Preemptive Penance

Preemptive Penance: The devil goes to confession.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned," he whispers.

I recognize the voice. It is soft, almost feminine. Almost.

"It's been ...", he pauses to let out a sigh. "... Too many years since my last confession."

"I'm glad you're here," I say. "May God who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in his mercy."

"Father, I have sinned. I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. What I do is not the good I want to do, no. The evil I do not want to do, this I keep on doing."

He quotes Scripture. It is not strange coming from him. I know this man and I know him to be extremely pious.

"I remind you that our God is loving and merciful and there is nothing you could have ever done to turn him away from you," I say.

"Before I begin father, I feel there is something you must know."

"What is it ?" I ask.

"The last person who heard my confession, could not live with the burden of my sins. He ended his life soon after."

I say nothing.

Is this really the person I think it is?

It is impossible to know for sure. Dark shadows cloak the face I see behind the small grille in the walls of the confessional through which its owner speaks to me. But this voice, I recognize this voice.

He laughs.

"Would you still hear my confession, father ?"

"Yes," I reply. "God will not turn you away, and neither shall I."

"Thank you father," he says.

Silence.

More silence.

Then he breaks it.

"I killed a child father, and I mocked it by going to its funeral. I consoled its mother. I grieved with its father. I even dropped flowers on its casket."

'It' ?

My God.

I make the sign of the cross.

"W-Why did you do this ?", I ask.

"It was four years ago. I still remember that night. They say you never forget your first..."

He chuckles.

"... It was chilly. Not winter chilly. It was the kind of chilly that comes with rain. It wasn't a busy night, most people prefer to stay indoors when it rains. I was on my way out of the grocery store when I was confronted by three teenagers of varying heights.

'Are you a man, Mr. Abel?', Tall Girl asked.

I ignored her.

'Sounds like a woman to me,' Short Girl said.

The third child came to my defence, telling the others to stop bothering me.

I walked away.

I heard them arguing behind me, the other two, came to a unanimous decision to leave the third one stranded in the rain as punishment for not joining them to accost me. People are horrible, don't you agree father?"

I sigh.

"I went back to the third child a while after and asked if she needed a ride home. She said yes , and got into my truck. There was no need to ask her address, I knew her parents, in fact I knew the parents of the other two teenagers as well. We all lived in a small town, and everyone knew everyone. We drove in silence, till we arrived a secluded area that housed only a few residents.

'Where are we?', she asked.

I got out of the car, went over to her side and told her to get out. She did, reluctantly.

'I am a man,' I said to her.

'I know,' she replied. I could hear the fear in her voice.

'Then why do people insist on asking me stupid questions?', I asked.

She said nothing. She just stood there shivering in the cold night air.

Father, the bible teaches that God never gives you more than you can handle and I believe it, for God put in me a constant, raging, burning anger, but he also gave me the ability to bottle it up. But like all bottles, this one had a limit which when exceeded, caused the bottle to explode.

'ANSWER ME!', I screamed at her, slamming my hand against my truck.

'It's because of your voice,' she said.

'Its not that serious,' she said.

'I-I don't think it really even sounds that feminine,' she said.

Father, those were her last words. You see, God, never gives us more than we can handle for he gave me the voice of a woman, but the strength of two men. I don't remember hitting her much. I just remember realizing I had killed a girl who was barely sixteen, and I remember how good it felt to be, for the first time in my life, without that constant burning anger. "

My God.

I make the sign of the cross.

He laughs softly, almost inaudibly.

"Would you hear more, father?", he asks in his almost feminine voice.

My throat is dry, and so I swallow what little spit my tongue can muster.

"I will hear all that weighs down on your conscience," I tell him. My voice sounds shaken. A bead of sweat rolls down my back.

"Thank you father," he replies.

"I've killed four others since then, and just like before, I mocked them by going to all their funerals. I consoled their friends. I grieved with their families. I even dropped flowers on their caskets. My second victim was Tall Girl's mother. My third was her father. I killed both parents on the same night. I parked near their house, feeling the smooth metal of my knife as I waited for their child to leave. I knew she would be leaving soon because it was a Thursday, and the kids hung out at the movie theatre on Thursday nights. I let her leave, because I promised myself I'll never hurt another child. I promised to let the parents pay for the sins of their progeny instead. I walked into their apartment under the guise of a friendly visit, then immediately , I turned around and stabbed the mother in the neck. Her blood sprayed across my face. I felt that newly familiar sickly sweet release as I saw her body collapse in a bloody heap. Father, I don't know how else to describe it so forgive me for saying this, but it was orgasmic. Before her husband could react, I had the knife lodged deep between his rib cage. I watched as he used his last breath to whisper ,'Why?'. Have you ever had multiple orgasms at once father? I'm sorry, that was an inappropriate question for a man of the cloth. I simply wish for you to understand the pleasure I gained from each life I took. I made sure to leave the house in disarray, so it looked like a robbery gone wrong, not a targeted killing. Father,They say you never forget your first..."

