Kill her… Kill her… Kill her… Kill her…
Dawngiftsmewiththe dim orange sunlight, guiding me as I slowly walk out of the rectory with the keys choking in my hands so their sound doesn’t wake anyone. Although there is still snow on the ground, the cold wind isn’t as fierce as last week. It’s always too quiet without the birds. My breathing blows out of my nose in clouds as the salt and snow crack under each of my steps. People are still asleep.
The first hint of Spring with the blooming cherry blossoms always reminds me of her, my angel Magdalena. Memories of her keep my heart warm. She should have been celebrating her birthday somewhere in the world today but she's gone.
The truth is that I am a man of many masks.
At the moment, I’m wearing the mask of the bishop of St. Michael’s Cathedral, my face is covered in false wrinkles and I'm wearing a pillow on my upper back while hovering a little as I walk with a limp on my left leg. No one can know my true identity or mission.People call me father Joshua.
The truth is that I am a secret assassin for the Vatican.
I’ve cleaned this town of the pedophiles and abusers, and the drug cartel that used to rule it but evil never ceases so my job is eternal. Therefore, no one can know that my leg and back are perfectly fine and what they usually see as fat is actually muscle and a few pillows I tie to my body. They think I’m in my sixties because of all the wrinkles I add to my skin and the bald wig I wear, when the truth is I’m twenty-five years old.
As old as her.
I learned to conceal my real eye colors a long time ago, too distinguishable to have one brown and the other, blue.
She was the first person in my life to find beauty in my eyes beingdifferently colored. My family always viewed it as a sign of a curse. It didn’t take long for me to realize they were right.
After scanning and crossing the courtyard, I fake a paroxysmal cough, clear my throat then unlock the iron door to the rearambulatory. Except for the wind shaking a few dried leaves, the cackling of the crows there is no other sound.Before closing the tall and thick metal door, I scan the area, looking for any eyes on me but I see none.
This new, unexpected situation has made me grateful I never allowed anyone to venture into the church’s cellars.
Before I was recruited to reawaken Catholicism in this tiny American town, its temple had been abandoned for more than fifty-five years. The Vatican sent me the relocation letter. When I went to the city for the keys and blueprint, they claimed not to find them.Father Joshua gave them to me, before dying.
OnlyIhave the keys.
I’m the only one who knows about its underground classrooms, prison cells, and catacombs. This town is famous for being an essential stop in the underground railroad but no one knows the true reason. I’m the only one who knows about the tunnels originating from its cathedral and running like a maze underneath the city, east into the swamps and north into the next state. There are still some I haven’t ventured through, it took me months to memorize the few I use every night.
It’s also fortunate that almost all of the underground walls were built with thirty centimeters thick stone.
No one can hear her screaming. She’s all mine.
Before unlocking the first of five doors that lead me to her, I look both ways and listen for sounds again. One can never be too cautious. The least I want is to have to murder someone to continue keeping her safe. As expected, there’s no one around. I’m the first to open and last to close the church, always. Even the nuns are asleep at this hour.
The temperature drops with each step I take, anxious to see if my precious captive is has finally been cured of her demon. The chill down here is wet and sticks to my skin, pulling a tremble from me. The mossy smell gives me the illusion that I’mtaking a secret passage into a hidden garden. Climbing down the spiraling stone stairs, I realize I’m even more exhausted than the day I first saw her in my church, but I don’t have the luxury of being selfish.
I have to save her.
The demon who’s tormenting her, fooled me all too well. I thought she was a traumatized, beautiful woman with some mental health issues, who needed comfort, love, and atonement. I was fascinated by her. I’d even dared to believe our souls were falling in love with each other, something I’d previously thought impossible. I was right, it is impossible. I had no idea that through the nights when I helped her fall asleep by talking to her, the demon was slowly crawling closer to me and eventually seduced me.
But, all along,ithad a plan to assassinate me inmy church.
That fucking bitch!
One of my voices cusses.
Kill her…
The other whispers repeatedly, as it has since the day she tried to kill me.
Torture her to death.
I hum a hymn to calm them and notice I’ve been grinding my teeth. As always, the truth is more complicated.
She is as innocent as my angel once was.
A demon possessed her to try to kill me. And now I am performing an exorcism on her, trying to save her soul. Yes, I had enjoyed watching her kill before but none of her victims were innocent. I enjoyed her killing them for pursuing her. But, trying to kill me, a priest makes no sense so there’s only one explanation, she’s possessed.
