Skeletons in the Rain

CHAPTER 21 | 28 HOURS AND 40 MINUTES AGO

An expression, somewhere between anger and fear, passed over the driver's face, while a strange grin spread across Ismael's lips. To him, it was clear what they had to do.

"Run him over," the priest said.

"Father, don't be stupid. Give him your wallet or whatever he wants."

Impossible, he thought. He wants me.

As soon as the man wearing the dark skull mask gestured at them to step out of the vehicle, the driver (who Ismael suspected had stared into the blind eye of a gun more times than he cared to admit) turned the ignition off, fumbled the door open and got out, raising his hands in surrender.

"Him too," Dark Skull demanded, pointing at Ismael.

"Please, Father," the driver pleaded standing by the driver's side of the car, fear thickening his Andean accent. "Do as he says."

Still looking stone-faced, the priest reluctantly stepped out of the Cadillac.

"Good." Dark Skull nodded. "Now, you..."

"L-listen," the driver stammered. "I'm low on cash, but—"

"I'll count to three, and you're gone," the Skull said. "One..."

The scruffy driver muttered something and ran toward the terminal, panting and praying aloud.

"Our Father, Who art in Heaven."

"Two..."

"Hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come..."

"Three!"

"Thy will be—"

The priest did not flinch when the gunshot echoed down the street, nor did he blink when the lifeless body of the driver fell forward, hitting the ground with a thud. His gaze never left the masked man in front of him even though the strange beauty of the puddle of blood, black in the night, was enticing to the eye.

"Why?" Ismael slid his glasses off with steady hands. "Why not aim the gun at me and pull the trigger again?"

"Wrong question, little priest."

"Ah! I remember," he said with a nod. "The question is who."

"Bingo!"

Right after Ismael's took a step forward, the Skull shot at the air.

An uncanny silence followed the loud bang.

"Do you know what's the problem with stray bullets?" the priest asked. "They lack purpose. A bullet inside a barrel is a promise of equality. That terrifies people: realizing that, no matter who you think you are, life doesn't mean much. A bullet knows this. However, you fail to understand this. You use them to threaten someone who's seen the truth."

"What the fuck are you saying?"

Ismael took another step forward. "I'm not afraid to die but—"

The next shot hit the ground beside the priest's foot.

"Sorry." Dark Skull pressed his free hand to his chest, mockingly aghast. "Did I interrupt you? My gun feels very chatty too."

"You won't harm me."

"We won't kill you, but we don't need you in one piece either. You're not going anywhere until you answer the question."

For a helpless second the priest thought Dark Skull would kidnap him, but soon after the unmistakable wailing of a siren grew louder in the distance, and the masked man backed away, disappearing into the blackness of the night.

Ismael stood there, motionless until the flashing red lights on a police car caught his attention. When he finally moved, he tore the Departure Tax ticket to bits and stared at the Bolívares Fuertes he'd given to the driver floating in the fresh puddle of blood, stained and useless.

'I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost.'