knew he'd been pursuing his excardination for years, except for the bishop of his diocese, Héctor López, who had ignored his pleas on every occasion.

In his desperation, the priest had been collecting favors these last few months, trying to get Cardinal Díaz to tip the scales in his favor before he tried again, but not even his superiors knew what Ismael wanted to do yet. And now his worst nightmare was becoming a reality: everyone would find out about the systematic vandalization of his church.

Time was up.

If word ever got out that I've kept their harassment a secret, no other priest will dare to take my place here.

Ismael wondered every day why he'd ended up here, doing the same thing from dawn till dusk while his dreams withered in a town famous for the skeletons of its unfinished buildings. A place ignored by progress. A hellhole where endogamy was everywhere until a mere few decades ago.

I'm destined for more, he thought. I deserve more.

He refused to stay in San Isidro, sacrificed by the bishop like a pawn, to atone for sins that were not his own.

"What do you want?" Ismael asked them.

Light Skull imitated the sound of an electric buzzer.

"Wrong!" The Mime King's inhuman voice raised gooseflesh on the priest's arms. "The question is who."

"I'm not playing this game."

Both Skulls moved in sync, as if they were reflections of each other, until they were flanking him. With a loud click, Dark Skull flicked a Zippo open, producing an uneven yellow flame.

"Sins can burn you from the inside." The Mime King paused for a second. "Remember, Father?"

"Okay." Ismael stepped back with hands raised in surrender. "Who?"

"Woe to the rebellious children who execute plans, but not Mine," said the king. "You must answer the question, not ask it."

Dark Skull dropped the Zippo and the flames exploded, making Ismael fall to the floor, shielding his face with his arms.