The Impaler (6 page)

Maybe he thought we’d get the message anyway. After all, we did, didn’t we?

Gates was silent, and Markham turned back to the UV close-up of Donovan’s torso—the evenly spaced, meticulously drawn pink letters.

“You kept him tied down for a while,” he whispered. “But how’d you get him to sit so still? Was Donovan dead or unconscious when you wrote on him?”

I have returned,
a voice answered in his mind.
I have returned, I have returned, I have returned.

Markham closed his eyes and sank uncomfortably into the drone of the turboprops—into the low hollow hum of not knowing where to begin.

Marla Rodriguez still missed her big brother very much. It had been over two months since the police found him and that other man in the field near the cemetery. And as Marla waited with the other children to see Father Banigas, the pretty eleven-year-old wondered if Jose could see her up through the church floor.

She knew, of course, that if her brother had been in Heaven he most certainly would have been able to see her sitting there in her bright yellow sweatshirt. But Marla wasn’t sure how things worked down there with the Devil; didn’t think that even
he
had the power to see into God’s house. And the fact that Jose might not be able to see what she was up to made her sad; for even though her parents had assured her that Jose was in Heaven, Marla Rodriguez knew for a fact that her big brother was stuck in Hell.

“No te preocupes, Jose,”
she whispered to the floor. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

Marla felt stupid that she hadn’t come up with the idea herself, felt guilty and sad that it had taken her so long to fix things. Deep down she knew Jose would forgive her. True, it
had probably been really hard for him to reach her dreams all the way from Hell, especially since there wasn’t much room in them now with all the worries filling up her head—Papa and Mama always crying, the move to the other side of Raleigh, the new school, the new catechism class, and the new church—not to mention all the space taken up in her head from missing him! Oh yes, sometimes Marla’s head felt even more crowded than the place they’d moved into; it had
way more
worries than her uncle’s two-bedroom apartment had people. Nine altogether—people, not worries—well,
ten,
if you counted her cousins’ cat Paco.

Marla didn’t like her cousins very much, and she certainly didn’t like having to sleep on the floor with her brother in the same room as Mama and Papa. But Marla had to admit that she liked living with Paco, who always slept on her pillow even though Diego was right there beside her. Marla could tell that Paco didn’t like Diego very much; and even though Marla didn’t like Diego very much, either, she still felt guilty for wishing sometimes that he’d gotten killed instead of Jose.

I must remember to tell Father Banigas that, too,
Marla thought.
But I bet if Father Banigas ever met Diego, he wouldn’t like him, either.

Whereas everybody used to like Jose, it seemed to Marla that the only person who liked Diego was Hector, the oldest of her three cousins. Hector was thirteen, two years younger than Diego, and Marla could tell that Hector thought Diego was
el mejor
because he could freestyle faster than anyone. Her other two cousins were just little boys and too young to give a crap about Diego’s flow, but even Marla had to admit that sometimes Diego’s rapping was pretty cool—but that didn’t change the fact that she didn’t like him! No, her big brother Jose had never called her names or pinched her arm when he wanted to use the iPod the three of them had shared back in their old apartment.

However, after Jose died, as soon as her family moved into their cousins’ apartment, her father bought Marla her own iPod and stuck Diego with the old one. She hadn’t expected
that,
even though her father had picked up another job in addition to his one as a janitor at the Crabtree Mall. Marla had heard him and her mother arguing about the iPod late at night, but at least Papa wasn’t crying anymore before he fell asleep. Marla could never tell her Papa that the iPod didn’t make her stop crying, though—didn’t make her like her cousins or their apartment any better, either. But at least Marla could admit that things were quieter outside now: no cars revving up and down the parking lot; no bottles clinking and gangbanging
pandilleros
yelling at each other late at night. And best of all, there were no gunshots to wake her up from her dreams of Jose.

“You can ask God for an iPod when you get to Heaven, Jose,” Marla whispered to the floor, and the boy sitting next to her elbowed her.