He chuckles.

"... what they don't say is you never forget your second, or your third, or your fourth, or your fifth. You remember each one , the way an artists remembers all their works.

Would you still hear more father?"

Silence.

It's late winter. The weather should be freezing, but yet I sweat. A single drop escapes the pool on my forehead and slowly makes its way down to the tip of my nose. It titters there a while, then drops onto my cassock.

I clear my throat.

"Yes, God will not turn you away, so neither shall I."

"Thank you father," he says.

"Before I talk about my last two victims, I feel I must first tell you briefly about Father Thiel. You see father, after taking away the gift of life from three people, I felt no guilt. Then I felt guilty over my absence of guilt. It was a complex feeling, one I didn't know how to handle. What sort of monster kills other human beings and feels no guilt for it? Did God make me this way? If yes, then why? If not, then I made myself this way and for that, I needed to seek His forgiveness. So, I went to Confession.

It was in a church much like this, in a confessional much like this, with a priest much like yourself. I told him of the three people I had killed and how i revelled in it. He said he would pray for the families of the victims and then he gave me the penance of turning myself into the police.

'Do that and regret your actions and you may earn God's forgiveness,' he had said.

It seemed like too little a price to pay for the sins I had committed, and for the sins I knew I would still commit, for short girl's parents were still breathing, and those were two more lives I intended to take.

'Father, I will kill again,' I told him.

'What penance would I be given in order to be forgiven for the sins I am yet to commit?'

'Do not abuse the confessional,' Father Thiel had screamed.

'One only seeks penance for sins committed, not those he intends to commit.'

'But having evil intentions is a sin in itself is it not father?', I asked.

'Young man, for your thoughts, I advice you fast and pray. For the mortal sins of taking human lives, you should hand yourself over to the police.' Father Thiel replied.

'What about for the sins I am about to commit?', I had screamed at him.

'Young man, there is no need for penance, when the sin has not yet been committed. If I were to give you some sort of penance, it would be to abstain from entertaining your evil thoughts. Your are already drowning in a pool of mortal iniquity, don't make it worse.'

'Father, two people WILL die tonight, and their blood will be on OUR hands.'

I left him after that statement.

The next morning, there were two less people in the world: short girl's father, dead, from a knife to the chest; short girl's mother, dead, from five knife wounds to her back. She died running away. That same morning I masturbated with the hand that held the knife, to the memories of the previous night. That same morning, I comforted the family of my victims at mass, and I waved at Father Thiel. That same morning, Father Thiel hung himself.

Its been two years since I took a life. I tried to become a better person. I fasted, I prayed, I abstained from entertaining my evil thoughts, just as father Thiel said I should. The constant, burning anger was still present, but I bottled it all up. I was doing better, a changed man. I even got a lady father, would you believe that? Me?"

He laughs.

"In the end, we are what we are. They say change is constant. But you see father, if change is constant, then no single change is ever permanent, for if change is constant, then that change changes, ergo, change is only temporary. Huh... Look at me, I sound like a philosopher."

He snorts.

"Father earlier this week Evelyn, the lady whom I'd been with for eight months, left me. I wouldn't say I loved her, she just treated me nice and she was the first person that didn't make me feel alienated. We understood each other, so we were happy, of a sort. A week ago, she told me about a guy from work who had been harassing her.

'Tell me his name so I will end his life,' the darkness in me burned to say.

I ignored it. I tried to abstain from entertaining my evil thoughts, father. It infuriated me, but I bottled it up. I wanted to ask for the man's name, but I knew if I did that, I would be forced to cease his breathing. So instead, I suggested that Evelyn report him to HR.

'You're not even going to ask his name?', she said.

'I always thought you weren't man enough, but at the same time I believed you would at least try to protect me when the need arose. I guess I was wrong, ' she said.

