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Father Mike fought back another wave of panic, and was trying to think up whatever excuse he could to not have to choose. “You have to be repentant; you have to truly believe you are sorry for absolution.”
“Oh, but I am father. I truly wish there was another way for you. I studied you closely, hoping to find some fragment that would separate you from the others like you. Some single thread that would imply that you are sick, and wanted to change. But you don’t. You like hurting children. You feed off of the hurt and perversion. I saw what you have on your computer, father. Children should never have to see or do those things…”
Father Mike shrank back into the chair as far as he could. For the first time since he started molesting children, Father Mike felt shame for his actions. So deep was his desire to retreat into himself that he barely winced when his movement caused two more blades to dig into his lower back, once less than a half inch from his spine. He hadn’t thought about the pictures. Any of the other evidence, he was pretty sure he could lie his way out of, but the pictures were damning evidence. He had thousands of them, and videos.
The worst part was that he was clearly in many of them.
Father Mike was in agony. Blood oozed from his many wounds, his eye felt as if it had collapsed; deflated. He understood the genius of the old man who watched him, passively. He would take days to die from his wounds if left.
“Okay.”
Gramps looked a little surprised. “I will grant you absolution. What are your sins, my son?”
Gramps pulled a seat up right in front of Father Mike and began with “Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” Mike was surprised at how minor this man’s infractions were throughout his life. Not holding elevator doors when he could have, using the lord’s name in vain a couple of times, and stealing a pen from a bank, all said with such frankness, the priest didn’t doubt for a second that he was telling the truth.
When the old man had finished his litany of minor infractions, leading up to the assault, kidnapping and imprisonment of the priest, Father Mike forgave him without penance. He then read the old man his last rights.
When he finished, Gramps sighed. He removed the Heretic’s fork from Father Mike’s neck, and bound the wound it had caused. He also freed his right hand and said “Think hard about your choice, father. You have a chance to make things right.”
With that, Gramps walked out of the room. Father Mike was left alone with his thoughts. He looked around. The room was dark and grimy; this was apparently an old abandoned house. The machine he sat it was framed in shining surgical grade steel. An array of blades was pointed at him. The old man had shown a great deal of restraint, had he used the machine to it’s full potential, he would have been stabbed in easily twenty different places.
He went over his options. If he released himself, he could try to run for it. Maybe he could hide, or go to Mexico. He looked down at his leg. He had a blade buried deep in his shin, so he wouldn’t be running anywhere fast. He no longer had any depth perception. He would need medical help, and if what the old man had said was true (and he hadn’t confessed to lying about it), there would be an APB out for him, so he would be caught at any hospital.
His head hung low. He knew what he had to do, and it terrified him.
Gramps sat in the room next to Father Mike, listening to him look over his surroundings and think. He watched the beautiful sun as it set below the horizon. The sky was filled with rich oranges and reds. Gramps smiled as he thought about the sunsets in heaven. He could not wait to see them. He only hoped Father Mike made the right choice.
He would sit in judgment before God and burn in hell for his sins anyway. Adding suicide to the list would only seal the deal.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, smelling the sweet night air. Perhaps, he would have time for one last cigarette. He pulled one out of his pocket and stared at it with affection. Sure, they had killed him, but they had given him great pleasure during his life. He smiled at himself. It wasn’t a sin, but it should be, he thought. Gramps lit the end, and took a long, exultant pull, tasting every last wisp of smoke as it passed into his lungs. It was a flavor he had missed for years.
There was a click that was not his lighter.
The explosion of the old house was felt over a mile away. By the time fire crews arrived, there was barely anything left to put out.
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