The man who killed God

By Juan Carlos Arjona Ollero

"Father, I'm going to kill you in seven days."
Father Dimitri prepares, as usual, to perform his Sunday duties, but the discovery of an anguishing note and the explosion of an artifact in his church will change everything.
Gabriel, a young amnesiac whose life has been marked by misfortune, is stalked by mysterious individuals who torture his mind. An unexpected chain of events places him in the eye of the hurricane, trapping him between the sadistic revenge of a disturbed mind and serious accusations of terrorism.
Both the priest and the young man are immersed in a mystery where faith and sanity will be taken to the limit by the twisted acts of a murderer.
With the help of Elisa, a prominent psychiatrist, and Halloran, a policeman, Gabriel and Dimitri have seven days to dodge death and, at the same time, decipher the mystery that their minds harbor.

Deception, symbolism, religion and mystery combine perfectly in one of the most audacious thrillers of the last decade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Nov 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781071517604

Book preview

THE MAN WHO KILLED GOD

Gabriel got up slowly, dragged his feet, they weighed like lead. Was he still sleeping? He didn’t know; although he had experienced dreams all his life, this was one in which he couldn’t tell whether he remained in the kingdom of Morpheus or if he wandered in lethargic steps of a zombie. Be that as it may, it was impossible for him to get out of it. He walked slowly along the corridor, but steadily. Even in the gloom of the night, he could make out silhouettes, obtuse figures, what he assumed must be his furniture and the other objects that decorated his house.

Gabriel heard something and then a blow came. In any other situation that would have made his hair stand on end, however, at that moment he seemed numb by a dangerous calm. Fear, as a defense mechanism, to hide from that intruder in his own house didn’t even exist; he heard the door close and hurried to reach it with the intention of finding out what was happening.

Gabriel's feet regained their strength, moved again driven by something he couldn’t describe.

But could something stranger have actually happened than what he saw?

The door that had opened led to a single place, and the landscape drawn there could only be hell.

A tree with its deformed branches as he had never seen... A woman was hanging from them with her eyes open, no one had bothered to close them. That expression of perpetual doom plunged directly into his eyes. His body no longer responded, it was only a soulless void whose motor capacity had been stripped away the moment the dead woman's pupils made contact with his own. At that moment, and for a few seconds, Gabriel felt himself inside a nightmare.

An icy breeze blew; everyone could feel it regardless of the location of each one, if they slept or were awake, if they were guilty or innocent, that breeze and night were the only witnesses, they were witnessing something terrifying.

Chapter 1

Sincerely, Death

Father, I'm going to kill you in seven days.

Dimitri contemplated for the third time that fine calligraphy. He had found the letter just a few minutes before, when he entered the sacristy. He unbuttoned the collar of his cassock in a vain attempt to breathe better, after all, the priests were not used to shocks like that.

Where did this note come from? He thought.

The priest examined the corners of his sacristy meticulously, reviewing even the smallest detail in case anyone had managed to sneak into the church; he had to find some indication. The chairs, the desk, the drawers and even the carpet were in the same position in which he had left them before. Even though the note was explicit enough, he went back to rereading it to find meaning.

But who would be threatening him? After all, Dimitri was just a common priest in any city. He turned the note over and on the back discovered that he had left something out, a photo or at least a piece of it where you could see a sinister looking forest that, for some reason, seemed familiar to Dimitri.

Don’t even think about calling the police...

That sentence was scribbled in the same calligraphy.

God...

He pulled the chair up from his desk and let himself fall heavily as he felt the fear in his body.

The situation was as unexpected as it was terrifying. The priest felt immersed in one of those exciting horror films that he had liked so much in his youth. But now, far from entertaining him, that made him feel a fear distant to the cinematic. At that moment he wanted to run straight to the police station or to the nearest private detective's office. Dimitri only did what he knew how to do best, what he always did when the situation surpassed him: he began to pray.

Lord, King of Heaven, Father, you are omnipresent and nothing escapes your sight. Oh, Father! Don’t forsake me on this dark night, send your angels to protect my path always.

Angels

That word stole his attention enough for his sentence to stop suddenly.

Dimitri got up and walked to the shelf where all the volumes that made up his magnificent collection were. He dragged his long fingers over the dusty backs of those books. The cleric was a fervent believer in the theory that ensures that you can know a person by the books he reads.

