Chapter Two: The Flesh Beneath the Robes
They were men.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrkTMqXIfN7
Long before they were priests, they were men.
And inside the whitewashed walls of the convent, when the incense faded and the faithful had gone home—the rituals became routine, and the temptations bled through.
Not every priest was corrupt.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHVJDOIwaLo
But not every priest was clean.
Father Ely had long known this. He’d seen it too many times, especially in confession rooms that doubled as therapy booths for his fellow clergy. They came to him not just to confess—but to vent, to justify, to seek forgiveness without change.
“Forgive me, Father, for I slept with another sacristan. He said he was twenty—he wasn’t.”9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtrUbF0V3LA
“Forgive me, Father, I took church money again. Just a little. For my dying mother. And a new iPhone.”9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡukjLXUV81s
“Forgive me, Father, I was in Solaire last night. Baccarat was flowing. So was the wine. I wore my collar under my jacket. It made the waitresses nervous.”
Some were secret drinkers.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqGhsNxtbzt
Others had private Grindr accounts under fake names.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfwqb9ZCMrz
A few kept women in apartments rented from the university funds.
They joked about it in whispers.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaLArZxmQ4h
Called themselves the "Brotherhood of Flesh."9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEr3cxRF2TD
A mocking nod to the vows they all broke in some way.
They weren’t all predators.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvOWX9CdyN3
But some were.
There was Fr. Lino, soft-spoken, fond of young choir boys. He never touched them—no. But the way his hand lingered on shoulders, the extra-long “spiritual retreats” he scheduled with his favorite boys—everyone knew. But no one reported him.
Because in San Bartolome, you don’t expose a priest.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjEPcwZZXpy
You protect the image, even if it kills the truth.
“We are shepherds,” the Prior once said in a closed-door meeting. “And shepherds must sometimes keep the flock in line—by silence.”
That silence was golden.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvbkdDy3dsw
It funded casinos.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡweloFqneCj
It protected reputations.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdMjLbkE57L
It buried scandals like corpses under marble floors.
Even Father Ely—the one they called the golden boy—had secrets.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPwIFlxGIzs
He didn’t touch children. He didn’t steal. He didn’t gamble.
But he was lonely.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw6pVi1qWmN
Deeply. Quietly.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4sgrrD45sy
And sometimes that loneliness took the shape of a sin he refused to name aloud.
That was before Ella Martinez walked into the confession room.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0drzKQbP6q
Before her voice—shaky, soft, braver than most—asked him something that unsettled his soul.
“Father, what happens when you want to believe… but the people of God are the ones hurting you?”
Ely couldn’t answer right away.
Because her voice reminded him of something he buried.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0IRU23ybB2
Because he, too, once asked that same question—9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuOrk0AgiFr
Only difference was… no one answered him.
