Maria and her brother Emilio finished eating and left. Viola hurried to catch up with them. He was a tall, burly man in his mid-twenties who took care of the casa’s lovely grounds. Although his size was imposing, he always had a smile on his face.
Viola pulled them into an empty room and closed the door. “What’s the deal with the stranger?”
Emilio whispered, even though they were completely alone. “He’s a famous killer, an assassin. People call him La Víbora, supposedly because he stalks his victim patiently until he’s sure of the kill. Never misses, they say.”
La Víbora was Spanish for the viper. A lot of things at Casa Santiago scared Viola, but this guy had acted like a gentleman. “Jesus Christ! What’s a hitman doing here?”
“In general,” Maria said, “it’s better not to ask those kinds of questions. Carlotta is probably the only one who knows. Please, don’t try to find out, or I’m sure you’ll be whipped again.”
It sounded like excellent advice. Viola nodded.
“Return to your bedroom by three p.m.,” Maria said, “so I can complete your makeup. You’re going to be a star on YouTube, I just know it. I know you want to look your best.”
She was wrong as wrong could be. Stardom wasn’t the least bit appealing. Viola was about to humiliate herself, and it would be far better to do that in front of a small audience if possible. Sermonizing might come easy for extroverts, but it wouldn’t for her. Plus, priests and ministers usually spent years in study and apprenticeship. She was being forced to perform with only a few hours of frantic online research. That did not bode well.
-o-o-o-
Mount Evans Motel, Idaho Springs
Athena was trying to decipher the Santiago cartel’s encrypted texts when she received a Facebook notification of a new posting on Viola’s new page. Either the folk saint or one of her masters had scheduled a public event at 4:30 that afternoon. She’d appear at a movie theater in Northwest Denver. Athena grinned. What a great opportunity to recover the poor woman.
Beau was talking on the phone, again, but she interrupted him, again.
After listening to her pitch, he said, “Whoa, we can’t put together a recovery operation so quickly. At best, we might be able to send an agent to report on the security surrounding Viola.”
Another big disappointment, but she kept her opinion to herself. “You better warn them that they should use a Hispanic undercover guy. This Santa Muerte phenomenon is huge but most of her followers are Hispanic.”
“They’re grateful that Carlotta is willing to send Viola out to schmooze people. We should be able to get approval for a snatch and grab in a week or two.”
Given what Athena had seen of Viola’s new life, it seemed doubtful she’d live that long.
-o-o-o-
Casa Santiago, near Louviers
Although the Internet was filled with information about Santa Muerte, a lot of it made no sense. It was going to take Viola weeks of serious study to learn about the religion. But Carlotta wasn’t going to wait, and if that meant feeding her young slave to the lions, so be it.
The weirdest part was blending Catholicism with the pre-Colombian Indian religions of Mexico and Central America. The folk saint’s devotees would instantly recognize any mistakes Viola made. Maybe that was why some of her popular online priests and priestesses used so many of the Catholic Church’s trappings like vestments, crucifixes, and constant references to Jesus and the Virgin. Not surprisingly, the church was doing its very best to suppress Santa Muerte. For centuries, they’d successfully pressured the Mexican government into using its Federal soldiers to destroy Santa Muerte shrines all over the country.
Viola realized that Santa Muerte must provide considerable spiritual benefits for its followers, or the folk religion would’ve died away long ago. Niña Blanca offered its devotees an alternative connection with God. She had to keep that thought in mind as she became more spiritual.
Unfortunately, Viola ran out of time long before she could answer most of her questions about the religion. At three p.m., she raced for her bedroom.
Maria was waiting. In a breathless voice, she said, “This is so exciting! It’s like I have my own guardian angel.”
Viola asked Maria lots of questions about the religion while the assistant dyed Viola’s hair black. Then, Maria drew elaborate colorful patterns on Viola’s face, including tiny skulls and flowers. As a final touch, Maria pinned several red and pink roses in Viola’s hair.
When Maria finished, she took several pictures with her phone. “You came out better than I expected. Don’t touch your head, no matter what, or I’ll have to kill you.”
Murderous humor was popular at the casa, so Viola played along. “Si, Señora.”
Maria took Viola over to the bed where she’d laid out two white robes. “The one on the left is what you wore this morning. The one on the right is the same robe with a few artistic embellishments.”
Viola examined the second robe. Someone had used a faint gray paint to draw a skeleton on the front of the second garment. It was subtle and lovely and suited Viola’s somber mood perfectly. “Maravillosa! Who did this?”
Maria beamed. “Emilio, he’s very talented with a brush, but our parents refused to send him to a fine arts institute after high school. They could’ve afforded it, but they wanted both of us to learn practical skills. They sent me to beauty school, and he learned to design and care for gardens.”
Gloria Hawkins, Viola’s mom, had encouraged her daughter to follow her dreams, but her mom couldn’t afford to help with college. Viola had gone anyway, paying her way by working nights and weekends and borrowing over a hundred grand in student loans. “Let’s use Emilio’s robe, it’s wonderful.”
