Chapter Ten: Excommunication
"He who hides sin under the cloth of righteousness...11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡspqJDneZRq
shall one day be stripped bare by the truth."
The rector’s office smelled like sandalwood and secrets.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGTJnkhuAyh
Mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with theological books no one truly read anymore—mere decoration for the wolves in vestments.
Fr. Ely stood before Rector Primitivo Marasigan, a towering man whose silence had once commanded reverence.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgFsECxfEaL
Now, it only bred unease.
Ely placed the USB on the table. “Before I go to the authorities, I’m giving you this chance.”
The old man didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at the drive.
“What exactly do you want, Fr. Ely?” he asked, calmly.
“Justice.”
“Or vengeance?” he tilted his head.
Ely’s jaw tightened.
“Seven victims. Possibly more. All documented. Taped. Used. And this institution—your beloved university—protected the predators.”
“You speak as if you were never part of this clergy,” Primitivo said. “You were ordained by the same hands. Taught under the same halls.”
“And that’s why I know how deep it goes.”
Rector Marasigan finally picked up the USB. He twirled it between his fingers.
“Do you understand what this means?” he asked, voice low. “That if you pursue this… there is no coming back. No collar. No pulpit. You’ll be excommunicated.”
“Then so be it,” Ely replied. “If God is watching, He knows I’d rather burn for truth than kneel for lies.”
The rector opened his drawer and pulled out a black envelope.
Inside was a single flash drive—unlabeled.
“Do you think you’re the only one who’s kept evidence, Father Consignado?” he asked. “The tapes you found… those were the old currency.”
“What is this?”
“Insurance,” Primitivo said, smiling faintly. “Do you remember 2015? The Easter vigil in Cavite? You were a deacon then. A young girl cried in your arms after communion. Do you recall what she whispered to you?”
Ely froze.
He remembered.
She had said:
“Don’t let him touch me again.”
But Ely had done nothing.
He had buried it.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9ASVl9yMNH
Reasoned she meant someone else.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ17EoMlsU6h
He had prayed it away.
“Yes,” the rector said, reading the silence. “We all have sins, Ely. Some of us just learned how to keep ours hidden better.”
“You’re blackmailing me.”
“I’m reminding you who you are. Who we all are.”
The air was thick.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVvn99402wn
Sacred, suffocating.
Then Ely stood.
“I was a coward then,” he said. “But I won’t be one now.”
“And what of your vows?” the rector snapped. “You’ll destroy the very faith you were sworn to protect!”
“Faith is not the Church,” Ely said. “And the Church is not you.”
He walked out.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVKD7SvW2Pc
Past portraits of saints who would weep if they knew.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOoV5wQpfIS
Past stained glass windows that hid more than they revealed.
Outside, Ella waited at the chapel’s side gate.
He handed her the black envelope.
“They’re not just hiding sins,” he told her. “They’re building empires on them.”
“Then let’s tear it down,” she whispered.
The night wind blew through the arches, carrying a chime from a distant rosary bell.
For the first time in years, Fr. Ely didn’t say a prayer.
He whispered a name.
“May.”
And walked toward fire.
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