Chapter 7: THE CONFESSION
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned," the man said, releasing a heavy sigh.
"How can I help you, my son?"
"I killed my wife."
Father McKinley recognized his confessor's voice and spun around to face him instead of remaining in the traditional position facing the door, his stomach cramped. The terror he experienced went deep into his core and reminded him of another time a parishioner confessed a murder. He was much younger then; fresh out of the seminary in Ireland, na•ve and unprepared to handle a situation that almost cost him his life.
A queasy feeling of anxiety erupted in the old priest's stomach. He knew this man and his wife. An unfathomable image of the dead woman flashed through his mind. He'd seen her only recently preparing the altar for the weekend Masses, exchanging the dead flowers with fresh ones. Now, it appeared she was as dead as those flowers. His eyes welled with tears over the loss of his friend. He instinctively reached for the cross that hung from his waist, gripped it tightly, and prayed for guidance.
The priest's silence brought an edge of fury to the man's voice. "Are you listening to me, Father?"
The man's aggressive personality change concerned the priest deeply, rendering a momentary silence. His belly filled with heat from the anger and intense disappointment he felt. He'd become friends with this family--broken bread with them in their home. He had no idea anything was wrong with their marriage. The man's impatient tapping on the screen interrupted his thoughts.
"Why aren't you speaking?" he growled. "Is this some ploy of yours to trick me?"
"No. I'm trying to absorb the magnitude of what you've just told me."
The Father knew a more priest-like response was required, but his mind was running a marathon of thoughts, and that was all he could muster up. Perspiration had collected on his upper lip and began to trickle down the sides of his mouth. He wiped it with his hand. The dim light overhead in the confessional gave his confessor a clear visual of him. He reminded himself to be careful about overreacting. He sucked in his breath.
"Why would you do such a horrific thing?"
"She wouldn't give me what I wanted."
"And what was that?"
"It doesn't matter now. She wouldn't give it to me, and because of it, she forced my hand, and now she's paid the price." He laughed. "You should have seen how scared she was when she ran and jumped into a car in the middle of the road. But I followed her in my car. And the stupid bitch drove right into Central Park at that hour." He laughed again. "She made it easy for me. The Park was closed, and that's when I nailed her up against Bow Bridge. The way I rammed into the back of the car she'd stolen, well, let's say, I won't be seeing her again. Talk about a lucky break. Goodbye, bitch was all I could say before I pulled away."
Squinting to see the man's face to get a reading on his silent reactions was difficult, but the priest was able to see a partial. The man leaned back on his heels again, apparently deciding this was a good position for him, his face now fully exposed was a mask of smugness.
Father McKinley inhaled. "Tell me you went back to check on her."
"Yeah, I did. With Lenny. The guy who was too nosey for his good, so he got what he deserved too."
"Are you saying you killed him too?"
"Exactly, Padre!" he said. "Now you're catching on."
"And what have you done with their bodies?"
"That's no concern of yours, Father. They'll find both of them soon enough. They may already have." He began rocking back and forth.
"I can't believe you are the same man I've known for all these years. Your mother would be appalled at your behavior."
"You leave my mother out of this."
"I'm begging you. Please confess your sins to the police."
"No! The only confession I'm making is to you. Once you absolve me of my sin, I'm home free."
Father McKinley's lips tightened into a thin line. He shook his head in despair. "So you think that's all there is to it, huh?"
"Absolutely. No one can say I didn't confess."
"Do you feel any guilt for your actions?"
"Uh," the man rubbed his chin, a slight smirk on his face. "No!"
"Then there's no way I can absolve you from your sins without it. What you've told me is not considered a sacramental confession."
"Listen, Father. Your job is to hear my confession, not judge me."
"I hear your confession, but it is my job to counsel you as well. If you won't repent for your sins, confessing it to me is only a temporary respite. Running away from your responsibilities isn't the answer, and you are intelligent enough to know that."
"I have only one responsibility, and you know what that is, Padre."
The man's arrogance sent chills down the priest's spine, and he feared, not just for himself, but for others as well. "You have to know your life is going to be one lie after another -- a path of destruction." He exhaled, trying to hide his labored breathing. "I'm begging you now. Please do the right thing."
"No," he said, raising his voice louder, "they won't understand that I did the right thing. I was justified." The man had changed positions again, causing Father McKinley to lean in a little closer.
Sensing what he was doing, the man pressed his face up against the screen. "There does that help. Can you see my expression now? Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do. You want to see if anything you've said has me feeling remorseful." He laughed. "Let me save you the trouble. I'm not."
