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The strain, the desire to fall to my knees for a wholly different and indecent activity. Most of him hidden from view, but the way his cassock fell across his knees, revealing bare ankles for me to lust after like some sixteenth-century prude. In a world of scantily dressed bodies, his modesty became a cruel tease. The collar tight against his throat, restricting every swallow, reminding us both of his vows. The riches I’d exchange for a glimpse, for a chance to be the fingers undoing his buttons each night.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” I whispered as my knees hit the harsh cushion of the kneeler. My voice was husky after the hour of fantasy while I’d waited for my turn.“It’s been two weeks since my last confession.”
“You skipped a week.”
The altered script gave me pause. “Yes, Father—I’m surprised you noticed with as many loyal parishioners as darken your door.”
“I always look forward to your presence in my box.” His reply left me speechless.
“You know me?” I asked at length.
“I’ve known you my whole life.” There was strain to his tone, and I couldn’t believe I imagined it. “The screen offers less privacy than you imagine, Finley.” The slight accent in which he spoke my given name brought a wave a nostalgia I never wished to experience again. Nostalgia for a time long dead. For a mother who’d long ago left the living, and for a childhood stolen.
I hadn’t gone by Finley in almost as many years. They’d hoped changing my name would change my nature, but it hadn’t. It was impossible to escape a life of violence when born into it. It was all I knew.
“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” I murmured.
“How could I forget.”His words made my heart ache.
“Some people forget on purpose.”
“I’ve found there is no healing or forgiveness in such measures.” Anthony’s voice came between a clenched jaw.
“Why have you never acknowledged it before?” I shifted on my knees, uncomfortable with my secrets being known to another. Uncomfortable and aroused. How humiliation turned me on.
He’d always known, much to my detriment when it came to him.
“To what end? Are you here to reminisce what we lost, or forge connection to the past? I thought you were here for your soul, child.”
“Is that why you absolve my mortal sins week after week?” I asked, lifting a hand to drag my fingers across the screen, like I could syphon connection from it. Better it separated us. I already went too far.
“There is only one type of sin I cannot forgive, and I do not think even you are capable of it.”
“What kind of sin is that?” I’d been raised Catholic but I’d never heard any sort of thing about something being unforgivable.
“Matthew 12: 31-32 speaks on it— Therefore I say to you, any sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven men, but blasphemy against the Spirit shall not be forgiven. And whoever shall speak a word against the Son of Man, it shall be forgiven him; but whoever shall speak against the Holy Spirit, it shall not be forgiven him, either in this age, or in the age to come. Do you reject God or the Spirit, Finley? Do you speak so in public, condemning those who believe, child?”
“No.” Not even when I didn’t believe. I considered myself an atheist for a long time, until I drove two hours outside of D.C. only to stumble upon a relic of my former life. I’d looked for him for years, searched in and out of our former habitat. All the gutters he might be hiding in, only to find him in the most unexpected of places.
I hadn’t confronted him, instead, he’d converted me.
“I didn’t believe so, thus I act as a vessel for the forgiveness from the Spirit promised all of mankind.”
“Other priests would tell me to turn myself in or—I don’t know—not a few rosaries.”
“This has been weighing on you for some time?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“You are not killing the innocent, which would be murder.”
“I guess it depends on how you define innocent.” I laughed, but it wasn’t funny.
“Are you not tasked with this in defense of your country?”
“I am, but how does that change anything?”It wouldn’t change the sick satisfaction I took in my work. The ways I used it to seek revenge for my mother and sister. How thirsty I’d grown for blood after being a timid child.
“The church teaches war is morally permissible and at times even necessary.”
