Page 61 of Sin of the Saints

“If I don’t help myself first, no one will be able to help me. Not even you.”

It’s time for me to internalize the things Dr. Abano has been telling me again and again. It’s time for me to truly admit the truth he placed before me that I’d chosen to ignore. And the truth is that if I don’t kill the demons living within me, I’ll never be free. Libretto will never allow it.

I disconnect from my fantasy as the church bells ring, announcing the start of mass. I can’t help chuckling. We make plans and God laughs at us. The thing is, I know exactly what’s troubling Dr. Abano. The administrator informed me last night about the planned treatment for today. It came as no surprise to me, because I knew Libretto was out of control.

He’d begun with a declaration that drug therapy had failed. I didn’t dare confess that I wasn’t taking the pills daily, and I certainly didn’t admit to hoarding them for momentary escape. He kept expanding on possible treatments, including electroshock and magnetic therapy, but before I could ask about them, he ruled them out claiming that in his professional opinion they wouldn’t be right for me.

“You’re a complex case, Bellcolor, so we must take exceptional measures,” the administrator said, but wouldn’t reveal to me just what those measures were. “The treatment isn’t as barbaric as many think, but I believe it will be efficient.” All I could do was nod.

Because it didn’t sound like an offer so much as a statement. He’d prepared the document in advance that I signed when I was last institutionalized, waving it around like a silent threat. I’d had no choice then either. The administrator had appeared by my bed the morning I awoke in the hospital, and told me that if I didn’t sign it, they’d forcibly institutionalize me. The word itself frightened me so much, and I thought that if I signed for voluntary hospitalization I’d have some control, but I was dead wrong.

Unfortunately, I realized that the law was as dry as the administrator’s feelings. A signature is a signature, plain and simple.

Even my father turned his back on me when I asked for his help. He sided with the administrator and wasn’t willing to hear anything more on the subject.

“I’ve had enough of your childish rebellion against me, and I’m putting a stop to it. You will no longer defy me and cause more selfish riots. I have spoken.” He wrapped up his speech and earned his throne as a full member of the Council of Demons that my imagination created.

Each of them had earned their seat properly.

And yet I can’t help wondering whether their stubbornness is justified, maybe this treatment will finally banish Libretto forever. So I nodded my consent, despite the fear of the unknown arising in me. Maybe this is the moment of realization I’d been waiting for. Maybe this was whatHeasked of me – acceptance.

Accepting my inevitable fate.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Bellcolor

The administrator stands at the altar and preaches with such passion that I pity those sitting in the first row for the shower they’re getting. His empty words don’t reach me, even when he asks all those present to pray for my soul and the souls of all the other patients.

Today’s mass is entirely dedicated to God’s love for all His children, even those condemned to damnation like us, and I roll my eyes so hard they’re on the verge of getting stuck at the back of my head.

Thoughts of the treatment won’t leave me alone, and I need an escape that isn’t destructive for once. I lower my head towards the book I’ve hidden in the back of the pew in front of me.

Dr. Abano didn’t just demand that I write, he also encouraged me to read. “If you feel alone, the books will be good company for you, they contain insights within them that you can apply to your reality. I hope you’ll find them between the words,just as I find truth between your words.” I have to admit that Dr. Abano was right.

The book’s worn due to countless readings, a sign that I can’t go wrong with it. I borrowed it from the small library a few days ago. The librarian, Ms. Lando, is a very strange woman, but she has good taste in books. She’s supposedly a God-fearing woman who follows the administrator’s strict rules, but in fact, when the library is empty she swaps out the New Testament for some provocative book or other. I caught her one evening while trying to choose a book for myself, and since then I’ve kept her secret hostage in exchange for her recommendations, and her ability to get books for me that haven’t passed the administrator’s meticulous standards.

This time I’ve got a book I’ve been waiting for months to read: Bram Stoker’sDracula. I’ve read it countless times and I’m still drawn into the story every time, like it’s my first encounter with it. Books have that magic. Dracula becomes dust and is destroyed, but on rereading he comes back to life again and again. On the one hand, I take comfort in that. Maybe if I end this life of mine I can be resurrected and live a whole new life. On the other hand, the thought also terrifies me. If the terrible Dracula can be revived, could Libretto be as well?

I slam the book shut and look up. The administrator has noticed that my attention isn’t centered on him and he looks at me with flaring eyes. Spine-tingling silence lingers in the church, and I don’t dare move or breathe until the administrator finally looks away and signals the choir to start its weekly hymn.

I’m drawn to the harmony of angelic voices and the heavy bass sounds of the pipe organ, and tighten my grip on the book in my hands. The thought troubles me, and I see it as a warning sign for a future that might come to pass if I hand over the control I’ve fought so hard for to the administrator of all people. I turn my gaze to the statue of Jesus on the cross while allthose present pray together: “We believe in one, holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church. We acknowledge one Baptism for the remission of sins, we look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Amen1.” And for the first time I mean every word of my prayer. I plead for the prayers of those around me to remain unfulfilled, because if they’re praying for resurrection and eternal life, Libretto will gain them as well.

“That was brief,” Valentina says to me as I enter our room, shoulders slumped. She’s once again proving to be a master of evading obligations – she managed to dodge mass again.

“What’d you do instead?” I ask curiously, but she doesn’t respond, just shrugs and gives me a devious smile.

I plummet onto her bed next to her, and gasp as I hit my forehead on a firm object. I rub the pained area, pull the blanket away and find that Valentina’s hiding her George.

“Of all times, you chose to do it during mass? Damn, there must be a welcome sign with your name on it in Hell.” She bursts into laughter in response, clutching her belly. I throw her pink vibrator at her and it only makes her laugh harder. “How’d you get out of mass anyway? No one showed up to drag you there by force?” I ask.

“Ellis showed up.” She wags her eyebrows naughtily. “I guess he decided he’d rather stay here and play with me than hear the administrator’s bullshit.”

My eyes widen. “You’re awful!”

“I never pretended to be anything else.” She opens the dresser drawer by her bed and conceals George as deeply as she can. Before she shuts the drawer, she peeks at me and says: “I can let you play if you’re into it, you seem a little pale, you coulduse a generous endorphin boost. Better that than the poison they force on us.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

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