Where are you? Slippery... Ah, I found it! Exclaimed the Father when he ran into the book he had been looking for; He extracted it with great care, as one who manipulates a treasure of incalculable value. The cover of the book was decorated with impeccable calligraphy.

FILII DEI

Dimitri grabbed the book and admired its cover. He felt that pleasant chill that ran down his back every time he came in contact with that volume, although book was perhaps too catchy a name for his own Diary of Dreams. He had started writing it several years ago, more than he could remember. He touched the cover with his fingers affectionately, he felt a special affection for that manuscript. He opened it and, as always, the picture of a young Jesus greeted him with the same passivity and silence.

There is nothing to fear while God is on my side.

Dimitri spoke in a low voice, in the form of a decadent uncontrollable whisper, as if his words were not able to contain themselves inside. His fingers moved quickly turning the pages searching of something; He didn’t know what it was, but he understood that he would discover it as soon as he saw it. And in the same way the frantic search had begun, it came to an end.

The book was opened almost in half, he stopped at a page that at that moment he didn’t remember writing, but was certainly interesting enough.

MANUS DEI

It was the title that rose over the illustration. In it was seen a pair of angels with flaming swords, on their knees, praying. The drawing was so beautiful, detailed and artistic that it could easily have been thought that it was made by Da Vinci or Michelangelo. A beautiful illustration that could be used for some passage of the expensive Roman Bibles that were kept in the church..., had not had such macabre detail: the angels lacked wings and instead, a bleeding stump hinted they had amputated them in a very painful way. The strangest thing about the illustration was that the angels didn’t have pain in their faces, as if their unshakable faith was responsible for making them immune to such mutilation.

The simple sight of this image would probably have surprised, disgusted and even frightened anyone who dared to observe such a scene, however, Dimitri smiled.

Was it mere coincidence that his desperate prayer led him to take his Diary of Dreams? Was it really a coincidence that he came across a drawing that he didn’t remember doing?

In no way could that be coincidence. For the priest this was an unequivocal sign that God was supporting him, so he should not fear or worry about anything. God had spoken through that book revealing the answer in his Diary of Dreams.

Thank you, Lord, said Dimitri, much calmer than he had been a few minutes earlier. The threatening letter he had received no longer worried him so much, although it still seemed mysterious. The priest walked back to the bookshelf and carefully put the Filiis Dei back between the dusty volumes on the shelf.

It will be best to think calmly...

Dimitri glanced sideways at the desk where he had found the note. For the moment he would try not to think about it. It would occupy his mind and his time in his Sunday tasks to distract himself from the threat. That thought comforted him, he began to consider that perhaps it was only a mean and cruel joke. Sometimes he had to take out a few rebellious teenagers who stayed longer than they should in the church, where they used to access areas restricted to the public, such as his sacristy.

Yes, that's probably it.

He approached the wide window of his office, opened the curtains wide open, rejoiced to see people walking with complete peace on the sidewalks; they came and went without concern and several of them headed towards the church doors. The priest was comforted to see how his flock prepared to attend the appointment with God. That thought made a smile appear on his face, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.

The subtle sound of the needles of the small clock on his wall announced eleven o'clock and therefore it was time to begin the religious service. Very reluctantly, he began to back away and looked away from his faithful and it was just at that moment when Dimitri noticed something unusual: walking away across the street, two men, as he had never seen before, strikingly tall and with hair as blond as gold itself, were sprinting out of that place. The people who walked carefree around them didn’t notice them, as if they were invisible to the sight of those mundane.

Angels... Dimitri thought unconsciously.

Why were they just like the angels that he had seen so many times in paintings, drawings and dreams? To make matters worse, something even stranger happened next: one of the two men suddenly stopped and turned in the direction of the church. In that instant, Dimitri made direct eye contact with the stranger who raised his hand as if greeting him. Then, the man resumed his walk with the subject that accompanied him and both disappeared while crossing another corner of the street.

Suddenly, a car that was parked in front of the church exploded throwing a shower of glass. For Dimitri that moment happened in slow motion, all the light seemed to disappear sucked by the epicenter of the explosion. The flames and the shock wave blew the glass of the window.