I wasn't MAN enough.

That was what that bitch said.. forgive me father, I misspoke."

He makes the sign of the cross.

" I left her apartment without saying a word. I was fuming and God knows what I would've done if I stayed. Two hours ago, I went back to her place to apologize and receive my own apology., that's the proper social norm, is it not? My head was clearer and the lid on my bottle was firmly in place. I knocked but no one answered, so I looked through her bedroom windows to see if she was home.

She was, but she was not alone.

I saw her on top of another man, sinning in a home that until two weeks ago, belonged to us. Pre-marital sex is a sin is it not,Father? My blood boiled and it took all my will power to stop myself from going in and doing to them what I did to the parents of those teenagers. I came here to meet you instead Father, but I fear once I leave, I will return, and kill again. It's not purely out of anger that I intend to kill. I also miss it father. I miss the ecstatic feeling of the knife breaking their skin, I miss the blood hitting my face, I miss emptying my vessel of all this pure, hot rage.

Father Winter, I'll ask you the same question I asked Father Thiel: What penance would I be given in order to be forgiven for the sins I am yet to commit?"

Silence.

What do I tell this man that he hasn't heard before?

I was at a loss for words. My mind combed through every routine piece of advice I had become used to dishing out in my eight years as a priest and when those fail me, I begin to comb through bible verses. Which would have the strongest impact?

Romans 6:12-14 ? Hebrews 4:15-16 ? Phillipians 4:13 ?

I look through the grating at the shadow clad face. The man is grinning, widely.

"Nothing to tell me, father?"

Looking at that smile, I feel I am in the confessional with the Devil.

How does one convince the Devil to stop deviling?

"G-God does not give us more than we can handle," I stutter.

"We are all made in the image and likeness of God, that means we are made perfect. All sinful thoughts are nothing more than constructs in our mind. These constructs can be overcome. The bible tells us that we can do all things, through Christ who strengthens us. Do not act on these sinful thoughts and desires. I beg you. For the sake of your soul. You-"

"FATHER," he screams, slamming a hand on the iron grating separating us.

"I'm afraid it can't he helped. I am powerless over this. When I took my first life on that lonely street, I always thought I was in control and the darkness was nothing more than a passenger, but I was wrong. It turns out, the darkness has always been in the driver's seat, and I am its passenger. I am nothing but a vessel of hate and anger. You see me and you see countless DEATHS WAITING TO HAPPEN! "

His voice reverberates through the entire church as he screams that last part.

There's a flash of metal, then I hear sounds coming from the other side of the confessional. Its the sound of scratching on wood.

"Actions, and the lack thereof, have consequences Father. Two people WILL die tonight, and their blood will be on OUR hands."

There's a clang as something heavy hits the floor.

He doesn't stay to listen to anything else I have to say. He exists the confessional.

I sit there, sweating, mind racing, heart beating.

What do I do?

If I sit here and do nothing, two people will die tonight, and God knows how many may die in the coming years.

I remember a story from the past. It was of a boy who went from breaking into cookie jars, to breaking into people's houses and then to breaking into banks. As a forty-seven year old priest, I ought to believe that people have the ability to repent and change. As a forty-seven year old man, I know that people can indeed change, but most times, they change for the worse. This man will only get worse if left alone. I should do something about it.

But what?

I could warn the girlfriend, but I know nothing about her. No one goes by the name Evelyn in our congregation. I could warn notify the police, but I'd rather be nailed to the cross and hoisted in front of the Norte Dame before I do that. I believe in the sanctity and absoluteness of the seal of the confessional and I would never do anything to deter people from seeking forgiveness in Confession.

"God will not give you more than you can handle," the man had said.

How do I handle this?

I get up and walk to his empty side of the confessional.

There is a metal object on the floor, reflecting what little light it could gather into my eyes. I bend down and pick it up with trembling hands, dropping a few beads of sweat as I do so. On the right side of the wall, something had been etched into the wooden surface. With a sweat soaked finger, I trace the outline and realize the etching spells out the words 'END IT.'

Its 10 pm , the church is empty. The silence would be deafening, if not for the footsteps of the man getting fainter and fainter as he slowly walks farther away.

Clack, clack.

What do I do?

Clack, clack.

"Mr. Abel," I call out. There has to be some way to make him see reason.

The footsteps stop.

