Pools of blood have dried on the priest's bathroom tiles, but the flies are still hanging around the ransacked rooms where at least 25 people were killed this week.
A pale-blue towel with a Playboy logo has patches of blood even after nuns scrubbed it as they cleaned up the presbytery in this town 40km west of East Timor's capital, Dili.
Hundreds of bullet holes are sprayed across the cement walls and plywood ceilings of Father Rafael's home. His vestments are riddled with bullet holes. Father Rafael escaped unhurt, but dozens of his flock did not.
The bloody Tuesday attack by a pro-Jakarta militia, backed by the military and mobile police, has left East Timorese shaken and rattled a fragile reconciliation process.
Hundreds of refugees had sought shelter within the church grounds, fleeing violence from the Red and White Iron militia a day earlier. The attack on those civilians is seen here as an attack on the church, the most sacred institution for the residents of this majority-Catholic territory.
Red and white Indonesian flags flap on poles outside every poor bamboo house in Liquica, where residents are too scared to leave their homes. Every man in this shaken town wears a red and white bandanna or wristband. A visitor might think it was a nationalist town keen to be a part of Indonesia. That is the impression the paramilitaries backed by powerful citizens and the military want to give.
But residents say they have hoisted the national flag as a form of self-defence against the ever more brutal militias who are the front men for the campaign to stay with Indonesia.
"My friends and I just wear these colours because we are looking after our own safety. You have to do this in Liquica these days," says 15-year-old Rosario, who lugs a bag of clothing scraps to sell.
While Liquica is decked out in flags like it has something to celebrate, in fact it is in terrified mourning.
"We fled to Atambua [West Timor] the night of the shootings and only came back today. We don't know where everyone has gone," said one nun, whispering.
After the attack the paramilitaries, a riff-raff of unemployed, failed army conscripts, ex-spies and bored youths, retreated to neighbouring Maubara.
Backed by shadowy figures in the armed forces, the militias want to prove they can take the area, using force if necessary. They have burnt homes and conscripted local teenage boys to boost their visible numbers.
Several hard-core militia members cruise around the roads of Liquica on motorbikes, sipping tea at the local police station before emerging to terrorise local farmers.
It is an approach that residents say is doomed to fail. "We have put up the red and white flag outside our house like they asked us, but really we want independence," said a local resident, Armando, crouching in his dirt-floor kitchen.
Armando says a local official came to the house with a soldier and told them to hoist the flag. If he did not follow, they said his family would be singled out. "If we don't join the campaign they will shoot us," he says.
Survivors say the militia attack in the church grounds lasted for two hours. Dili's Bishop Carlos Belo says more than 25 died in the massacre, but the military maintains only five. Survivors say up to 200 fell in the brutal assault.
Hundreds of the Red and White Iron militia armed with guns, machetes and spears gathered at the church's metal fence in a lather of rage and sweat on Tuesday morning. They screamed for men hiding inside Father Rafael's house and taunted refugees in the grounds. Those men were on a list of 17 locals known to support independence. Father Rafael says they broke down the fence and encircled his house.
"The people inside were piled up like sardines. Even kids were hiding in the ceiling. First the mobile police fired tear gas inside so everyone was crying," said Father Rafael who has long flowing salt and pepper hair and wears a gold ring with a crucifix.
After that a hail of bullets was fired by the militias and behind them were soldiers from Dili and the local military command. Father Rafael, who is now sitting it out in Dili, said police and soldiers blocked people from running out of the house.
"When they attacked we ran out and saw bodies falling. Old people and young people were hit and shot," says 19-year-old Ima, nervously hiding behind a house near the church to tell her story.
Out of the silence of this seaside town, Ima escorts her injured friend, Riccardo, along the road in front of the church. He has a 15cm gash across his nose and cheek. "They slashed me with a machete when I ran out of the house, then another guy thumped me with a pistol on the back of my neck," said 17-year-old Riccardo, whose face and eyes are still swollen.
The whereabouts of the bodies from the massacre remain a mystery. Residents say they saw trucks remove the bodies at night. Some say they have been buried in the mountains behind Maubara. Others say they have been dumped in the sea.
Mysterious disposal of bodies is nothing new in East Timor, which has been involved in a secret war for 24 years.
A large splash of blood like some crazy Jackson Pollock artwork has dried on the back wall of the church. From there a 20metre trail of blood and a twisted green thong mark the passage of one victim who fell trying to run to safety.
Soldiers spent a day washing blood off the walls and floors. The nuns say the military want to return tomorrow to repair the smashed windows, rehinge broken doors and fill in the bullet holes.
Many here expect the evidence will be removed before a full investigation.
Indonesia yesterday threatened to put the East Timor guerrilla leader, Xanana Gusmao, back in jail unless he retracted a call to arms within a week. The Justice Minister, Mr Muladi, delivered the ultimatum four days after Mr Gusmao, under house arrest in Jakarta, called for an insurrection to defend the people.