Oh my god!

The screams rose from the street in a pitiful chorus of injured; in his mind, the memory of several people walking in that area came back to haunt him a second, before he finished immersing himself in the seas of unconsciousness.

***

Judas walked slowly across the hall. The sound of his feet crawling on the rustic stone floor reached his ears like an echo coming from a distant place; that didn’t seem strange to him, after all, the dead couldn’t hear... And he was dead.

Dead. Dead. Fucking dead.

The feel of his skin against the sandstone walls, the taste of his last supper or the last time he sniffed the gunpowder were barely a vague memory, mere reminiscences of a different era, one in which he was still alive.

He stopped in front of the wooden door and pushed gently, he knew it had been too long since he had put oil on those hinges, so the door creaked sharply every time it opened or closed, and he didn’t want to wake her up...

He turned the doorknob and the door gave way to the playroom. As soon as he set foot in that room, he thought he heard hysterical and desperate screams like those of women..., like Marta's. For a moment he considered that the screams were real and came from somewhere very close, but that wasn’t possible. The dead can’t listen. And he was dead.

His eyes had become used to the darkness, so the small beam of light that crept into that basement through the slits in the ceiling was more than enough for him to see clearly. Marta was waiting there, as always, sitting in the same chair without having changed position since the last time he had come down to visit her.

Hello, Marta, Judas said unconsciously; the words had sprouted from his lips without intending to.

Marta, as usual, didn’t respond, she didn’t feel like talking.

I know it took me a long time to visit you, Marta... I've been busy.

She was as quiet as ever, however, this time it seemed that the silence was interrupted by something else. Screams.

I promise I'll come more often, Marta. It won’t take long for me to finish, I'm almost done. Then I'm going to move here, with you.

Judas sketched a smile that ended up being a terrifying grimace. Later, he approached Marta and kissed her on the forehead. After saying goodbye to her, he turned around and started walking towards the basement door, the distant cries still echoing in his head like a mechanical hammer. He needed to get out of there, climb the stairs and start getting ready.

When he was about to cross the door, his eyes met a piece of broken mirror that was hanging on the wall. In that fraction of a second he saw himself reflected in the glass, that wasn’t something he wanted to see. Ever since it had happened with Marta, Judas had avoided looking in the mirrors at all costs, his own vision disgusted him.

The man who stared back at him from the mirror had a dreadful appearance: his skin was dyed a faint gray and stretched over his bones in an unnatural way, as if it were tensed and about to break. His eyes were covered with a whitish tissue that clouded his irises. His hair had fallen abundantly in several areas of the head leaving gaps of baldness everywhere. Under his nose, two thick rivers of dried blood that were the only trace of the terrible hemorrhage he had suffered. His clothes were torn in shreds and full of dark spots that could have been blood or dirt, he had already forgotten. Judas contemplated that frightening prospect for the last time, looked away from that piece of mirror that returned his cadaverous reflection, climbed back up the stairs and returned to the upper floor.

The great wheel of revenge had to begin to turn and this time there would be no one who could stop it.

Chapter 2

The boy with violet eyes

Wake up!

Gabriel opened his eyes resigned and sleepy; he had not rested at all and now he had to endure the torment that repeated every morning.

Come on, Gabriel, it's time to wake up!

One of the feather pillows hit him in the face as a warning from his roommate who was not willing to wait any longer.

Okay, Marvin! Can you stop bothering for a second? Gabriel replied as he sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his eyes. The sun's rays filtered through the window of the room. A glance at the clock on the wall revealed that it was already nine thirty in the morning. They should hurry up, or they would be late again.

If you had listened to me last night, we would be on our way to the doctor's office. You never listen to me, Gabriel. This time Marvin's voice came from the bathroom. Gabriel was surprised at the speed with which his partner had moved. He looked at the clock a second time and sighed annoyed; He would have liked to continue sleeping a little longer, but he knew that he could not postpone his medical appointment. He got off the bed and knelt next to it, crossed his hands and interlaced them preparing to pray.

Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come...

Gabriel recited that prayer from memory and closed his eyes tightly while in his mind visualized the bright light he knew as God.

Sir, I have had that dream again... he was saying in a very low voice, almost whispering. "It was like