Chapter 2
The moment Alfonso stepped out of the train, the world around him changed.
Santa Lucia was nothing like the gentle town he grew up in. The streets were alive with noise — laughter that sounded sharp and hollow, music spilling from dimly lit corners, and people dancing, drinking, stumbling from one pleasure to another. Neon lights flickered against the stone buildings, painting the night in sinful shades of red and gold.
Alfonso stiffened immediately. He had heard rumors… but seeing it with his own eyes made his chest tighten.
Women in revealing dresses leaned against street lamps, calling out to passing men. Groups of drunk strangers shouted joyfully as they clinked glasses. The air smelled of alcohol, perfume, and something Alfonso couldn’t place — something heavy, something wrong.
A wave of anger and sadness rushed through him.
Why do people choose to live like this?
Why throw themselves into sin and misery?
His face darkened, his brows furrowing, his heart aching for reasons he couldn’t fully explain.
Before the feeling could swallow him, a warm, steady hand touched his.
Father James.
His voice was calm, deep, and reassuring — like a lighthouse cutting through a storm.
“Alfonso,” he murmured, squeezing his hand,“whatever you see and hear here… it’s normal for this place. But remember, these are lost souls. They need guidance, not judgment. That is why we are here.”
Alfonso lowered his gaze, guilt washing over him.
He only managed a small nod.
“Not everyone here lives in sin,”Father James continued gently.
“Many still come to church. Many still believe in God. You must learn to see the good hidden beneath the noise.”
Alfonso said nothing else. He followed quietly, gripping his bag a little tighter as they drove deeper into the village.
The journey through Santa Lucia felt endless — every street darker than the last. But finally, after the long ride, their car slowed.
And there it was.
The Church of Lucia, rising tall and solemn among the chaos. Its stained-glass windows glimmered softly, glowing from within. As they stepped out, the ancient bell began to ring, its echo cutting through the wild sounds of the village.
A peaceful hum vibrated through Alfonso’s bones — almost like a greeting.
Almost like a welcome.
“Father… we’re finally here.”
Alfonso’s voice carried a soft excitement as he stepped out of the car, his eyes immediately drawn to the towering structure before him.
The Church of Lucia stood proudly on the hillside, its stones weathered but unbroken. Built in1889, it had survived earthquakes, storms, and the cruelty of time itself. Its tall arched windows glimmered faintly under the moonlight, as if whispering old secrets.
Father James smiled.
“Come, Alfonso. Bring your things. You need rest. Tomorrow morning, we serve our first mass together.”
Alfonso nodded eagerly, his smile small but bright. He lifted his baggage with both hands, careful as always, and followed Father James through the ancient doors.
The moment he entered his assigned room, Alfonso paused.
It was simple, quiet, and holy — a small wooden bed, a table for prayer, and an altar placed neatly by the window. He bowed his head in greeting, tracing the sign of the cross before placing his things down.
Then he stepped toward the window.
From there, he could see everything — the tall trees swaying gently in the night wind, the soft lamps lining the path, and further below… the bright, dazzling lights of the town.
They shimmered like jewels scattered across the darkness.
But Alfonso knew better.
Those lights were not holy.
The locals called that street Pleasure Lights— a place of noise, temptation, and sin. A place where many souls wandered far from God.
His heart tightened as he stared at the glow. He imagined the laughter, the drinking, the bodies pressed together in dim corners. It made him shiver.
Slowly, tears gathered in his eyes.
He pressed his palms together, closed his eyes, and whispered a prayer so soft it trembled through the room.
“Lord… guide them. Save them. Their souls are wandering… please bring them back.”
The wind outside rustled the trees gently, almost as if answering his prayer.
And in that quiet, alone in his little room on the hill, Alfonso made a silent promise to God:
He would fight for the lost.
He would protect the innocent.
He would not let the darkness swallow the people of Santa Lucia.
Not while he was here.
Night in Santa Lucia was loud.
Even from the hillside, Alfonso could hear faint echoes — laughter, music, a distant rhythm that pulsed beneath his window like a heartbeat.
He lay in bed, but he couldn’t sleep.
Not even close.
His eyes stayed wide open, staring at the ceiling as his chest rose and fell too quickly. Something inside him felt wrong. Restless. As if a hand he couldn’t see was gently tugging at him… calling him.
“What is happening to me…?”
His whisper shook.
He didn’t understand the feeling.
He didn’t know what he wanted.
But something was pulling him — a strange force that made his skin warm and his heart uneasy, like someone was reaching out to him from beyond the darkness.
He sat up abruptly, breathing hard.
His gaze drifted to the small altar in the corner of the room — the cross, the candles, the open Bible.
He stood and knelt before it.
“Lord… please,”he whispered desperately,“tell me what I must do.”
But heaven was silent.
The lights from Pleasure Lights shimmered through the window, dancing on the wall like forbidden stars. They were calling to him — bright, alive, seductive. He felt it in his bones, in his pulse.
And it terrified him.
The temptation struck so sharply it made his throat tighten.
Part of him wanted to go down the hill.
To see what life looked like outside the walls of holiness.
To understand what pulled so many souls away from God.
But he knew what giving in would mean.
He clutched his cross tightly, running it back and forth through his fingers like a lifeline.
“No, Alfonso…”he muttered to himself, voice shaking,“sit down. You must sleep. You must not listen to it.”
But even as he said it, his eyes drifted toward the door.
His heart pounded.
He swallowed hard.
Just for a moment…
Just one look…
Just to see what this place truly was…
He stood up slowly, his cross still clutched in hand, the moonlight spilling across his face. His bare feet brushed the cold floor as he stepped toward the door, his breath trembling.
Every step felt like breaking a vow.
But he couldn’t stop.
Because something — or someone — was calling him.
