Chapter 47: Chapter 47

THE WHITE...

I park the Tesla in front of the house of God. At least, that's what they say. The place where the corrupt politician kneels and asks forgiveness for leaving half a million people below the poverty line.

I close my jacket and slowly enter the church. I admire the building, three times bigger than the last time I saw it. The building is old, but not old. The colors, the Renaissance style, the shapes. Everything gives the impression that the church has never been renovated, but the truth is that less than a million dollars would hardly be enough to raise the pillars.

I look up at the cloudy sky. The instability of the climate in the big cities is what makes me miss an isolated island in southern Europe.

I enter the holy temple, looking around out of habit. It is empty because it is still on Monday afternoon.

It's been two days since the White House dinner, and I'm theoretically late. This service should be finished now. However, with Detective Pierce hot on my trail, I'm going to need more time. Of course, I could finish the job and walk away. But running isn't what I do, hiding the evidence is.

My steps are slower and slower as I approach the altar. For some reason, all this silence bothers me. You become quiet, then you begin to observe everything around you. The sculptures stare into space, the paintings on the ceiling, the soft carpet underfoot.

Father Bee is kneeling before the altar, praying silently with his rosary wrapped around his hands. I've known him since I was little, when my biggest sin was stealing other kids' candy. I grew up, and I can say that my sins too.

I see the side of your body. The priest wears an embroidered tunic, the same as twenty years ago. It's traditional, and that appeals to the American elite.

I continue to approach, and when he notices that there is someone in the church, he ends his prayer by kissing the silver rosary. Father Bee gets up with a smile worthy of his sheep, but when he sees me, the smile slowly fades. His eyes scan me up and down in disbelief.

- How… – he swallowed – How dare you enter the house of God?

- You are alone – I look around you – God was never there.

All the blood flowed from his face. Father Bee tugs at the collar of his tunic, suddenly feeling suffocated.

"Blasphemy," he whispers.

The priest skirts the altar so as not to pass me. He descends two steps and begins to walk towards the corridor, where, if he hasn't changed, is the sacristy. I am, and I can't ignore the part of me that wants to smile.

- I want to confess - I inform.

- God forbids listening to the sins of the devil - he quickens his steps. In the narrow, silent hallway, all you can hear is their hurried footsteps tapping the floor.

- Jesus would have heard – I need to cry out against the distance he imposed on me.

Father Bee stops but turns his back on me. He knows he can't refuse a sheep's request, even if he's black. Even if it's the devil himself, as he's liked to imply since I was ten.

- Wait for me in the confessional – his voice is low – I have to sign myself first.

In other times, I would have liked to take peace from Father Abeille. I remember all the pranks he liked to punish me for and how his punishments only made me go from bad to worse.

He continues to walk towards the sacristy and I return to the place of the faithful, the room where the masses are held. Although I spent years away from any Catholicism, I remember all the details. The problem with photographic memory is that you can't choose what's burned into your brain.

The confessional is in another hallway, in the farthest and least lit area of the church. Gossips say that it is suppressed because it is the place that the priests choose to seduce the faithful.

The confessional is closed, having only one entrance door for the priest. It's some kind of old wooden box. The side windows are covered with mosquito netting, so the rotten can see the worshipers, but the worshipers cannot see the priest. There is a step outside, so that the penitent can kneel while confessing.

It was my favorite part. Kneeling and waiting for the priest to say how far I was from holiness, knowing that it was getting worse every day and that he saw no salvation in me. Because if I was bad enough, I wouldn't be afraid of demons in my dreams. Fear wouldn't exist if I ignored it.

Sometimes I entered the confessional during mass and, shortly after, when a faithful came to confession, it was I who listened. I kept their sordid secrets, worse than mine, but they were forgiven because they had money.

Remembering the good old days, I open the door to the secret box and enter. The smell of wet wood permeates the walls. There is a padded bench and I sit down. Looking ahead, I can almost see the faces of those people who confessed to me. Not for the priest, not for God.