The two of them walked downstairs where Carlotta was waiting in the mansion’s entryway. She looked Viola up and down. “Niña, I’m very impressed. But before you go out in public, I want to make sure you understand something.”
Viola steeled herself for more bad news.
“Be careful,” Carlotta said. “Do not do anything that might reflect poorly on my family, or else. On the other hand, you should say as many nice things about us as possible.”
It took all of Viola’s willpower to keep from bursting out laughing at the thought of being able to say anything nice. When the urge passed, she said, “Si, Señora.”
The woman scowled as though she’d recognized that her minion was mentally laughing at her. “Diego will go with you and explain how my family is providing you as a gift to the community. Because we have so many new businesses to manage, I can only spare him and one other guard for your protection. If any disturbances break out, follow Diego’s instructions to the letter and leave.”
Viola’s hands became clammy, and her skin tingled. Good security was crucial. Viola had seen many online references to the hardened criminals who worshiped Santa Muerte. Many of the people she’d be preaching to that afternoon could react violently if she failed to meet their expectations. “Si, Señora.”
Carlotta pointed her finger at Viola’s chest. “And one last thing. I forbid you to say that you are not Our Lady of the Blessed Death. Let these poor people have their dreams. If they beseech you for miracles, do your best to provide them.”
Viola hated the idea of deceiving anyone or disappointing them, but she hated being whipped for disobedience even more. “Si, Señora.”
-o-o-o-
Carlotta allowed Maria and Emilio to accompany Viola, and the two of them wore matching robes. Diego had parked a large SUV with a trailer in front of the house. The guard who stood by the SUV knelt before Viola and showed Viola a tattoo of Santa Muerte on his neck. Then he bowed his head. By then, it felt natural for her to say, “Bless you, my son, go with God.”
As she spoke, her body glowed for a moment. Those hadn’t been empty words, not for her or him.
As Diego drove, Viola studied the papers she’d printed out and organized them into a sermo
n. Her earlier worry melted away. Although she wasn’t a priestess, she would do her best to make the mass meaningful for anyone who attended.
-o-o-o-
Viola and the others pulled up in front of an old movie theater. The marquee was empty. Based on the old movie posters for Brokeback Mountain and March of the Penguins outside the box office, it appeared that the theater had closed long ago. Even so, a line of people extended down the block for the newest show in town.
Diego drove to the opposite side of the street and parked. “Wait here.”
He walked in the main entrance and returned a few minutes later. “They’re opening the back door for us. The guy who owns the place claims it’s almost full already, four hundred seats.”
The thought choked Viola up. So many other damaged souls in this world. Please, God, help me ease some of their pain.
Behind the theater, a white-haired Hispanic man dressed in a sharply tailored business suit greeted them. “If I had known a cult could fill this building, I would’ve converted the theater into a Santa Muerte church years ago.”
Maria and Emilio had brought enough stuff in the trailer to create an attractive altar, which included a small podium to hold Viola’s notes. Maria decorated the altar with candles, small statues, and lots of flowers. Their hard work inspired Viola to do her best.
The owner closed the doors when every seat was full and dozens of folks sat on the carpeted stairs. Most looked Hispanic, but not all. Many devotees had painted their faces white and decorated them like Viola’s. That choked her up.
She stepped out from behind a curtain and strode to the altar. Maria and Emilio followed and knelt behind her. The rest of the stage remained bare. Diego and the other guard stood in the aisle in front of the first row of seats to keep anyone from approaching.
The murmuring died down, and Viola took advantage. She began with one of the Introductory Rites from the ordinary Catholic mass, spoken first in Spanish, then English. “The Lord be with you.”
Most of the assembled multitude responded, “And with your spirit.”
These were mostly former or current Catholics, people would be comforted by a familiar ritual, so she continued, “Brethren, let us acknowledge our sins, and so prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries.”
After a brief pause, they all recited together, “I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do.”
Then, most of them struck their breast with their hand and continued, “Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault, therefore I ask blessed” — she held up a hand to signal a change and said alone — “Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte.”
Everyone continued as normal. “All the Angels and Saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God.”
Viola alone recited the absolution. “May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life.”
Everyone responded with an enthusiastic, “Amén.”
The last vestiges of her nervousness faded away. These people wanted to be here, and that made her work easy. Although Viola didn’t have much experience with public speaking, it didn’t matter when everyone was rooting for her.
The service proceeded quickly until she glanced at her watch. She’d been speaking continuously for fifty minutes. To conclude, she modified the traditional conclusion. “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the forgiveness of sins, and life everlasting. Amén.”
When the service was over, most of the congregation filed out of the theater. Some left offerings, and about thirty lined up on one side of the stage where stairs led up to Viola. Diego allowed one person at a time to approach her. The first was an old woman whose right hand was wrapped in a bloody bandage.
Before Viola could stop her, the woman dropped to her knees and crawled forward while kneeling to kiss the hem of her robe. “Pray for me, Your Holiness. My neighbor stabbed my hand because I yelled at him for stealing my tomatoes. Now I have an infection the doctor can’t cure.”
