A/N: Ugh...more computer problems and summerness has delayed more postings! Well hope this one can satisfy you until the next posting! I appreciate all the follows and likes and reviews ;) you are all so nice and supportive!

Chapter 8: Confessions

Diego locked himself in his bedroom. He scrubbed his hands over and over again, trying to remove his friend's blood from his hands. Staring at the pink water in the bowl brought visions of all that blood to his mind and he vigorously washed more. No matter how clean they looked, there was still an aching tingle in his fingers that would not go away. Finally irritated, he smacked the water and began to pace, his hands trembling. He felt a tightening in his chest and pressed on his sternum as he breathed deeply. He kicked the bed frame a couple of times and stopped when he heard a knock on his door. He did not answer it. After a while, he heard footsteps diminish down the hall.

Diego sat on his desk, his legs propped on the chair and buried his head in his hands. He pressed on his tight chest again and exhaled deeply. Visions of Tomas terrified in the courtroom vividly replayed in his mind. Then the image of his friend lying on the table with no chance of hope. For the first time, since his mother died, Diego mourned.

In the morning, Diego woke to a knock on his door. He blinked a couple of times and found himself in his bed, not remembering how he got there. He was still in his shoes and slacks and a rumpled shirt. He did not remember falling asleep. Diego slowly fumbled with the lock and saw his father before him, "Diego," Alejandro noticed his son's distressed appearance; dark circles under his eyes, his hair unkempt, and rumpled shirt.

"Father," he raked his fingers through his hair.

Alejandro's face was grim, "Tomas Castil died early this morning. I'm sorry, my son."

Diego's face went white. He felt sick to his stomach. He sat down on the chest at the foot of his bed and raked his fingers through his hair. "This is all my fault," he felt the knot in his chest tightening.

Alejandro waved a stern finger toward his son, "Do not do this to yourself, Diego. Do not let him get inside your head, he will win."

"I do not know how to beat him? How to turn the tables. I am helpless."

"You will find a way. You always do."

Diego thought for a moment. His shoulders dropped and his expression turned resolute, "I could settle this once and for all."

Alejandro instantly knew what his son meant. He was about to burst, but instead he curbed his temper and sat next to his son, "That would not end it, Diego," he placed a hand on his son's shoulders, "Why don't we go for a ride across the Santil Path? It would clear your thoughts, give you guidance."

Diego grinned sadly, "Gracias, Father. No."

"Then at least come join your old man for breakfast," he continued before his son could protest, "I will not take no for an answer."

Diego threw up his hands and relented.

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The news of Tomas Castil's death sent panic to the citizen's very core. This was someone beloved and someone they knew.

Morales could no longer wait for Zorro to show up. He had to do something. He ordered for Sergeant Garcia and Corporal Reyes to gather all the visitor entries for the last eight months and bring them to him. He found some humor in the looks on the two men's faces.

"You mean all the entries?" Reyes questioned.

"For the past eight months."

"That is a lot of papers, Commandante," Garcia babbled.

"Then take two more men for help. I need them as quick as possible."

As he waited for the entries, Morales had a lancer send for him a late breakfast. There was a crowd of gossipers outside the cuartel and he was in no mood to feed the fire. He would make a statement soon enough. He wanted to allow the Castil's time to quietly take care of their son.

By lunchtime, Morales was flipping through the list of visitors logs who had passed through Los Angeles in the past several months. He kept Sergeant Garcia and Corporal Reyes with him as he compiled a list of those who had not left Los Angeles. He then used his subordinate's knowledge of the people to inform him whether those suspects were questionable or not.

There were a few rancheros, vaqueros, and caballero's who the commandante had brought in for questioning. By late afternoon he began to interview them casually. He asked them about their family, where they were from and why they chose to make roots in California. He then slipped in a few inquiries as to where they had been that past few nights and if they had alibis, if anyone could corroborate their alibis, and how they felt about injustice.

Several of them had no alibis but as Morales talked with them and discretely probed them, he realized they were no match for the intelligence and cunning of the serial killer. Only one ranchero and one caballero raised suspicion. Morales ordered that a few soldiers change into plain clothes and quietly keep an eye on these two men.

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Diego let off some steam in the secret chamber with his mute friend. "I feel trapped, Bernardo. My hands are tied. I cannot do anything. Maybe going public with Zorro to make him surface is my only choice."

Bernardo shook his head.

"Well, I do not know what to do anymore. The whole town is frightened. Zorro failed."

Bernardo shook his head and made a sign that he rescued Tomas.

Diego groaned, "But he died," his shoulders dropped, "You know what his lasts words to Zorro were? He told Zorro to find this maniac."

Bernardo nodded encouragingly.

Diego punched the desk, "There was so much strength in his eyes. He had so much faith in me, Bernardo, it was unbelievable. I let him down and he still had faith in me. He died because of me."

Bernardo signed someone punching.

"The killer beat him. Si. Tomas' wounds were extensive. Why does this man not just come forward and kill me? Why does he capture people, torture them then make me try and find them? If it is Zorro he wants, why not just go after Zorro? This whole mystery is a riddle," Diego paused, "So, if this is a riddle, maybe I need to think of the answer," he scratched words on the paper. "Something the Commandante said struck a chord with me. He said what if the riddles have another hidden riddle? Maybe the answers have a connection?" he held up the paper for Bernardo to see, "Time, paint, judge, revolution. Maybe these all have something in common?"

