“Forgive me Father, for I will sin”.
The voice on the other side of the partition was deep and gravely, and spoke with a slow cadence that made him sound elderly.
“You will sin?”, I asked, confused, “Have you not already sinned?”
Usually the confessional is the place to come to confess to something you have already done, not a sin you are yet to commit.
The man let out a small, croaky chuckle before continuing to speak.
“No, no, no, believe me, I have already sinned, I’m just confessing that I will do it once again”.
“Which sin do you wish to confess?”
“No point in confessing to any of the big seven. You know, the deadly ones. I’ve committed all of those before. No, no, what I wish to confess to is a bit bigger than that”, he said followed by a throaty chuckle.
“Please, any sin, no matter how terrible, is worth confessing to”
“Even if I am going to break a commandment?”.
“Yes, even then”.
There was silence in the confessional booth. The eerie kind of silence that precedes the reveal of a terrible secret or horrible admission. I could sense the hesitation, or possibly even excitement from the old man, as I’m sure he could sense my trepidation for what he was about to say next.
“Murder. I wish to confess that I am going to commit the act of murder”.
I sat stunned for a moment, not only because he was confessing to one of the most terrible sins, but because this situation was awfully familiar. There was silence in the booth once again, before I apprehensively replied.
“Thou shalt not kill. That is what God has commanded. You have not yet taken a life, and there is no reason good enough to justify it”.
“I have my reason. Besides, if I confess to it, then, isn’t it all forgiven?”
“It can be forgiven, if you repent for your sins, but as you have not yet acted out your transgression, repentance is not possible. Unless, of course, you don’t go through with it”.
“There isn’t a good chance that I will feel regret for this sin. I haven’t felt any regret for my previous ones either”.
I swallowed nervously before asking him my next question.
“Previous sins?”
“Does the name Janice Cooper ring any bells”?
As he spoke the name, I felt a sharp chill jolt down my spine, like I had been struck down by the Almighty himself. I let out a small gasp that must’ve said more than I meant it to.
“I thought you would remember her. I remember her too.”, the old man said from the other side of the booth, “Yes, I remember her quite well. Better than you would, I’m sure. You never actually met her, did you?”
“No”.
The single word was all I could muster in reply.
“You knew of her before though…before her untimely demise, shall we say?”
“Yes”.
My mind flashed back to the memory of a day, not too dissimilar to this one, listening to a voice, also not too dissimilar to the one I was hearing now.
I was sitting in the same confessional booth, only my hair was not as grey, and the wrinkles on my face hadn’t begun to dig deep into my face yet. It was still early in my lifelong commitment to the church, and I had not long since been ordained.
I had already heard a number of confessions, but they were usually just admissions to sins of greed, envy or lust. But, on that day, I had someone come into the booth, take a seat and confess that they were going to kill. Just like the man I was currently listening to.
“Forgive me father, for I am going to sin. The sin of murder, to be exact. The desire has always been strong, but never have I ever wanted to act upon it.”, the man with a gravely, but quite young voice, had said, “That was until I saw her”.
“Then that hunger to kill intensified”, the man continued, “Something about her that just makes me want to do it. My thirst for her blood is just too strong. So, that’s my confession. I am going to kill Janice Cooper”.
The memory came to an abrupt end, as I focussed back on what was occurring currently, and realised that the old man had asked me a question.
“Well, what did it feel like?”
“I’m sorry, what did what feel like?”, I asked, unsure of what he had originally asked me. A combination of recalling past events and fear had stopped me from hearing it.
“What did it feel like when you saw it in the paper? Those words. ‘Woman, 26, brutally slain by unknown killer’. How did you feel when you read the name ‘Janice Cooper’? Did you feel guilty at all? You were told she was going to die, yet did nothing!”
“It is against my oath to report any crime that is confessed to me”, I answered curtly.
While true that I was forbidden to report any illegal activity that comes to light during a confessional, this was one case that I had morally struggled with for years.
I knew the name of the victim and I knew that someone was going to kill her. I could’ve prevented the crime, but I knew that I couldn’t. It is the thing that has haunted me throughout my entire life.
Especially when I was the one to officiate her funeral, and I couldn’t say anything to the poor woman’s family.
“How did it feel hugging her mother and telling her that ‘she is with God now’?, or shaking her brother’s hand and telling him ‘Sorry for your loss’? Or comforting her cousins and grandparents. Did you ever have the urge to tell them that you couldn’t prevented it?”, the man asked me, rather seriously.
“How do you know that I was there at the funeral?”, I asked him back, ignoring the other questions he asked me.
“I was there, of course. I wouldn’t have missed that big day”, he responded, “I heard every word you said”.
I felt a shiver run down my spine. This man had been there. Her killer had attended her funeral. I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
I took a deep breath and turned the questioning around onto him.
“How did it feel taking a life? You’ve You already said that you didn’t feel guilt, which must be true if, once again, you’re here confessing”.
There was silence for a moment, before he let out a slight chuckle and answered in an almost gleeful tone.
“Oh no, no, no. I didn’t feel guilty about killing in the slightest. In fact, I took a certain amount of joy from it. And I think next time will be just as fun”.
“Then how come you are here, confessing and wanting forgiveness for the most horrible of sins, if you enjoyed it?”
“I never said I wanted forgiveness. I don’t particularly want to be forgiven. Once again, I am just doing what must be done”.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What must be done? Had he somehow convinced himself that killing that young woman, Janice Cooper, was ‘what must be done’.
“Killing Janice was not ‘what had to be done’. You took an innocent life that day, feel no remorse, and want to do it again’. I’m sorry, but you will not find any sort of exoneration here.”
I heard the old man shuffle in his seat slightly, before replying. His tone had grown ever colder and more serious when he spoke.
“I didn’t kill Janice. Why would I murder my own sister”.
I heard what he said, but it took me a second to comprehend it properly. I was convinced that I was talking to her killer. Instead, I was speaking to her brother.
“I think you have misunderstood what is happening here”, he continued, “I feel no remorse for slaughtering the bastard that took my sister away from me, from my family. I didn’t feel any guilt when I slit his throat, and I won’t regret doing the same to the son of a bitch that knew she was going to die, yet did nothing”.
The blood flowing through my veins turned to ice as I now completely understood what was happening. I was going to feel a wrath rain down upon me, but it wasn’t going to be from the Lord above. The wrath of the man sitting only inches away from me, was now a much more terrifying reality.
He spoke again, anger and venom strongly present in his voice now.
“I’m not going to kill you here. Not within the walls of the church. But know that my vengeance is coming. I will bring upon your death. Unless you decide to break your oath and report this to the authorities. You could be selfish and do that for yourself. Do what you should’ve done for Janice”.
The next thing I heard was the sound of feet marching out of the confessional booth. They were moving quickly, and by the time I could peak out into the church, the man was gone.
Now, I am waiting for him to return. Fear is the new constant in my life, as I wait for him to take a razor to my throat. Prayer only brings me a certain amount of comfort, but I know that my end is inevitable.
I haven’t gone to the police however. I can’t hold myself to a different standard to others. I didn’t go to them for Janice, and I won’t go to them for myself.