Heartless People |Book 2|

Chapter 6

"All the motives for murder are covered by four Ls: Love, Lust, Lucre and Loathing."

—P.D. James

JENNIE

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last Confession, in that time I have..."

"You have lied," Father Antony interrupted me.

"Yes, father and I..."

"You have killed, stolen, and much worse," he cut me off again. Only a man of God could do that and still have his tongue.

"You're going off script, father," I whispered, leaning against my seat. He could neither see me, nor I him, but I felt more comfortable. Not because I felt ashamed, more because I liked the darkness here; it was the only place I wasn't afraid of it. I liked the peace it gave me within the church.

"Yes, well I cannot offer you forgiveness." He sighed. "You've come in here once a week for the last year asking for the same thing. Yet neither I, nor God, can forgive you for something you do not truly wish forgiveness for. It doesn't work that way."

"May I continue, Father?" I asked him.

"Very well," he said.

"Since you have confessed my past sins for me, I shall confess my future ones." I felt the rage and hate crawl up inside me as I thought about it. "I will kill my mother. I swear it."

He was silent. We were both silent for what seemed like forever.

"Honor thy father and thy mother, Jennie. Of all sins to break among man, the one you speak of is..."

"Honor thy father and thy mother?" I snapped; it was my turn to cut him off. "Where is honor thy child? Why is that not written in stone somewhere for us to hold above our heads? Some fathers and mothers should not be honored! Some should not even be given the title."

"What was done to you, my child?" he whispered, but I didn't answer. Instead I stared out at the stained glass.

It made me think of my childhood.

"When I was a child, the church was the only place I felt at peace. I would lie in the pews and stare up at the paintings on the ceiling. Sometimes I would speak to God, sometimes I would dream, but often times I would think about my mom. Wishing she would come find me, worried because she couldn't find me in the house. I even prayed about it and God never answered. I knew that wasn't how it worked. But, I was angry. In my mind, he was Santa Claus, and the one thing I wanted, he wouldn't give me." I sighed at my own stupidity, "Here I am, years later, and my mother is alive and well."

"Is that not something to be thankful for?" he asked, slightly confused.

I looked to the screen blocking our faces. "Not when she is worse than I am...far worse, and sadly, I'm not being sarcastic."

"I see." I could feel his worry even though I couldn't see it. "Is there a sin I can ask the father to forgive, one in which you regret?"

I thought for a moment.

"I shot my wife." I said.

"Is she still alive?" he asked with amusement.

"Yes." For now. "She's still alive. I shot her out of anger, and I'm sorry for it. I abuse her often, actually."

"You don't seem regretful," he added.

"I am." That wasn't a lie. " I lov...I love her. But, I'm not good with caring for anyone but myself, my own needs. With each passing day, I notice more and more sex won't distract her."