“Silencio, chalada,”
he said. “You’ll get us in trouble with Sister Esperanza.”

Marla elbowed him back, and the boy let out a squeal that made Sister Esperanza get up from her seat across the aisle. All the children froze, but when Sister Esperanza passed by Marla without a word, it suddenly occurred to her that maybe the reason Jose was finally able to speak to her in her dreams was because it was so much quieter now at her cousins’.

That had to be it! Yes, maybe there was something good about living there, after all. For even though Marla would never be able to ride in the car Jose had been saving up for while working at Best Buy, she would much rather just be able to talk with him like they used to when he was alive.

However, once she and Father Banigas had fixed things—once her brother was in Heaven where he belonged—Jose
might not have time to talk to her anymore. God might not even let him! Well, Marla thought, that was a risk she’d have to take. Yes, the most important thing right now was to get Jose out of Hell. It’s what her brother wanted.

But you promised your brother you’d never tell,
said a voice in Marla’s head.
Are you sure it really was Jose speaking to you in your dreams? Are you sure it’s okay to tell his secret even to Father Banigas?

Yes,
the girl replied.
Of course it was Jose! Only the two of us knew his secret.

The voice in Marla’s head was silent; and when another girl came out of the confessional, Sister Esperanza signaled to Marla that it was her turn.

Marla slipped out of the pew and walked quickly down the side aisle to the confessional, shut herself inside, and knelt on the padded knee rest. She made the sign of the cross and realized her heart was beating much faster than normal. She usually liked being inside the confessional—liked the dark, and how safe and clean and polished it smelled. And even though this confessional smelled just like the ones in her old church, today Marla Rodriguez didn’t feel safe in there at all.

Father Banigas slid open the shutter to his compartment, the dim outline of his head visible beyond lattice screen.

“Perdóname, Padre, porque he pecado,”
Marla said.

“You speak English?” asked the priest.

“Sí, Padre.”

“You must be new. At this church, it is important that we learn to be good Americans. The children make their confessions in English.”

Marla felt her face go hot, her stomach tighten. “I’m sorry. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession.”

“That’s all right, dear. What do you want to confess?”

“Well,” she began, “I don’t have much bad that I did since my last confession. Only that I sometimes wish it was my brother Diego who died instead of Jose.”

“Jose?”

“Yes, Father. My oldest brother. He is who I wanted to confess for today. He told me to do it for him in some dreams I had because he didn’t get a chance to do it himself before the
pandilleros
killed him. That’s why he’s stuck in Hell right now, but if I can confess for him, God will forgive Jose and let him into Heaven. Jose told me so.”

“I see,” said the priest.

“Jose told me in my dreams that if he knew he was going to die he would have confessed to Father Gomez back in our old church. But we don’t go to that church anymore because Papa moved us away from our old neighborhood because of the
pandilleros.
They thought at first that it was them who killed Jose and that other man, but now the police say they don’t know. But everybody says that only
la Mara Salva-trucha
would do something like that, and Papa wanted us to go live with his sister. So, last time I spoke to Jose in my dream, I asked him who killed him, and he said he didn’t know, but that he also thought it was the
pandilleros
. And so I asked him if I could confess to you instead of Father Gomez, and he said yes. So now it’s up to you to get Jose out of Hell.”

“Why do you think Jose is in Hell?”

“Because of his secret.”

“His secret?”

“Yes,” the girl said tentatively. “No one but me and Jose ever knew. Jose said if Papa ever found out, he would kill him, or at least throw him out of the house. And Mama and Papa and Diego always used to say that people like Jose were going to Hell. But I don’t know why that’s true, because Jose was the nicest person in the whole world to me. He would bring me home CDs from Best Buy, and he prom-
ised me he was going to take me to the movies in his new car when he got it.”

“What did he do that was so bad that your parents would think he was going to Hell? Was he involved with the
pandilleros
?”

“Oh no!”

“Then what?”

Marla swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and said, “May I confess Jose’s secret for him now, Father Banigas?”