Bernardo shrugged and scratched his head.

"I know. It's far-fetched. Probably just grasping for anything," he stopped, "I forgot. I pulled a note from Tomas' pocket," Diego pulled the note from his suit hanging on the wall:

How unfortunate; justice unserved;

Something the sly Fox highly reserved.

Conviction to protect the innocent fails,

As ultimate poetic justice prevails.

Diego smacked the paper, "He knew Tomas was going to die! He knew I'd fail!"

Bernardo's eyes grew concerned for his friend. He had never seen the don so frazzled.

"I am tired of playing these games," there was a determined look in Diego's eyes as he glanced to his side at Bernardo.

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Diego went for a ride. He was tired of his father repeatedly telling him it was not his fault. He felt like he was suffocating in his home and the wind against his face and through his hair gave him a little solace. He found himself at the Mission of San Gabreal. He slowly walked down the aisle, heavy with burden. He knelt down at the front and made the sign of the cross. He stood and stopped short when he saw Padre Felipe sitting in the third pew back, "Oh, Padre, I did not see you there."

"I am sorry to startle you. At the end of the day, when the sun is setting, I like to sit here and take some time with Him," he nodded toward the cross above the altar.

Diego lowered his head with a sad grin.

"You seem troubled," he leaned forward as Diego took a seat in the pew in front of him.

"Tomas Castil died, Padre."

The priest nodded, "Si. I have been praying for him and his family," he saw something in the young caballero's eyes, something more than just remorse for a friend, "Can I offer any assistance, my Son?"

Diego shook his head, "I doubt it, Padre."

Padre Felipe could see the turmoil in the caballero; nothing like he had ever seen before. He had noticed a change in the young man these past few years that he had carefully kept hidden. But at this moment, the young don appeared restless, his shoulders were sagging, and faint dark circles underlined his eyes with creases on the edges. Padre Felipe inwardly prided himself on being observant and over the last week, Diego had grown more distressed. He seemed to be fighting some inner battle and it appeared to be taking its toll on the young man. He lifted up pray for the young de la Vega.

Diego was about to open his mouth when he heard a door open and Padre Ernesto entered carrying the offering box, "Pardon me, I did not know we had company," he smiled apologetically.

Felipe waved, "Not to worry, my friend. We are just passing the time."

"If you'll excuse me," Padre Ernesto bowed then exited the door on the right side of the chapel.

When the friendly priest had left, Padre Felipe spoke softly, "Padre Ernesto has been a God send. He helps the Indians and handles the offerings and communion. He has worked with repairs around the chapel and is almost done with preparations for the orphanage," he quieted when the caballero only nodded, lost in his turmoil again. He could see Diego was shutting him out, "You are free to speak to me about anything," he said soothingly.

Diego closed his eyes and rested his chin on his fist on the back of the pew, "I don't know how – we all can take much more of this—"

Felipe thought for a moment then nodded, understanding the meaning, "Ah, yes. It is extremely painful to see the flock suffer a terrible loss."

Diego's voice was like a broken child, so quiet, "How could someone possess this much evil, Father?" his voice was a whisper, "He tortured Tomas Castil."

Padre Felipe wanted to comfort him, he had never seen the young man this way before. He was always so guarded about showing any kind of difficult emotion. "Sometimes, the Lord uses pain for good."

"I have pain. Don't know if it will amount to any good," Diego turned and leaned against the back of the pew. The padre leaned forward as the don continued, "Oh, Padre. I – can't help this feeling in my chest," he twisted his shirt, "this pain. It torments me. Ripping me apart. I shouldn't be feeling the kind of things I'm feeling. Especially now with everything that is happening."

"What is pulling at you?"

"Guilt."

"Why?"

"I want – I'm in – I love her. Anna Maria Verdugo. But I can't."

"Why not?"

"These feelings, they are wrong. Tomas has died. And there is a killer out there. I shouldn't be thinking of love."

"Everyone deserves happiness, Diego. You are in that time of your life when you want to love and to be loved. It is not wrong to feel – to love. You have a big heart, Diego. It would be wrong to never share your love," the priest raised his shoulders, "maybe that is the good."

Diego shook his head, "But I still have this guilt. Tomas Castil didn't deserve to die."

"No. He didn't."

Diego was quiet for some time, "He is a psycho, Father. His mind is methodical, contemplative, and diabolical," there was a terror that flashed in the don's eyes.

Felipe prayed for the right words. The don was taking this a little too personal.

"Every move he makes is anticipated and calculated," his voice shuttered, "I don't know how – Capitan Morales is going to stop him."

"You mustn't give up, my child. Zorro is still alive and with Zorro and the Capitan, they will do God's will."

The young caballero's voice shuttered and was quiet, "What if Zorro fails. What if the people have too much faith in Zorro? Maybe Zorro doesn't deserve their faith."

Padre Felipe was beginning to sense that the young caballero was not speaking in third person.

Diego lowered his head, "As more happens, I feel the only way to end this is to give him what he wants. There cannot be any more death."

"Zorro does not give up so easily," Padre Felipe encouraged firmly.

Diego shook his head, "He has sworn to protect the people with his life, what if it comes to that?"

Warning: It is always dark before the dawn...and the dark is coming...(well my kind of dark which might not be that dark. i don't know ha)