The lady almost pushed me inside. By the time I turned around, she had closed the door.
People in this church were serious about their confessions. Father Francis sat behind the kneeler. Unlike most TV shows, Catholics faced their priest for confessions instead of kneeling behind the weird screen. A chair was in front of Father Francis. He wore his priestly clothes and was holding his Bible. Father Francis was in his late sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair and green eyes. He had a warm smile that made you want to talk. I guessed that was a good thing in his business.
I took the seat and made the sign of the cross. I looked around the small room, nervous. I noticed on the wall the prayer of contrition, the normal prayer people said after confession. It was in Spanish and English. I was impressed. This meant I wasn’t the only person who couldn’t remember the prayers. Father Francis just smiled at me. I took a deep breath to calm myself.
“Father, this might sound weird, but Constantine said to keep it real.”
Father Francis nodded at me, made the sign of the cross, and said, “Tell him to keep it low.” Either the priest and that crazy cat were in a gang, or I had just witnessed a challenge and password take place. I might need to explain to Constantine that in order for this to be effective, he should let me know what the password was supposed to be.
“I will do that. By the way, how do you know Constantine?” My curiosity always got the best of me.
“Constantine gets around. He’s been busy lately. But I’m sure that’s not why you’re here. So what brings you to church, Isis? I haven’t seen you in a while.” Wow, Father Francis had a way of making you feel welcome and guilty all at once.
“You know my name. Can I assume you know who I work for?” I was not blending in very well.
“A lot of people know your name, child. It’s been years since Death has had a Catholic intern. Granted, I doubt that he did that on purpose. Death tends to be fair in his choices.” For the priest, Death was a man, which was interesting. No wonder nobody had a clear picture of Death. It was different for everyone.
“Father, I have a horrible feeling Death made a mistake with me. I suck at this. Honestly, I’m completely unqualified for this weird job. I don’t even get all this magic stuff.” Without fail, every time I went to confession, I started whining. Probably because it was the only place somebody had to listen without judging me.
“God doesn’t choose qualified people to serve him. He chooses imperfect people to do extraordinary things.”
“That I believe, Father. But God didn’t choose me. Death did. Not the same thing.”
“You have a valid point, but do you honestly think that if this weren’t part of your divine plan, God would have permitted it?” Priests always got you with their theological questions.
“My heart wants to believe this is all part of my destiny, but my brain has a hard time processing it. All I know is people are missing, and I want to help.” I was staring at the floor as I spoke.
“In that case, my child, have faith. Know you are exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
I felt the pressure in my chest lessen. Deep down, I was looking for validation that I wasn’t crazy.
“Thank you, Father. Now, have you seen anything weird around the church?” I sounded childish, but Constantine hadn’t prepped me on how to broach the subject.
“Everything around the church has been quiet. The souls, on the other hand, have been restless. They’ve been coming in more often. Something is bothering them; I can feel it.”
My mouth dropped.
“You can see them?” Father Francis sounded astonished.
I nodded slowly. “You can’t?”
He shook his head. This was way too creepy for me.
“Father, if you are correct, your church is currently filled with the souls of purgatory.”
“Priests are not blessed with that gift. We’re responsible for praying for the souls to move to the next life. I didn’t realize interns could see them.”
“No offense, Father, but I don’t consider seeing dead people a gift.” I took a breath to calm myself. I needed to get focused again. “So nobody—alive, I mean—has been around here asking questions? Or trying to use the property?”
“You’re the first one, Isis. We’re a small congregation in comparison to other churches, but our members are active. The other two associate priests and I live next door. Hard to sneak around when you have priests walking the grounds at all hours.” Father had a really good point there.
“Thank you, Father, for your time. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” I tried to get up, but Father Francis grabbed my hand.
“Wait. I have something for you.” He pulled a rosary and a small bottle of water from his pocket.
“Were you expecting me?” How had he known I was coming today?
“I knew you would eventually come. It never hurts to be prepared.” He handed me the items and smiled. “They’re already blessed. You might not believe it yet, but there is a reason for you to be here. Don’t lose yourself trying to figure it out.”
“Thank you, Father.” I didn’t know what else to say. I tried to get up again, but he held my hand.
“How about a real confession now?”
I dropped my head in defeat. I had thought I was going to get out of this without too much soul-searching. I was so wrong.
It took me a while to get started, but once I did, I couldn’t stop. Father Francis listened without questions or judgment. Ten minutes later, I was finally out of the confessional. Confessions were painful, but I felt lighter after they were done. It was the first time I had spoken about the accident to another
