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The door of the building flies open before she arrives, and three women burst out toward her, as if they’ve watched for her every night. A heavyset woman wraps Camila in a hug that lifts her small body up off the ground. I don’t even have to crack the window to hear their squeals. The other two stand with their hands covering their mouths, shooting glances around, as though looking for her means of transportation. I’m too far away though, and as long as I don’t move before they shuffle her inside, I should be safe to leave the way I came.
More people pour out of the complex, a community of those who’ve been looking for the girl, and it troubles me to withhold the answers her mother’s probably desperate for right now. But the night isn’t over, and there’s still much to do before daylight, so as the few stragglers shuffle inside, I keep my headlights off and fire up my car, slowly backing down the block to the drive of the next apartment building. There, I turn around and head back out onto Main Street.
Back toward the church.
* * *
The rectory stands dark by the time I arrive back. A creature of habit, Father Ruiz will already be in bed. It’s only just after nine, but for the last two years, the man’s made a point to be fast asleep well before then, and the adjacent church is locked up around eight o’clock. Too many thefts and lack of volunteers forced the diocese to forego perpetual adoration years ago.
I drive the car around to the back, where a stretch of property makes up prime real estate in this city. Built in the twenties, the church is one of few places downtown that still uses a septic system. Due to lack of funds, mostly. The lid still stands partially exposed, from when it was pumped just a week before.
It’s quiet this time of night. The property butts up to Vista Hermosa Park, so the surrounding trees offer a small bit of cover, as I drag Chuck’s body from the trunk of my car and drop him beside the mound of dirt that marks the access lid to the septic tank.
Last time I disposed of a body, I was twenty-two years old, and I swore I’d never do it again. Guess I didn’t expect to run into a scumbag pedophile back then.
From the skinny shed beside the church, I nab one of the shovels and slam it into the fresh dirt. The excavation takes about two minutes before the lid is fully exposed, and I’ve hardly broken a sweat.
A heavy square of concrete is the only barrier to the awful stench beneath, even after having been pumped, so I prepare myself by drawing in a few deep breaths. At the count of three, I lift it up from the dark, square opening that’s about thirty inches wide. Glancing around to make sure no one sees me, I drag his limp body across the yard, and after rummaging through his pockets for any identification and finding none, I push him into the darkness, watching him disappear down the hole with athunk. On the verge of gagging, I replace the lid, closing out both the smell and Chuck’s dead body, then bury it just as it was before. It’s risky disposing him on church grounds, but it’s probably the least likely place anyone will go looking for the guy.
Standing over the burial site, I wait for the guilt and agony of remorse to settle over me. Regret for having committed a mortal sin, an offense against God. Thomas Aquinas might consider this the Principal of Double Effect—by killing the man who attacked me, I’ve prevented the death of a child. Assuming I had no intentions of killing him in the first place, and I know that’s not true. From the very night he entered the confessional, detailing the death of an innocent child, I knew I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t ignore my instincts as a father, not only to my own slain child, but also to the congregation who looks to me for strength and protection. And the truth is, vengeance has always been part of my blood. It was there when my father forced me to collect his debts with violence, and it resurfaced again when police failed to produce a single lead in the murder of my wife and daughter. No amount of theology can banish what has been pumping through my veins since the day I was brought into the world.
So, the truth is, I don’t regret killing this monster, at all.
8
Damon
From my office window, I stare down at the mound of dirt, beneath which Chuck’s body has likely already begun the stages of decomposition. In a few years, the septic sludge will break down his skin and major organs, until he’s every bit a part of his surroundings. I wish I could say that’s all based on theory, but watching a body get dumped in the septic system is nothing new for me. Not in the last decade, of course, but recent enough to remember that I felt more remorse than I do now.
A knock interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to see Ivy peeking through a crack in the door.
“Father Damon? The secretary told me it was okay to come in.” Red-painted lips draw my attention to her face, to how beautiful she looks today. Or maybe she always looks this way, and I’ve just been too preoccupied on other occasions I’ve run into her.
“Of course, please.” I gesture toward a chair set in front of my desk, where she takes a seat. “Have you decided to give the medieval box another go?”
“Eventually, yes.” Her coy and sheepish smile tells me she’s still embarrassed from the last time. “But I’m not here for me. It’s about my grandmother. She’s very sick.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I can see this troubles you very much. How can I help?”
“I don’t think she has much time. And she’s asked for one last reconciliation.”
“Is she at home, or still in hospital?”
“Hospital.”
“I’m available this afternoon, if that works.”
“I’m actually going to hold off a bit, if that’s okay. I feel like once she’s confessed, she’ll just give up. Mostly, I wanted to offer a heads-up.”
“I trust you’ll keep me posted, and I’ll let our secretary, Mrs. Castle, know, as well.”
“Father …”
“Please, call me Damon.”
“Damon.” My name rolls off her tongue like silk brushing across the back of my neck, and I have to stifle a shiver at the sound of it. “There’s something else …” From the night she first came for confession, I guessed something else troubled her. Fidgeting with her purse, she casts her gaze from mine, and in the next breath, she shoots out of her chair and crosses the room to the window where I stood just moments before. “Can I ask you something? Somewhat off-topic.”
“Sure.”
