Chapter Two: The Flesh Beneath the Robes
They were men.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZnu7drJ9Qe
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtRvo5aRwdT
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.”8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8MIKzXq2bi
“Forgive me, Father, I took church money again. Just a little. For my dying mother. And a new iPhone.”8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoGORAw4Yzo
“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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9QEWyLRwAK
Others had private Grindr accounts under fake names.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAFXt8gsUO3
A few kept women in apartments rented from the university funds.
They joked about it in whispers.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwd5A0HCVi0
Called themselves the "Brotherhood of Flesh."8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡovHUsQOMUW
A mocking nod to the vows they all broke in some way.
They weren’t all predators.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv1R0chlKta
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFru3WGt5na
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa103Ehx21P
It funded casinos.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk7rgQIn8Yy
It protected reputations.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9yYSRkSS4D
It buried scandals like corpses under marble floors.
Even Father Ely—the one they called the golden boy—had secrets.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzJ0JZIRwgY
He didn’t touch children. He didn’t steal. He didn’t gamble.
But he was lonely.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1mYqIZf9sp
Deeply. Quietly.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOXsgjVhx1J
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIlLTf3qf5m
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.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoIejAzG3yP
Because he, too, once asked that same question—8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5bTTdk5idC
Only difference was… no one answered him.
