Gramps sighed. “I have several friends within the church, father. Many who don’t agree that the ‘indiscretions’ of certain clergymen should be covered up, but that they should be prosecuted like any other criminal. Not protected by the church.”
Father Mike cleared his throat and shifted nervously. “What are you implying, old man?”
Gramps eyed him directly. “I am implying nothing. We both know what you are. I know about your three stays with the Servants of the Parcelate in Jemez Springs. It’s a so called ‘rehab’ center for priests who ‘stray’. In reality, you get forgiven for destroying lives, and sent to a new flock to hurt.”
“I am NOT one of those.”
“Really? And what of over twenty complaints that you inappropriately touched, or worse, children at the various churches you have presided over?”
“You are mistaken, that has to be another Father Mike…”
“Hmm… I could be wrong. Perhaps… you see, father, I AM dying. Sadly for you, I am not stupid. I believe your email address is
[email protected]?”
“Yes…”
“Are you aware that it is stupid to use your email address when using instant messengers to have conversations with minors?”
“Someone clearly logged in as me…”
“Stop right there. I know who you are. I have done my homework. Lying will only make things worse.”
“How could things be worse?” Father mike almost laughed.
Gramps glared. He lifted out of his seat and walked over the priest’s left. Mike couldn’t see what he was doing, but he heard metal move, the felt a sharp pain in his left triceps. He shrieked in pain. The crazy old bastard had just shoved a scalpel into his arm.
“Don’t lie to me father. I am trying to negotiate with you. You won’t escape. You won’t get your way. I will get mine, or you will be left here to rot.”
“Why do you think I would grant you absolution? Shouldn’t you wait until you are on your deathbed?”
Gramps walked back to face Father Mike. “I can’t wait any longer. The pain is incapacitating. I can’t breathe and wake up gasping. Death would be merciful for me. I have been a good man, father, and I know what waits for me on the other side, so I don’t cling to this world the way others do. However, I can’t kill myself; I am Catholic to the core. I don’t want to die with sin on my soul. That is where you come in.”
Father Mike scoffed. “You want me to absolve you?”
“Yes, father.”
“No chance.”
Gramps shrugged. “Eventually, you will see things my way.” He kicked another rod and drove another blade into the priest’s shin. It bit into the flesh, and penetrated the bone. Father Mike howled in agony, which only drove the Heretic’s fork further into his chin.
“You are still thinking you can get out of this, right?” Gramps smiled. He held up more papers from the briefcase. “I have detailed records of your past, father. Stuff the church tried to cover up. Victims are very willing to talk when they have access to a safe and sympathetic ear, father.”
His smile grew as he could tell Father Mike was straining for an excuse. “I have taped interviews with three kids who had been under your lead in Connecticut, father. The police have those tapes now, along with this.”
He held up a wad of paper. “Transcripts; of an IM conversation between
[email protected] and brandon1445. You thought Brandon was an 11 year old boy you were going to have come over. Trust me; it took me and my geek friend a while to concoct a believable story to make you actually think he would agree to come over for sex. An eleven year old boy, father…”
“You bastard…”
“Judgment is reserved for God, father. I am showing you this because, your life is over. So is mine. God chose for me to come home. I chose for you to sit in judgment before God. Father Mike, your life is over. Before I picked you up, I sent all of this to the police, and my friend called them. Right now, there are police cars near your apartment, waiting to serve you with a warrant for child molestation and rape. There are media people there too. Your life is over.”
“And for this, you want me to forgive you?”
“No, no…” Gramps chuckled. “I did nothing wrong here. I ratted out a pedophile; there is nothing wrong in that. It is, in fact, one of the greatest of goods. I want to be able to confess my sins, and receive my last rights before you kill us.”
“WHAT?!” Father Mike shouted. He growled in pain as the fork dug a half an inch into his chin. He began whimpering pathetically as blood began to pour down his neck, making his clothes sticky.
“Yes, kill us.”
Father Mike was consumed with panic suddenly. It felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He completely withdrew within himself; his mind flooded with images of his crimes, he couldn’t block the visuals of police men laying his life bare in front of others, the congregation of his church gawking in horror at the photos in his apartment.
He struggled against the machine. Metal whined and squeaked as he lurched back and forth, from side to side, trying to loose himself. Blades burned as they cut into his chest and back. He screamed a falsetto note when one slid into his right eye. Another pierced his left elbow; Father Mike felt a pain he knew was waiting for him in the darkest pits of Hell. In the small, barely-there part of his mind that was lucid in that moment, he marveled that no one in history had ever experienced such pain.
He finally began to regain a measure of composure after a few moments. He assessed his wounds as best he could. He had lost an eye, and there were blades full buried in his left elbow and right knee. He could tell that in some areas, he had been stabbed or slashed, and the blade had retracted, ready for another attack.
Gramps watched quietly, detached. “Are you quite finished?” he asked, then let the reality of the situation sink in before he continued. “Father Mike; near your right hand is a console with two buttons. When I remove the fork, you will be free to look around. You will see that one button is marked ‘Freedom’, while the other says ‘Hell’. ‘Freedom’ is connected to several gasoline bombs and blocks of C4 located throughout this old house. The other is connected to the machine you are sitting in.”
“You have a choice. You can grant me my wish, and then hit Freedom. The house will explode, killing us both. I will go to heaven, because I will be clean of sin, absolved. If you hit Hell, the device you are sitting in will disassemble, just fall apart. You will be free to go, but all that will await you is prosecution and incarceration. And men like you don’t last long in prison these days.”
“The third alternative is that you don’t grant me my wish, in which case I will leave you and you will die slowly.”