Las Dos Marias

Chapter 26: Excommunicado

Rafael gasped as the cold splash of water hit his face, jolting him back to the brutal present. Now fully awake in this nightmare, he felt like dead weight, with his muscles aching everywhere. Pain roared through his skull, sharp and unrelenting, as sticky blood trickled down his face.

His vision blurred with the ache, yet blinking cleared it enough to make out a figure before him. He tried to shift, but his hands were bound to the wooden chair. Through the haze, dread washed over him. The figure seemed to hover, voice distant and muffled. Was it Father Enrique—no... Maximo Velasco, the excommunicated priest?

The man's face became clearer with each passing second. When Rafael stared into his eyes, he saw it at last: something dark and grim, chilling his blood like icy wind. He wanted to flee to the farthest reaches, but the rough ropes reminded him where he was trapped.

"Where am I? What are you going to do to me?" he cried, his voice hoarse and raw as though a thousand needles had torn through his throat.

Maximo's lips curved into a sinister smile. "You're finally awake."

Rafael's heart hammered like a drum. "Help! Por favor... somebody help me!"

"There's no one to save you now, Rafael. Out here, no one will hear you."

His mind whirled, searching for escape, but the rope held him firm. "Why are you doing this to me?"

But he knew well enough now that the answer was already in his bones, memories clawing their way to the surface—the dark room, his hands forced to touch the huge thing between the priest's legs, the crack of the whip, the searing pain, the violations that scarred his spirit. Rafael swallowed hard. Was the priest finally done with him?

"You know too much, boy," the priest murmured, his voice too casual given the circumstances, sending bile through Rafael's stomach. "Trust me, I wouldn't kill you if you hadn't seen those cursed documents. I like you... very much."

Rafael flinched as the priest leaned close, hot breath burning his ear.

"Tell me, Rafael, were you planning to steal some coins last night but found the wrong papers instead?"

The priest's iron grip tightened around Rafael's neck when he did not answer. It was true, he was only there for the coins. The priest hadn't been truthful about the help he was going to provide his mother. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands. But there's nothing he could do now... he wouldn't be able to get out of here alive.

"If you mean to kill me, j-just do it now."

Maximo pulled back. "You see, Rafael, no one can ever know what happened to the real Father Enrique. No one can know I murdered him in cold blood so I could claim his identity in this town."

He paused, savoring the fear in the boy's eyes.

"May the Lord forgive my sins, but tonight, I will end your precious life, despite my special feelings for you—"

"Padre, please... I did everything you asked. I became your puto just to help my mother! I never spoke of what you did. Por favor, Padre! Give me another chance to prove my loyalty. I promise you I will keep my silence."

The priest only stared, lips curling in a tight smile.

"Normally, I'd find that moving, Rafael," he said, tracing the crucifix around his neck. "But don't make this harder than it already is."

Just then, footsteps echoed through the room, interrupting their conversation.

"What's the meaning of this?" The voice tore through Rafael's aching head.

"Hermano," Father Maximo stammered, looking suddenly troubled by the newcomer. "I-I'm sorting it out."

"Killing another soul in San Felipe? We agreed you'd stay here to start anew. Maximo... I even allowed you to kill that priest and yet—this?!"

"Teniente Mayor!" Rafael called out, a spark of hope lighting his veins at the sight of the powerful man. "Señor! Ayúdame, señor!" (Sir! Help me, sir!)

Yet the Teniente barely glanced his way, his indifference as sharp as any blade. Rafael's hope froze as he watched the man turn away from him, eyes on the figure he called Hermano. Were they related? What role did the Teniente play in the deaths in San Felipe? Rafael's blood ran cold as he wondered. Two bodies already, in three—maybe four months?

"You said you'd solve the friar's death by pinning it on that Jose Ramos." The Teniente spat, gripping the priest's collar. "You said the murder would be blamed on the revolution, that there'd be no more problems like those before your excommunication! So why..." His finger stabbed toward Rafael, who was still tied to the chair. "Why is he here?"

Maximo swallowed hard. "I-I had to—"

"I know of your cravings, bastard! You came to San Felipe, and it wasn't just women but boys in robes, too. Tell me, Maximo, should I finally have you locked in a mental asylum?"

"No, Hermano!" Maximo begged, falling to his knees and nearly kissing the Teniente's boots. "He knows about the documents—"

Without a word, the Teniente seized him by the neck and punched him square in the stomach. The priest crumpled to the floor. The Teniente called over two of his trusted Guardia Civil. "Desata al muchacho." (Untie the boy.)

Rafael thought salvation had finally come. But before he knew it, fists rained down like a storm, blurring his world to darkness until he slipped into its depths...

When he awoke, he felt the earth beneath him, smelled its scent, heard crickets calling to the night. He was dreaming—or so he thought.

Then he heard people talking in muffled Spanish."Este está muerto. Dejémoslo aquí y que los animales salvajes lo despedacen." Rafael knew enough Spanish to understand: "This one is dead. Let's leave him here for the wild animals."

But Rafael was alive. Barely, but alive. And as the guards' shadows faded, a small, fragile hope took root in his heart. Come dawn, someone might find him here.

He just had to keep holding on...