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I’m ruined. Damaged goods, in his eyes, and it was the beginning of my father’s disgust for me.
“Is there another time you can come by?” he asks, and I can hear a whimper on the other side of the door.
Fuck.
Banging again, I can feel the nonexistent weight of the wire hidden on my belt. My heart is racing, and if I can save whoever is on the other side of the door from the trauma I went through, I will.
“I’m sorry, Father. There’s no other time I’m able to come. Is there someone else in there with you?” I ask.
Heavy crying comes from the person Father Monroe has on the other side of the door, and I blink rapidly. The years of guilt, shame, and pain are something I know well.
“Shhh, my son. You’ll get used to it,” he whispers and I shudder. “I’m finishing up a lesson here, can you not give me a moment?”
There’s a heavy lust in the priest’s voice, I’m realizing, and I think I’m too late to save this boy from anything. He’ll have to live with the same grief I do, for the loss of innocence and trust.
“I’m so sorry, Father, it can’t. I’m leaving town tonight,” I lie. “I need to make some very big decisions.”
There’s movement in the office before he opens the door, appearing to be alone. There’s no sign of the boy I heard, and I need to be sure he left by the back entrance to his office. The last thing I need is to add to his trauma.
“I’m sorry, I thought I heard someone else in the room with you. I really must insist on complete privacy for this meeting,” I tell him.
Father Monroe’s eyes widen and I fight off a smirk. He was never very good at hiding his proclivities from those willing to see them.
“There’s no one here,” he sputters, stepping back so I can see. The back door is slightly ajar and I can hear feet running away from us. It’s very faint, but I’ve always had excellent hearing.
Pushing my glasses up my nose, I shrug. “I must be hearing things again,” I murmur, stepping inside.
Father Monroe closes the door behind him, and I can see the slight panic in his eyes as he sees the back door that’s been left slightly ajar. Instead of drawing attention to it, he leaves it open as he goes to the chair.
Sitting gingerly on the chair across from him, I decide to ask him a question that will send him into research mode. I need him to give me his back or to allow me to walk behind him.
Deciding to go with the second option, because it’s faster, I start with my made up problem.
“My parents want me to go to college, but I want to join the priesthood,” I lie. “I know the Bible says that I should follow their wishes, but I feel as if I'm being called to be ordained. What should I do, Father?”
Father Monroe launches into my options, quoting what the Bible says, and that a call to God trumps whatever my parents want for me.
“Thank you so much, Father. Do you feel that draft? That can’t be good for your advanced age, Sir. May I close the door behind you?” I ask, already standing.
“Er,thank you. That’s so kind of you. I have no idea how it opened. These older churches are filled with secrets,” he sighs, not bothering to turn as I walk past him.
My hand pulls the wire from my belt, and I pretend to push the door closed. I plan to exit using that door. Father Monroe continues to talk as I move behind him, and I spread the wire from its coil. Not allowing him to take a breath as he babbles, I reach over his head, drawing the wire tightly around his neck.
Fighting me, he’s able to stand, which gives me more leverage to pull tighter. I’m heavier and taller than him, and his fingers try to pull at my hands as he struggles. Dispassionately, I watch as he gurgles and becomes weaker and weaker.
“This is for every little boy you’ve ever hurt,” I grunt. Father Monroe’s eyes widen further, which I can see in the reflection of the mirror I’m facing. “I can finally eradicate the disease.”
His knees weaken, and I drop behind him, enjoying as the last of his life force leaves his body. Releasing him, I sigh as I stand, walking over to the little sink he has in his office to wash. I see he continued this tradition from the last church he was a part of.
There were times Father Monroe would force me to wash his body, and then he would wash mine. Nothing about what happened afterwards was clean, godly, or right.
Shuddering from the memories, I use the sink now to wash my hands and the wire free of blood. Whistling to myself, I dry my hands with the cute little towel that has a cross with Father Monroe’s name monogrammed on it.
“Cute,” I mutter, dropping it back next to the sink. Checking that the priest is dead, I crouch next to him, pulling out my gloves from my back pocket.
I probably should have put them on before, but it would have made him nervous. Checking his pulse, I grin when I find none.
“May you rot in hell, Father. Who knows, maybe I’ll see you there,” I tell him before slipping out the back door, making sure that I’m gone before they find him. Everyone has left, for the most part, so I doubt that they’ll find him until tomorrow.