Recognizing he wasn't getting through to the man, the priest tried another approach. "You know, I've always thought of you as a devout Catholic, and I'm shocked you have disobeyed the laws of the church and broken one of the Ten Commandments."
"Fooled ya, didn't I?"
"You certainly did. Shouldn't you be punished for breaking the laws of the church?"
"Why should I? I told you a few minutes ago. She drove me to it ... like self-defense."
"Are you saying she attempted to kill you too?"
"No," he covered his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.
"This is all very amusing to you, eh?"
"It is. I'm finally free to move forward with my plans. That's the way it works. When you don't get what you want, you take it! Plain and simple."
"Two wrongs never make a right. Maybe the police won't understand, but you need help badly. They can give it to you. If you confess now, they'll go much easier on you than if you hide from the truth."
"Oh, yeah, they'll help me all right. The police will hold my hand and walk me to my cell."
"Stop it. You know precisely what I mean."
"Look, I'm confessing my sin to you. You're the only one who knows the truth, but I know you're not going to tell anyone. IsnÔt that right, Padre?"
"Please don't waste your time trying to intimidate me. It will not work."
The man laughed into the screen again, and for the first time, Father McKinley could smell liquor on his breath. The priest sat still, only starring back at him. "You've been drinking again, haven't you?"
"Hell, yeah. I've been celebrating."
The old priest closed his eyes and sighed. The man must have sensed his disapproval because he backed off and waited for the priest to continue.
"I think you know very well the seal of confession cannot be broken without repercussions. But understand one thing, I cannot help you save your soul if you don't help yourself. I ask you to remember that one day you will have to answer to the Lord, our God. How does that make you feel?" He watched the man's body stiffen from the challenge.
"I will continue this faade until the cloud of her death blows over ... and, it will blow over. Trust me on that one."
The man's shoulders slumped as he lowered his head to his hands and began to rock back and forth.
The priest smiled, inwardly sensing he was getting through to him. Father McKinley cleared his throat to get the man's attention, "Is that remorse I'm detecting, after all?"
"No, I told you, I don't regret anything."
"I'm sorry, but I think you do, and it's eating away at you a wee bit at a time."
"Nice try, Padre," he answered in a rush of words.
The fear the priest felt earlier had now diminished and was replaced with despair. He needed to try something different--something to get his attention. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he raised his arm to slide the screen across the track to shut him out, hoping to scare him. "I can't help you . . . please leave my confessional."
The man's voice rose as he slammed his fist against the wall, "You wait just a damn minute. I'm not done!"
"Then say something that makes sense," the priest fired back as he sank deeper into his seat.
"She was a bitch, and she got what she deserved," the man pressed his nose on the partially opened screen, trying to see the priest with one eye.
Father McKinley opened the screen open the rest of the way. "Do not swear in God's house." He watched as the man's hands balled into fists.
His face flushed with anger. "I came to you to confess
my--"
The priest cut him off. "Because you wanted me to tell you it was okay?" He shook his head, baffled by his behavior. "Penance is not psychotherapy. Contrition is willful regret for your sins. It isn't a matter of feeling comfortable, but acknowledging the evil of your sin and the resolution to sin no more."
The man laughed. "I don't intend to do anything like this again," a smirk planted on his face. "There, now that solves your problem, doesn't it?"
"What problem is that?"
"You wanted to hear me say I won't do this again."
"You're not listening to me. I want to hear you say you're sorry for your sins because, without repentance, your confession is not valid." He swallowed hard. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Do you regret..."
The melody of a popular ring tone cut the priest off. Annoyed by the intrusion, Father McKinley watched the man check the screen of his cell phone, and then jump to his feet.
"I have to leave, Padre," he said, and without another word, he was out the door before the priest had a chance to object.
Pulling a cap from his back pocket, the tall, bulky man dressed in black, covered his head, then adjusted the brim of his hat down lower to hide his face and walked out the door. The thick humid air hit him as though he'd just entered a sauna, and his sinuses swelled, making it more difficult to breathe. He hated humid days like this because it always made him feel clammy like he hadn't showered.
In the distance, a flash of lightning snaked across the sky, beckoning the threat of rain. The man hurried toward his car, parked at the end of the lot in a secluded area. Along the walkway, he developed a sudden paranoia as though someone was watching him. His chest heaved in and out as he gulped in deep breaths of air to defray the illusion of a chain being tightened around his mid-section, cutting off the circulation. He coughed, trying to rid himself of the feeling, and looked around the area with a suspicious eye. He half-smiled, remembering how silly he'd been earlier thinking there was someone in the church. It wasn't until the wind kicked up that he decided his mind was playing tricks on him and convinced himself that paranoia was going to ruin everything he'd been working toward if he didn't nip it in the bud.