GÉNOVA

He hurried down the hallway of the grand cathedral of Génova, his reddish-colored robe tangling around his legs. He stumbled at the first step before entering through the main door of the secluded chambers where the head priest and other deacons like him rested. Sweat also ran down his forehead after long strides, his face appearing as if it had witnessed the worst scene imaginable. As he reached Domingo's room—the only priest resting in the cathedral's main chamber—he paused for a few seconds to catch his breath. Nevertheless, with his hands clenched into fists, he managed only a weak knock on the door. He took a deep breath, gathering strength to knock again, and he did. He succeeded. Meanwhile, Domingo stirred beneath the sheets until he woke, putting on his glasses. Despite a few stumbles, he reached the door without any risks or issues. Opening it, he saw his frantic deacon with a face as white as a dove's feather. "What's wrong, Hermes?" the elder asked as he closed the door behind him. But Hermes couldn't manage more than a few words that Domingo couldn't understand. He persisted, "Has something happened?" "You have to..." Hermes muttered from his place, clutching the pamphlet in his hands, "you have to see this, Father." Without hesitation, Domingo started walking as fast as Hermes had initially, his glasses slipping down his nose. He followed him to the stairs, sensing that something was terribly wrong. But he didn't stop or even consider pausing for a moment. As they reached the main hallway of the central chamber of the Génova cathedral, they encountered the unexpected. Hermes stood still, Domingo barely took a few steps. "My God..." he barely whispered, stunned by what lay before his eyes, "it can't be," he added as he took off his glasses, "Rusty..." were his final words. His eyes surveyed every inch of the cross: A young man, nailed by hands and feet to the highest cross of the cathedral, situated in the central sanctuary against a large wall, illuminated by the moonlight at that moment. That young man had been trying to recover for a long time after being involved in a satanic cult. A cult that murdered anyone betraying their spiritual allegiance and the rituals performed every Friday on the outskirts of Génova. With a large dagger in his chest, where his heart would be, the young man was pinned to the cross just like Jesus on the day of his death. His face disfigured, crowned with thorns atop his head. Hermes suddenly approached with the pamphlet in hand and handed it to Domingo. "This was in his pocket, but I can't read it," Hermes murmured as Domingo took the folded pamphlet, "it's written in Latin." Domingo opened it, and those words didn't immediately make him read, but rather look again at Rusty. He began a long prayer seeking God's protection, while the pamphlet, with the same prayer written in Latin, was the sole evidence of that bloody crime and the beginning of a new mystery. "Our Father, who art in heaven..." he whispered slowly, then continued, "hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread..." he added, looking at Hermes, who had knelt with folded hands before the body of Rusty hanging before them, "and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil..." Silence. Pure, awaited silence as a cold breeze began to hit against Domingo's bald head. Hermes stood up, running his two fingers across his shoulders, his forehead, and then kissed them. "Amen."