I walk towards the man, trepidation in each step. He doesn't turn back to face me. In that moment, I am uncertain about everything, but the fact that I cannot stand by and let this man take another life. Time freezes. It feels as though the both of us are all alone in a different space, immune to the passage of time. Not one sound is heard and nothing moves except the rivulets of sweat rolling down my back.

"Mr. Abel, you left something in the confessional," I say.

"Is that so?", he replies in that almost feminine voice of his.

"I meant it as a gift for you father."

I look at the shining piece of steel I had picked up from the confessional.

"I have no need for knives," I say with a cracked voice.

"Still, I would like you to have it Father. I want you to look at it from time to time and remember the two lives you could've saved with it, but chose not to. "

In that instant, I realize the man's purpose of coming here today. Mr. Abel was there to commit suicide. Suicide by Priest. I feel a surge of annoyance and i channel it into my next words.

"Human life is precious, if you came here expecting me to take yours, you will be disappointed Miss."

I freeze as soon as the words leave ny mouth. I had called him Miss.

A soft giggle escapes his lips. A huge body like his shouldn't produce sound that soft.

"Father Winter, I have been respectful towards you, and yet.."

He finally turns around to face me. His eyes are sunken, his head bald, his lips parched, his smile ferocious. There is a knife in his hand, longer than the one in mine. 12 inches of sharp steel attached to a bone white hilt. Mr. Abel rubs the flat side of the blade across his hairless face affectionately, like its his long lost puppy.

He places a lingering kiss on its hilt then says words that drain the blood from my face.

"I came seeking forgiveness, but found sin. I have never taken three lives in a single night. I feel ... ecstatic."

Three lives ?

I finally understand the fear his first victim felt as this huge imposing figure stares at me wth murderous intentions. The lid on his bottle, had vanished.

His hands crawl across his body, touching, grabbing, squeezing every part of him like a roadside prostitute attempting to pleasure herself. He does all this, but never takes his eyes off me.

He moans, "I am going to enjoy this."

The smile on his face broadens revealing rows of straight, yellow teeth. My body acts without my consent. I step back, slowly. Abel follows, running his tongue across his blade and staring right into my eyes.

"S-stop right there !" I stammer.

"Yes, yes , yes, louder !" Abel whispers as he stepped towards me.

All the wrong decisions that led up till this point come to my mind, as if to let me know that the fact I was in this predicament is all my fault. Maybe I should've closed the Church earlier like I had originally intended. Maybe I should've let him leave instead of following him out of the confessional. Maybe I shouldn't have broken into cookie jars, and people's houses, and banks; then I wouldn't have had to go to prison and get converted when I got out. Maybe I could've been a banker, I was always good with money. Maybe I-

Two things happen at once, interrupting my train of thought. Abel gets close and brings down his bone white knife just as my leg gets caught by an uneven piece of rug and I stumble. This ends with me in a daze on the floor and Abel's huge figure tripping over and landing right on top of me.

I hear a a short scream. Then I feel something warm spreading all over my hands. I look down and see that I still hold the knife from the confessional tightly in my two hands. Another scream echoes through the Church. This one is longer and louder, and it belongs to me. With shaking hands I let go of the knife and wriggle out of the huge weight pressing against me.

"Father ... Winter," Abel says, each word punctuated by a bloody cough as he struggles to turn himself over.

I stare at him, my knife is lodged deep in his stomach. His face shows a mix of pain and astonishment.

"I- I should call the paramedics."

I say the words but shock doesn't let me understand them so I just stand there, gaping as blood pours out of Abel.

"No, please help me father," Abel struggles to say.

I rush to his side, kneeling and placing his head on my legs.

"Why?" I asked him as tears pool in my eyes.

Abel lets out a soft laugh,"It's usually the one dying that asks that Father."

The smile vanishes and his face contorts in worry.

"Can I still be saved, Father?"

The tears begin to flow down my face.

"Yes. Oh yes."

His death is penance enough. He tries to talk but spurts blood instead.

"Shh," I say as I place a finger on his red lips.

"God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

"Thank.. you, Father," Abel says, smiling to reveal bloodstained teeth.

"Amen."

I watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head, and just like that, he is gone.

I sit on the floor as the blood soaks into my cassock rendering it an even darker shade of black. Tears stream down my eyes as I mourn the death of this man who had just tried to kill me. A series of complicated thoughts and feelings assault my mind. I just took a life.

For a long time I sit in silence and wonder, what penance I would be given in order to be forgive for the sin I had just committed.