Skeletons in the Rain

CHAPTER 46 | 5 MINUTES AGO: EPIPHANY

It was impossible to tell what changed his mind at the last second, but Abraham chased him instead of pulling the trigger.

The promise he made to his wife hours before laid heavy on his conscience, that was for sure. But Abe couldn't lie to himself. Not today. It was more than that. Deep down, he believed locking Ismael in a cell to pay for his sins was the right thing to do. Judged by all, his compadre would have to make amends for his own mistakes and help him heal wounds that had been open for far too long.

Besides, that was the only way Abe could save his own soul.

"Bring him alive, hon." That's what Marta had told him. "Swear to me that you will find our baby girl without becoming a killer. Promise me you won't become a monster like him."

But what if he already was a monster? Was that why his conscience had been weighing him down since Marcelo's sentence? No! You were only protecting your daughter, keeping your family safe. Abraham turned the corner in front of him, into a tapered passageway. Without wanting to, the image came to his mind of the altar boy in his bunk with his bloodied mouth open and his pale face distorted with panic even in death.

It was that place, that damn place, dark and damp, where the Skulls were hiding. It made Abraham feel like he was lost in some catacombs, trapped in the bowels of the earth.

There he is!

Abe's eyes could not believe what he was seeing.

"What are you doing, Ismael?"

On his knees, in front of the Mime King, the priest grinned, pressing the Glock's barrel against his own temple.

"Killing myself," said Ismael.

Dear God.

Still pointing the firearm at his old friend, Abraham raised his free hand to calm him down. "Heavens knows I want you dead, but not like this. I promised Marta that I'd bring you alive. Put the gun down, please."

Why can't I do it?

"There's no audience. If no one is watching us, who will know the truth?" Ismael's eyes locked with the king's. "Good ol' Abe is great at keeping secrets, right?"

As soon as the king made a move to his back pocket, the police chief pointed his 9mm at him. Something was wrong. He steadied his hands, letting his years of training take over to ignore the aftertaste of fear on his tongue.

"Not another inch, Marcelo!"

Why can't I pull the trigger?

The Mime King glanced at the hole in the wall. Outside, the rain stopped.

"Are you going to let it end like this?" the priest asked the king in a casual tone. "We're guilty. We have to pay." He then offered him the gun. "Take it."

"Don't do it, Ismael!"

Just wound him, and that's it.

"I'll do whatever it takes. Judgment Day has come. Take the gun, Your Majesty, or you'll never get your revenge."

"Stop, or I will shoot," Abraham's voice was as tense as the rest of him.

You are a good shot, man. Trust your instincts.

But that was it. Abe couldn't trust himself. His mind, his heart, his guts... they were all telling him different things.

"Kill him first, and I'll commit suicide," the priest promised the king. "In articulo mortis, remember?"

Marcelo is going for the pistol.

Everything happened at once.

As the Mime King drew something out of his pocket, Abraham pulled the trigger. The sharp, hissing sound of the shot reverberated in the tunnel, followed by the splash of a body collapsing on the wet floor.

Still kneeling, the priest dropped the gun and put both hands behind his head.

"Move, and you'll die," Abe warned his compadre.

When the chief approached the Mime King, he stepped in a pool of fresh blood. At his feet, the masked man writhed and moaned. But his voice doesn't sound like a man's. It sounds almost... One of the king's hands pressed the bullet wound in his stomach while the other one held a mobile phone that looked somehow familiar.

Abraham exhaled slowly before unmasking the Mime King.