work fast.
“Hello, Jen.”
The hooded head jerked up sharply. The baby stirred in her arms.
“Who’s there? Who are you?”
“It’s me, Jen, Beth. I’ve come to get you out of here.”
Beth’s first instinct was to throw her arms around her sister and hug her. But there was time for that later. Instead, Beth reached up and lifted her mask.
Outside, the crowd began to chant, “Santo, Santo, Santo, Santo…”
And Beth heard Cristo’s voice behind her in the doorway:
“Hurry. We must hurry.”
Jen was looking at her, eyes wide behind the mask. “Is this some kind of trick? Beth is dead.”
So they hadn’t told Jen. Probably thought she’d be easier to handle this way.
“Look at me,” Beth said. “Do I look dead to you?”
“You’re not Beth. Beth was shot.”
Her speech was slow, lethargic. It occurred to Beth that Jen may have been drugged in preparation for the ceremony. She moved closer, crouching down in front of Jen, stroking little Andy’s head.
He didn’t stir. Had he been drugged, too?
“It’s me,” she said to Jen. “I’m here. They may have stopped me, but they couldn’t kill me.”
Jen pulled the baby away from Beth and hugged him to her breast. She began muttering rapidly in Spanish. Words Beth didn’t understand. A prayer of some kind.
What the hell had they done to her?
But then Beth knew, didn’t she? Cristo had told her what El Santo did to his women, and the irony of all this suddenly came home to her. A man who worships an all-powerful female saint yet treats the women in his life like dogs.
Then again, judging by the burns on Rafael and Cristo, maybe this was equal-opportunity degradation.
“We have to hurry,” she said to Jen. “You need to change into this mask and robe.”
Beth reached to remove Jen’s mask, but Jen brought a hand up, stopping her.
“No,” she said, her voice rising. “You’re not Beth.”
“We don’t have time to argue about this,” Beth told her, then reached for the mask again, grabbing it firmly.
But as she pulled it off, Jen said, “Beth is dead. I know she is. I know because I shot her.”
And then the mask came off and Jen’s hood fell away, revealing a sight so shocking that Beth felt her heart freeze in her chest and she stood up, stumbling backward.
Jen’s hair was gone, her bald scalp shining in the candlelight. But that was nothing. That wasn’t the worst of it. That was something that could be remedied with time.
But what couldn’t be remedied was Jen’s face.
Every inch of it was covered with burn scars, as if she’d been dipped in acid and left to dry. She had no nose, no lips, no eyebrows, no ears, her skin a blotchy, waxy, melted mass of flesh.
And suddenly Beth felt it. The switch being flipped. And all the dark shapes that had been struggling to get through finally came to the surface, and she saw herself huddled in that desolate house in the desert, little Andy in her arms, Sisters Imelda and Christina and Miranda and Lasarte standing around her as the door flew open and two men entered the room, followed by Marta and the hideous creature who had once been Jen. Then the guns started blazing and the sisters were screaming as Jen snatched the baby from Beth’s arms, then pushed her toward the mattress, raised a pistol, and shot her twice in the chest.
And Beth fell in slow motion, landing next to Sister Christina-who was surely as dead as Beth would soon be-blood spreading out beneath her, her energy draining away as Jen looked down at her, only the eyes recognizable, a fierce, untamed hatred in them as she spat on Beth and said, “He’s mine, you fucking whore.”
And then she was gone.
Beth looked at her sister now, sitting there in the candlelight, clutching the baby, and the weight of those final moments came crashing down on her, disbelief spreading through her as the crowd continued to chant, “Santo, Santo, Santo, Santo,” and Beth heard Cristo shout behind her:
“Elizabeth! Look out!”
And as she turned, she saw Marta coming straight for her, swinging something heavy at her head, and before she could duck, it connected, knocking her sideways.
The gun in her waistband clattered to the floor and she went down.
Hard.
97
“ What are you doing?”
The drug they had given Jennifer seemed to have worn off a bit.
But that didn’t matter now.
“What does it look like?” Marta said. “I’m taking her robe off.”
“But why?”
Marta looked up at Jennifer. She was no longer the beautiful young woman Marta had met at that party in Los Angeles so long ago. Would never again be the object of desire that she was that night-using her hands and body and mouth and tongue to spread the joy of God-but Marta still loved Jennifer with her heart and soul and did not want to see her die.
Even if it was meant to be, even if El Santo commanded it, Marta could not bear the thought of a life without her Jennifer.
And this was her chance to change that.
Elizabeth’s presence here was a surprise, but coupled with Rafael’s sudden failure to call, it meant only one thing to Marta. That Rafael was gone and this bitch surely had something to do with it.
So it seemed only fitting that Elizabeth take Jennifer’s place. El Santo would be angry when he found out, but when Marta explained that this was vengeance for their beloved Rafael, he would understand. And he would forgive.
“You’re not going to die tonight,” she told Jennifer. “Take your robe off and help me put it on her.”
“What?”
“It’s simple,” Marta said patiently. “We will dress her in the ceremonial robe, put the baby in her arms, and be done with her.”
Jennifer shook her head. “No…I have offered myself and the life of my child to La Santisima. I won’t let you or her take that from me.”
Marta went to Jennifer, kissed her. “And I will not let La Santisima take you from me. Not now.”
But Jennifer pulled away. “Why?” she cried. “Why would you do this after all the promises that this day would come? Look at me. Look at what I’ve done to myself. Look at what I did to my own sister. Do you think I take my commitment lightly? I want to prove my love to La Santisima. To offer her my soul, and the soul of my-”
Marta slapped her across the face. “I am the daughter of El Santo,” she said. “You do not dictate what will and will not be done.”
Tears sprang into Jennifer’s eyes. “You lied to me. First you say my sister is dead, then you promise me a chance to see my mother and father in the loving arms of La Santisima. But it was all lies, wasn’t it?”
Marta stared at her. No matter how she felt about this woman, Jennifer had no right to speak to her this way.
Reaching to the floor, she picked up the gun that lay near Beth and pointed it at Jennifer. Marta had no intention of using it, but Jennifer didn’t know that.
“The decision is made,” Marta said. “And you will obey me.”
