A little laugh enlivened the group. Joslyn seemed to take the invitation to stop by the confessional as some secret code for a romantic tryst, because she bit the bottom of her lip and winked. Father Donny felt warm and knew his normally pale cheeks had reddened.
“Let us stand,” he said, concluding his sermon and resuming the ritualistic aspect of the Mass.
This priest was good, the man in back thought to himself. It seemed as if today’s homily was written just for him. The words were powerful in and of themselves, but he knew now the importance of his life’s purpose. God spoke to him. The priest was a mere vessel to deliver his message, but he heard it loud and clear. When he first entered the church, he wasn’t exactly sure of his direction. He had it now. A cleansing in the biblical sense. And what better place to do it.
Although not a parishioner of this particular church, the man had been raised Catholic, and the routines of most services were universal. Up, down, kneel. He had never been inside this church before today, but he’d been called to it.
The Mass ended, but the man remained. He lowered the cushioned hassock and knelt. The closing hymn echoed along the vaulted ceiling as the priest and his entourage of altar boys solemnly paced down the center aisle toward the back of the church. As they passed each row, the members of the congregation began their clamorous departure. The man did not look up when the priest passed by. His hands were folded in prayer, and he rested the center of his forehead on his scarred knuckles. His eyes were closed, and he slipped into a deep prayer, beginning his own private penance before meeting with the priest. His spiritual plate was full and needed cleaning before he set about adding to it.
The last person in the short line to the confessional had exited. A woman with an incredible chest. The man wondered what sorts of sins a woman like this confessed. He would’ve loved to have been a fly on the wall in there. She hadn’t spent long inside the closed room and was leaving in a huff without completing whatever prescribed number of Hail Mary or Our Father prayers she was given to receive her full absolution.
As the woman passed, he wondered what his penance would be for the things he’d done.
The back door to the church boomed as it closed, leaving the interior in a hushed silence. Nobody around except for the kneeling man and the priest enclosed in his section of the confessional. Forty-five minutes until the next Mass was to begin.
The man rose and walked down the middle aisle toward the closed door of the confessional, his footsteps noisy against the tiled floor. He genuflected in front of the altar.
As he neared the door, the priest opened his section and looked out, startled when he saw him.
“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” The man secretly enjoyed this unexpected face-to-face interaction with the holy man. “Do you have time for one more?”
The priest looked down at his watch and smiled. “Sure. I don’t mean to rush you, but the next Mass will be starting soon, and I’ve got a little prep to do.”
The man bowed slightly and smiled. “It won’t take long at all.”
The priest retreated inside and closed the door.
Before entering his section of the dim confessional, the man looked around. Still alone. Satisfied, he disappeared inside. He knelt on the pew facing the small covered window. He could feel the warmth of the knees of the woman who’d preceded him.
The priest slid back the solid divider. A dark screen separated the two men. “Do you know the rite? Or would you like me to guide you?” the priest asked, looking forward, away from the kneeling man.
“I know it well, thank you, Father,” the man said. “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.” The man recited the words with no hesitation or fumbling.
“Very well, my son. How long has it been since your last confession?”
“Twenty-seven days.”
“What sin is it you seek to confess before God?” the priest asked.
“Murder.”
The priest shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Go on.”
“Can you absolve me from something I haven’t done?”
The priest gave a sigh of relief. “So you’ve thought about killing someone? And you’d like absolution?”
“I’m going to kill this person and I’d like forgiveness before I do,” the man said softly.
“I’m not sure I can. If you told me who this person is or what they’ve done to you to make you want to kill them, then maybe I could help.” The priest’s voice no longer exuded confidence and he choked on the words.
“This person has done nothing to me personally. But they know what they’ve done.”
“I don’t understand,” the priest said with a tremor. “Who is this person you speak of?”
“You.”
The silenced pistol in the man’s hand was already positioned against the wood paneling of the thin wall separating the two rooms. The shot toppled the priest from his chair. The man rose and took aim through the screen, preparing to fire an additional bullet for good measure but quickly realized it wasn’t necessary.
Then he knelt once more into the dimpled fabric and completed his prayer.
2
The shopping cart’s front left wheel wobbled wildly, pulling it to the left and forcing Michael Kelly to pay extra care
