Published: 2025-09-29

Her name was Sheila Marte, but the catholic church insisted on calling her Raúl González. Sheila was a political activist who advocated for women’s rights, social justice and the separation of church and state. Raul was once part of the catholic clergy. One thing was certain, they didn’t like each other.

Sheila sat at his desk, her fingers hit the keyboard aggressively as she tried once again to get the program to compile. The sound coming from her cubicle resembled gunfire rather than the quiet ambiance of a white-collar job. The deadline was approaching, and she had to deliver. Programming jobs were monetarily rewarding but very demanding. Sheila knew that when she got into the field.

The sound of a bell was heard, and a small pop-up appeared in the lower right corner of Sheila’s screen. It was a new email, “Advertising crap, or corporate crap.” She thought, and kept working. It wasn’t until much later that she would read the digital message. “I got you a way in. Can we meet?” She recognized the email address, and this was not a person she wanted to meet with. “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” That’s all she wrote.

They sat one in front of the other at a small table while little kids with cardboard crowns ran up and down. He had his hands folded over his lap and looked down. His name was Justin, and she was Sheila’s ex-boyfriend and a cop. Sheila leaned forward and had her gaze fixed on him, as if waiting for him to start speaking.

“I’m a busy woman; if you don’t have anything for me, then I’m leaving.” Sheila said as she stood up from the table.

Justin grabbed her. “Please, don’t go. I did find you a way in.”

Sheila looked at him; her calm demeanor disappeared. “Let go of me this very moment or I’ll break your arm.”

Justin complied. “All right. All right. I’m letting you go.”

“Don’t you ever touch me again. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear, ma’am.”

A toddler had wandered to Sheila’s table. He looked at Sheila and smiled. She smiled back, “Hi, cutie, what is your name?” She said. The father of the kid rushed to retrieve him. He grabbed the kid by the hand and left, not without giving Sheila a look of disapproval first.

“Bastard,” Justin said, “do you want me to teach him a lesson?”
“I don’t need you, Justin, I’m just fine by myself.”
“All right.”

No words were exchanged in the following thirty seconds. Sheila still waited for him to deliver on the promise of information.

“Why did we have to come here? You know I’m a vegan. I hate this place.”
“Justin, I don’t care. I came here for one reason and one reason only.”
“Why do you have to be like that? Couldn’t you at least try to be a little more empathetic?”
“OK, Justin, try the veggie whopper. You’ll like it. Now, give me what I want, or I’m walking out of here right now.”

Justin took his right hand to his face and sighed.

“OK, this is what I got,” he said, “as every year they’re gonna have this mass in honor of the Virgin Mary or something, even the president is gonna be there. Now, you would think the place would be swimming with police, but since this is a religious event, it will not be guarded that tightly. I can easily get you in.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“I just wanted to help.”
“Suddenly, after all these years, you wanted to help. That’s a first.”
“You know, maybe I could take you to dinner after it to celebrate.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You called me because you’re horny, and you think you can just have me.”
“I cannot stop thinking of you, Sheila. You know I love you.”
“I have no time for insecure men, Justin. It’s over. Get over it.”

Sheila stood up. Justin tried to grab her hand, but stopped himself short.

“But I want you. I need you.” Justin said.
“Kids nowadays use the colorful expression ‘go fuck yourself’, you should try it sometime. Catholic priests do it all the time.”

She left. Justin banged on the table and startled the customers that sit next to him. He got up and approached the counter.

“Hmm, can I have a veggie whooper and a lime soda, please?” He said.

Sheila sat at her desk, both her elbows resting on the desktop, her hands at both sides of her head. She had the when and where; she had the what; she definitely had the why, but she still didn’t have the how. It was impossible for her to get inside the cathedral, and with the president among those present, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t end up with six bullets in her chest. Justin mentioned a way-in, but she trusted him as much as she’d trust a telemarketer. He was never that brilliant anyway, and horniness turned him into a bigger idiot, if that was possible. She had no choice but to use ‘that’; in this case, the end justified the means.

It was September 24th and inside the cathedral they prepared to celebrate the mass. The media was there, and everyone waited for the president to arrive to take part of the event. Sheila was already in. She put a pack of paper with pictures of old presidents on the hands of the right person and that did it. “I don’t know you, and I didn’t see you.” was the phrase she got in return.

Her large breast was compressed under the long vestments, and her long hair was concealed under a hat. The disguise would work as long as she made it quickly. She hid backstage and waited for her cue. As soon as she heard “in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti” all hell would break loose. She heard someone approaching. It was a policeman accompanied by the man who took her money to let her in. He turned out to be a Judas.

Options were to surrender and be apprehended, to abort and escape, or to hurry up the plan. She ran to the stage, ripping her vestments as she ran. A large colored-cardboard sign was folded and taped to her chest. She tried to unfold it as she ran. Her sweaty hands left wet spots on the cardboard. People gasped as she appeared on the stage, nude from the waist up, her breasts monopolizing the attention of the cameras. She held the sign high over her head. It read “the catholic church rapes thousands of innocent children every year.” Chaos ensued. People shouted expletives at her, some of them left the cathedral in terror, one man took his shoe off and threw it at her. The president was not yet there; her plan didn’t play out as she expected.

She was struck under her ribs by a flying body and fell to the ground. Everything went black.

“Welcome to the house of God.” She thought.

THE END.