This was the part of pretending that would hurt the most. Viola had no way to heal this woman, and Viola’s prayers didn’t count for any more than this poor soul’s had. In fact, whenever Viola cut or bruised herself, her wounds seemed to stay open for weeks.
Because she’d known this situation would arise, she’d found a healing prayer much more eloquent than anything she could’ve come up with. It was contained in Mi Shebeirach, in an old book of Jewish wisdom.
She gently rested her hand on the woman’s head. “May the God who blessed our ancestors—Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Matriarchs Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah—bless and heal this gentle soul. May our Holy Blessed God overflow with compassion upon her, to restore her, to heal her, to strengthen her, to enliven her. May He send her, speedily, a complete healing—healing of the soul and healing of the body. Amén!”
Nothing appeared to happen to the woman’s hand, but Viola did feel a powerful glow fill every part of her body. Maybe it came from overwrought nerves, but she hoped God had taken notice and offered this woman His grace.
The woman kissed the hem of Viola’s robe several more times, and Viola helped her to her feet. A guard helped the woman back down the stairs on the far side of the stage.
One by one, other congregants approached Viola, told their stories, and received a blessing. As they left, they profusely thanked her. Speaking the prayers produced the same powerful effect within her. Whatever that meant.
When the last person asking for a miracle left with a smile on his face, Diego approached her. “Wow! You really got them going. But we better get out of here before somebody realizes that nothing happened.”
His cynicism brought her back to Earth. “We can speed things along by helping Maria and Emilio to pack the trailer.”
But the guards were apparently too important to perform such menial work. Viola, Maria, and Emilio packed up while the other two stood around smoking and joking.
Viola had kept an eye open for a chance to make a break for it, but Diego seemed to read her mind. Each time she left the theater to pack something into the trailer, he followed her.
On the way back to Casa Santiago, Viola reminded herself not to let the congregation’s reaction swell her head. Although her intentions were pure, she was basically fooling people to save her own skin. But as she sat and remembered the service, the lovely, happy glow she’d felt earlier returned. At least one part of her new life was satisfying.
Chapter 16
Mount Evans Motel, Idaho Springs
By early evening, Athena’s mind was toast. The aches and pains of late pregnancy—combined with her worry for Leo, and Viola—had taken a huge toll.
Beau interrupted her thoughts. “I just got a report from the Santa Muerte event. DEA managed to sneak two guys in. Hundreds of people packed into an old movie theater. Thank God there wasn’t a fire.”
Athena realized that no matter how bad things got, they could always get worse. “What did you hear about the event?”
“Viola showed up looking like a skeleton, and her fans loved it. One of the DEA guys there is Catholic, and he said about half of her mass was very familiar to him. The other half of the mass included crazy stuff like Aesop’s fables and Bob Dylan lyrics. A wild mix of old and new. At the end, Viola performed healings for dozens of people, but no obvious cures.”
Athena wasn’t sure whether Beau or the DEA guys were being sarcastic about miracles. “What do you expect her to do, Boudreau? She’s a kidnap victim, and she’ll do exactly what Carlotta tells her, n'est-ce pas?”
He blushed. “Of course, but you know how cynical cops are. The bottom line was, she seemed to totally get into it, and the congregation loved her. Viola showed no obvious signs of physical or emotional abuse.”
Athena’s irritation grew. “So, tell DEA to get
off their asses and save her before she does show obvious signs. How many guards were there?”
“That’s the best part. Only two, and Viola also brought two attendants, but they don’t seem to be either armed or dangerous. DEA’s putting together a team of six who will attempt to grab her at her next public event. Let us know when you hear about the next mass.”
That was what Athena had hoped to hear. Her annoyance vanished. “Perfect, mon coeur. Hopefully, the cartel will send her out again soon.”
-o-o-o-
Casa Santiago, near Louviers
Viola and the others made it back to the compound in time for dinner, but she wasn’t hungry. She was still running on adrenaline or joy or insanity, not sure which.
Attendance at meals was mandatory, so Viola joined the others in the dining room. She was the subject of most of the conversation, with Maria and Emilio singing her praises.
Carlotta, on the other hand, asked probing questions about the audience’s reaction, and Viola had to admit she wasn’t sure. Then, the jefa got a call from Jesus in Houston.
When she hung up, she patted Viola’s hand. “He says the social media reaction is very positive. The only frequent negative comment was that the service had ended too soon.”
What a relief. Maybe Viola had a knack for this stuff, after all.
Carlotta continued, “Jesus says a half-dozen clandestine videos have already been posted online. Fortunately, our cameraman has sent his file electronically to Jesus, and he just uploaded the official video to your webpage.”
At the first opportunity, Viola left the table and went to her room. She took off her makeup and tried to remember what her life had been like a week ago—it seemed like eons. She’d been so carefree compared to now.
It was far too early to go to bed, but she felt totally drained. It’d been the craziest day of her life.
To relax, she sat and watched a movie, Malcolm X. Over his short life, he’d made an amazing conversion from a drugged-up burglar to becoming one of God’s devoted disciples. The man’s life inspired her to do something meaningful with the opportunity she’d been given.
Anointed (Vanished Book 3) Page 11
