It felt wrong to her now; violence should not be treated so matter-of-factly. Michael actually frightened Lana. He was marrying her daughter, and Josephine might think she understood what she was getting herself into, but she didn’t. Josephine was a kind, trusting, loving young woman; Lana was convinced that if she ever knew the real truth about Michael it would destroy her. She was madly in love with him, and Lana knew that, even if she told her what she knew about Michael, Josephine wouldn’t believe any of it.
She wished Des had kept his big mouth shut; he might think Michael was the dog’s bollocks but now, thanks to him, she thought Michael was a dangerous fuck.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Father Riordan could feel the sweat dripping from every pore in his body as Michael Flynn watched him closely. He knew that he had no right at all to stand in judgement over another human being, but the knowledge of the young man’s crimes was something he couldn’t forget about. It was on his mind every waking hour. He had listened to adulterers and wife beaters, he had made himself listen to people’s deepest, darkest secrets, and he had always been able to tell himself that they had not told him – they had been confiding in the Lord God Himself. But not this time. This was something he couldn’t find it in his heart to overlook. This was murder. It could never be rectified.
Now here was Michael, with young Josephine Callahan, listening to him eagerly as he talked about the importance of the marriage vows, about it being a blessed sacrament, and how they were expected to always remember that they had been joined together in Holy Matrimony by God Himself, when all the time he knew that Michael Flynn was a killer. Even worse, thanks to him, Michael had no guilty conscience about his act. It was over with, he had been forgiven. And Father Riordan had been the one to hear his confession. It was torturing him.
‘Are you all right, Father? You look a bit peaky.’
Josephine seemed genuinely concerned about him and, as the priest looked into her lovely face, he saw the kindness there. This was a girl who was going to marry a man he knew was a murderer. He forced himself to smile at her and act normally.
‘I’m not feeling too good to be honest, Josephine. I think I’m coming down with the flu.’
Josephine was instantly contrite, sorry that they had bothered him when he was obviously feeling unwell. ‘Oh, listen, Father, we can do this another time. You get yourself off to bed. You know that we are both more than ready to be married. It’s not long now, is it? I can’t wait.’
Father Riordan was still smiling. ‘You’re right, Josephine, I shouldn’t be here at all tonight. The last thing you two need is the flu! I’ll see you both soon, OK?’
Michael stood up slowly and, grinning happily at Josephine, he said jovially, ‘You go on, darling. I want to talk to Father Riordan in private for a minute.’
Josephine nodded, then she kissed the priest gently on his cheek. As she left the pew, she blessed herself before the altar, and the two men watched as she walked sedately out of the church.
Michael Flynn looked at the priest for long moments; he could almost feel the man’s fear emanating from him. He was annoyed that Father Riordan, his confessor, his parish priest, was acting so oddly.
‘What exactly is your problem, Father?’
The man didn’t answer him – he couldn’t even meet his eyes. This was an outrage as far as Michael was concerned. He had confessed his sins, as required by his Church, especially before his wedding day. Who the hell did Father Riordan think he fucking was? The cheek of him.
‘You can’t stand in judgement of me, Father, and we both know that. You’re acting strangely, and I really don’t like it. I confessed to you so I could get married free and clear. That’s the Church’s teaching, not mine. I’ve repented for all my wrongdoings and, as far as I’m concerned we are square, mate. But if you don’t sort yourself out, we are going to have a serious problem.’
It was a threat, and Father Riordan knew it. He had never thought for one second that his chosen life in the priesthood would eventually make him question not only his faith, but everything that he had ever believed in. This handsome young man, who came to Mass every Sunday, gave generously to the parish, who looked like any decent God-fearing individual, was about to marry a lovely young girl, and live happily ever after, was a devil in disguise. He had made a choice. He had known that he had committed a mortal sin, and he had only confessed so he could put it behind him and get married with a clear conscience. Father Riordan was well aware that Michael Flynn felt no real sorrow for what he had done – he was playing at being repentant. But true repentance was the whole point of the confessional – without being truly sorry for your sins, it was meaningless.
‘Are you listening to me, Father?’
The priest looked into Michael’s eyes; whatever he did now would lay the foundations for the future. He prayed silently for the strength that he needed.
‘I’m listening to you, Michael. But I don’t feel that I can see you again. I know that I am failing you as a priest, but I have to follow my own heart, my own conscience.’