opened the door. She immediately saw the blood; the blood that stained the floors and walls; blood with which words had been written on the walls and mirrors:
I ADORE GEHENA
I GIVE THANKS TO MY LORD MOLOCH
SATAN, ACCEPT ME INTO YOUR BOSOM
With hardly any strength at all, she reached the bath, which was covered by a plastic shower curtain, also stained with blood. She drew it open sharply, and then lowered her eyes, her view clouded by tears. Only one image was able to imprint itself onto her retina before she fainted: a face, that of her friend Carlos; but now it was like the face of an animal screaming with all its strength as it was sacrificed, as it bled.
XLII
Esteban walked alone to the lake where he and his son used to often chat. The mountains in the background seemed to be sad, melancholy, muted... He walked as if he had no strength left in his body, dragging his feat, and stumbling every now and then.
‘Another loss.’
As he had said to Carlos during the last time they had met, he had less and less desire to die. He was completely overwhelmed by some enormous doubts, and he now no longer had a clear idea of what to think. He had been a man with an iron-hard faith in God, and in his capacity to triumph over evil. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
‘The worst thing comes with death.’
He knew that he had to get those terrible thoughts out of his head, but how? Elena had called him immediately, and he had the opportunity to attend the Dante-esque scene his own son had created before the police arrived.
‘How could he do that? How could he do that to himself ?’
The forensics had determined that the cause of death had been due to an acute loss of blood, provoked by numerous self-inflicted cuts: suicide.
‘I’ll never be able to forget his face...’
Carlos’ last expression was that of someone suffering terribly, but also that of someone who has searched for that suffering. It was clear that his insanity had definitively taken over him, because nobody in their right mind could have been able to set up such a macabre spectacle, nor be able to cause those sorts of terrible injuries.
‘Perhaps I myself would end up losing my mind.’
But then again, his son was not that mad either. Padre Salas had been conclusive in explaining what his son had done, and that in the beginning, it didn’t make the least bit of sense: ‘he’s provoked God, and with that final act he’s invited the Devil to take him. He will have firmly carried out his final wish’. The priest himself hoped for all that effort to have not been in vain, because Satan is deceitful, and there remained the possibility that it had all been a sham, in which the only one possessed had been Carlos himself.
‘Perhaps that’s true; perhaps, in the end, and desperate following the terrible loss of his family, Carlos was the one taken by the Devil’.
Esteban contemplated the calm waters of the lake, which were reflecting a few solitary clouds in the sky.
‘How do you get to Heaven?’
He looked up to the sky and screamed with every last ounce of his strength. He screamed without saying anything; screaming out years’ worth of rage, which exploded out of him from having never received a single answer.
‘Damn everything!’
Exhausted, he grabbed a rock, round and smooth, perfect. He threw it with force across the lake, and didn’t even make the effort to count how many times it skipped over the water.
‘The game’s over, my son.’
XLIII
Padre Salas was anxious as he left his flat, and didn’t calm down at all until he arrived at the garage and got into his car.
‘I need to get to the church as soon as possible.’
Over the last few days, his sleep had been plagued with nightmares, and he was assailed by terrible premonitions throughout the day; they were fleeting, but intense. He saw himself surrounded by fire, and beset by horrifying but undefined creatures that were pushing him with sharp weapons towards the flames. Those dreams
I ADORE GEHENA
I GIVE THANKS TO MY LORD MOLOCH
SATAN, ACCEPT ME INTO YOUR BOSOM
With hardly any strength at all, she reached the bath, which was covered by a plastic shower curtain, also stained with blood. She drew it open sharply, and then lowered her eyes, her view clouded by tears. Only one image was able to imprint itself onto her retina before she fainted: a face, that of her friend Carlos; but now it was like the face of an animal screaming with all its strength as it was sacrificed, as it bled.
XLII
Esteban walked alone to the lake where he and his son used to often chat. The mountains in the background seemed to be sad, melancholy, muted... He walked as if he had no strength left in his body, dragging his feat, and stumbling every now and then.
‘Another loss.’
As he had said to Carlos during the last time they had met, he had less and less desire to die. He was completely overwhelmed by some enormous doubts, and he now no longer had a clear idea of what to think. He had been a man with an iron-hard faith in God, and in his capacity to triumph over evil. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
‘The worst thing comes with death.’
He knew that he had to get those terrible thoughts out of his head, but how? Elena had called him immediately, and he had the opportunity to attend the Dante-esque scene his own son had created before the police arrived.
‘How could he do that? How could he do that to himself ?’
The forensics had determined that the cause of death had been due to an acute loss of blood, provoked by numerous self-inflicted cuts: suicide.
‘I’ll never be able to forget his face...’
Carlos’ last expression was that of someone suffering terribly, but also that of someone who has searched for that suffering. It was clear that his insanity had definitively taken over him, because nobody in their right mind could have been able to set up such a macabre spectacle, nor be able to cause those sorts of terrible injuries.
‘Perhaps I myself would end up losing my mind.’
But then again, his son was not that mad either. Padre Salas had been conclusive in explaining what his son had done, and that in the beginning, it didn’t make the least bit of sense: ‘he’s provoked God, and with that final act he’s invited the Devil to take him. He will have firmly carried out his final wish’. The priest himself hoped for all that effort to have not been in vain, because Satan is deceitful, and there remained the possibility that it had all been a sham, in which the only one possessed had been Carlos himself.
‘Perhaps that’s true; perhaps, in the end, and desperate following the terrible loss of his family, Carlos was the one taken by the Devil’.
Esteban contemplated the calm waters of the lake, which were reflecting a few solitary clouds in the sky.
‘How do you get to Heaven?’
He looked up to the sky and screamed with every last ounce of his strength. He screamed without saying anything; screaming out years’ worth of rage, which exploded out of him from having never received a single answer.
‘Damn everything!’
Exhausted, he grabbed a rock, round and smooth, perfect. He threw it with force across the lake, and didn’t even make the effort to count how many times it skipped over the water.
‘The game’s over, my son.’
XLIII
Padre Salas was anxious as he left his flat, and didn’t calm down at all until he arrived at the garage and got into his car.
‘I need to get to the church as soon as possible.’
Over the last few days, his sleep had been plagued with nightmares, and he was assailed by terrible premonitions throughout the day; they were fleeting, but intense. He saw himself surrounded by fire, and beset by horrifying but undefined creatures that were pushing him with sharp weapons towards the flames. Those dreams
Similar Books
