"Good God," whispered Ismael, covering his mouth in fake dismay. "What have you done, compadre?"
As if it was red hot, the police chief threw the mime mask to the floor and stepped back, murmuring something unintelligible. There was no sign of sadness, nor surprise, nor pain on his features. It seemed as if he'd forgotten he could feel anything.
"Dad?" said Ofelia as the color drained from her face, turning as pale as the mask she had worn so many times.
"It is not you," Abraham shook his head as his daughter's eyes began to glass over and become lifeless. "It can't be you. This is not how it was supposed to happen. God wouldn't let this happen to us. We are good people!"
Ofelia opened her mouth, but her last words would remain forever unsaid.
"Compa, your little girl is gone," said Ismael. "You murdered her."
Abe turned to the priest, but instead of meeting his eyes, he raised his gun and studied it carefully, as if he'd never held a firearm before in his life.
"It was Marcelo. Not my daughter. Not my baby."
"No. Deep down, you knew. You had the evidence locked away in your office. And now Ofelia is dead just like Marcelo." Ismael's voice was as soft as velvet. "You killed them both."
Abraham fell to his knees and retched on the floor next to his daughter's corpse. Soon, his vomit and Ofelia's blood combined into a single, foul substance.
"I didn't kill Marcelo."
"You covered up what Ofelia did to Marcelo's stepfather. For Christ's sake! To incriminate an innocent child and drive him to suicide..." Ismael rose slowly to his feet. All the pain had suddenly left him. "That's why your baby girl did this. She hated you."
Just then, Abraham burst out laughing.
The priest did nothing but stare at him, uncaring, until Abe's cackles turned into sobs.
"I had to protect her."
"I know."
"She was special."
"Was she?"
"This is all a mistake. I never wanted Marcelo to kill himself. He was underage. After a few months in juvie, I would have helped him get out."
Ismael put his hand on his shoulder.
"You meant well, compa."
"I did."
"But what will your lovely wife say when she finds out you've killed her little angel?"
Abe's eyes darkened with madness.
"I... M-Marta..."
The priest gasped.
"And your job. When the evidence comes to light, they won't let you be a policeman anymore. Oh, no! You don't think you'll end up in prison, do you?"
"W-what do I do?"
"Shh." Ismael leaned forward and helped him tighten the grip on his gun. "Do you know what I learned in the sweet emptiness of death? The only thing that matters is what we do in life, compadre. The question is..." A pause. "What will you do now?"
Ismael straightened up and walked towards the tunnel exit, without ever stopping to look behind him. His footsteps echoed until he heard a single, definitive gunshot.