“But, my child, only a person who accepts Jesus Christ as his Savior and seeks forgiveness himself can be absolved in the name of our Father.”

“Please, Father Banigas,” Marla cried, the tears beginning to flow. “You have to help me. You have to ask God to let Jose out of Hell.
Please.
I don’t want my brother to be stuck down there forever. He was the best brother I ever had.”

“Ssh, my child. It’s all right. I will take care of it for you, okay? I will grant a conditional absolution for Jose so he can stand before God and ask Him for forgiveness himself. Will that make you feel better?”

“
Sí! Gracias—
I mean, thank you, Father Banigas.”

“Now tell me Jose’s secret.”

“Well,” Marla began, “Papa and Mama think Jose wanted to go to college for computers, but I know that he was saving up his money so he could go for fashion design—you know, to make clothes and stuff. I only know this because it was Jose who took me to the father-and-daughter dance at school.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Papa couldn’t get out of work because this other guy had his appendix out, and we didn’t have enough money to buy a dress for me. I outgrew my stuff from fourth grade. I was real sad, but then Jose said he could fix it for me. He undid the stitching on my old dress and added some material from another dress, and it really looked great. He made me promise to keep it secret, and we didn’t tell Mama and Papa and
Diego—just told them that one of Jose’s girlfriends from school had done it. Jose would never tell Papa, and especially not Diego, because they would think that making dresses was for
maricóns.
”

“That is not a nice word, child,” the priest said. “I believe you mean homosexual.”

“I’m sorry, Father Banigas, but that’s what Papa and Diego call them. Oh, and I already confessed lying about the dress to Father Gomez.”

“I understand,” said Father Banigas. “So is that Jose’s secret?”

“Well,” Marla hesitated, “not all of it.”

“Go on then.”

“Well, you see, Father Banigas, I’m confessing today for Jose because my brother
was
a mar
—
a homosexual.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he told me he liked boys instead of girls—but only after I found out and asked him and promised never to tell Mama and Papa and Diego.”

“How did you find this out?”

“Jose had a job after school at Best Buy in the computer section, but on Wednesday and Saturday nights he worked at this other place where he said he made more money. He never told me where—said it was a Mexican restaurant downtown. But one day I overheard him talking on the phone when he thought I was playing outside and, well, he told the person that they could pick him up after the show at Angel’s and then gave them the address on West Hargett Street. I googled the words ‘angels’ and ‘show’ and ‘West Hargett Street’ in the library at school, and I found out that Angel’s is a club in Raleigh where the homosexuals go for drag shows. I didn’t know what a drag show was until I looked it up. It’s a show where boys dress up as—”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know what a drag show is—but did you tell your parents?”

“Oh no! I didn’t want to get Jose into trouble. But I did ask Jose about it when we were alone. And at first he was mad at me and said he didn’t know what I was talking about and told me to mind my own business. But after I told him that I didn’t care if he was a homosexual, that I would keep it a secret and I would still love him more than Diego no matter what, he started crying and told me everything. He told me about the drag shows, too, and made me swear on Mama’s Bible that I would never tell anyone.”

“But, my child, you should have told the police this after he was killed.”

“I couldn’t, Father Banigas. Papa and Mama would kill me if they knew I knew Jose was a homosexual and didn’t tell them. And they have both been so upset with him dying, this would kill them, I just know it. Why do they or the police need to know anyway? They said they thought it was the
pandilleros
. And even though they say they don’t know now, everybody still thinks it was. I can’t have Papa throw his memory of Jose out of his head the way he would’ve thrown Jose out of the apartment if he’d known he was a homosexual.”

Father Banigas heaved a heavy sigh and asked, “What else did Jose tell you?”

“Well, after he told me he liked boys, after he confessed to me about working at Angel’s, he told me how much money he made there. Fifty dollars plus tips—sometimes over a hundred dollars a night! He said they let him keep his costume and his makeup at the club. Leona Bonita, he called himself, and the makeup and his wig and stuff sort of made him look like a lion, he said.”