And if I close my eyes for a second, I can relive all my childhood in this same church. Every time the priest told me to pray three times, I prayed ten times. With each punishment, I thought of something worse, to force them to think of a harsher punishment.

I hear footsteps outside. That little part of me that never stopped being ten smiles. Who will be today's sinner?

The light in the place is miserable, but I'm aware of every move. The door to the small room opens slowly, carefully. A woman in a white dress and scarf enters. The satin scarf covers her face, and it stimulates me. When someone is ashamed even to be in church, then he has been in very unclean places.

She heads for the confessional and kneels on the step, taking a deep breath before removing her scarf. I can't see her eyes, just her nose, lips and breasts. Somehow she looks familiar. I try to change position, but that's really all the screen lets me see.

"Father," she whispers, her voice almost breaking.

I think before making any decision. I am not a child, I no longer have any reason to listen to the confessions of others. I have too many sins to deal with in my own life. But God knows how her voice pushed me, and now I want to know what brought her here.

- Girl - I answer.

I hear your rapid breathing. This woman is nervous, but more than that, she's desperate to confess and receive forgiveness, because she thinks that's the only way to find peace. I know that feeling.

- I sinned – she starts, and now her voice sounds familiar too – And the problem is… I liked it.

My ears are listening to every sound, but especially to what comes out of her pink lips. I look down at the full mouth in front of me, parted to accommodate the heavy breathing.

- I met a man – she continues – At first it was as if the hands of God were taking me away from him, but I couldn't resist. I approached.

- As? I ask.

- Nothing important happened. We were in the same ballroom, he looked at me... - she stops and throws her blond hair behind her shoulders - I felt different. I felt that I was sinning just by being the target of his gaze.

I'm starting to associate his story and his appearance. Lips just right, blond hair, a party. It's her. I'm listening to Angelic Donneli's confession.

- My intuition was screaming warnings to me to stay away, but do you know when sin is so magnetic that it brings you closer? - she asks.

- Yeah.

- Nothing happened, I swear, but I feel dirty like it did.

- Why did you come to confession? I ask.

- I have not sinned, Father. But if you had the chance…” She didn't need to continue.

I don't want her to recognize me. Being Father Bee and hearing his confession intrigues me. I want to know more. I got to read all of your reactions that night two days ago, but hearing it from your own lips is different. It's exiting.

- I'm an adult, I shouldn't be trapped in my father's world. But I have no way out. Every meter there is a photographer ready to expose my whole life – Angelic Sighs – Father? - she calls.

- Yes, my daughter.

- I'd trade anything for an exciting life.

I settle into the seat, looking at the only part of her that I can. Angelic has a flying spirit trapped in a wingless body. She's so used to the rules that she thinks she's sinning when she breaks them. Lovely, but she shouldn't apologize when she doesn't regret it.

- I felt alive that day, and I've been wearing a mask ever since, pretending I didn't like all the excitement.

- A mask – I think about it – In a fake world, the mask is your ally, not your enemy.

Father Bee would probably have a different opinion, but he's not here, is he?

- What you mean?

- If everyone is pretending, why do you even feel guilty?

- Because... - Angelique stops.

- If you're afraid of people's judgment, don't tell them – complete.

It's been my life philosophy since I understood how society works. If a politician lets people starve, that's fine. If you put a bullet in that politician's head, it's not. So, in the end, wearing sheep's clothing is a necessity.

- So I'm forgiven? No penance?

- Pray three times before going to bed - I ask, according to the protocol. This was my punishment several times.

- Thank you father.

- Take it, girl.

Angelique gets up cautiously and puts the scarf on her head. She begins to walk towards the exit door of the room, but stops.

- Priest? – His voice has an amused tone – Are you new to the diocese? None of the priests I know have a British accent.

It takes me a few seconds to notice the smirk I'm drawing. Bingo, lady!

"I'm just passing through," I replied.