Father Francis Xavier was tired. He’d been hearing confessions for the past three hours, absolving his flock of their daily sins. A mundane bunch today: The most heinous thing he’d heard was from a young woman having lustful thoughts for her boyfriend. At least she’d come to confession. In this day and age, the modernization of the Church sometimes seemed to undermine the very morality its young members were taught to practice. He doubted he’d made much of an impression. He’d probably hear from the same girl next week, asking forgiveness for going through with the act. Oh well. He was doing the best he could.
He emerged from the confessional, stretching his tired back and deciding what to do for dinner. He removed his stole as he walked toward his office. He was expecting a student from Aquinas, Mary Margaret de Rossi, for a quick tea and chat in an hour. Maybe he’d convince her to head up to Starbucks and have some coffee instead. It would be quiet enough to talk and maybe cover some of her Latin language work. He had been tutoring her for several weeks. Her enthusiasm to learn the dead language heartened his soul, and he was thrilled that his young friend wanted to understand more of the ways of the Church. After coffee, he could pick something up on his way home, or run through the buffet line at Belle Meade Cafeteria, get a real meal. One advantage to living in the South, he thought wryly. Meat and threes.
As he turned the corner into the hallway to the administrative offices, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A man had entered the church and was making a beeline for the confessionals.
“Sir, I’m done for the day. I’ll be hearing confessions again tomorrow morning at ten. I’d be happy to hear your confession then.”
But the man ignored him and ducked into the rosewood box, quickly shutting the door behind him. Father Xavier sighed. Perhaps the man hadn’t heard him. He made his way back to the confessionals, slipped into his side, and repeated his statement. There was no sound from the other side of the box.
“My son?” he asked.
“You will hear my confession now, Father. I have no time left.”
The voice was low, so soft that Father Xavier could barely hear him. There was something in the tone that scared him. He felt a chill snake down his spine. He sat down, draping his stole over his shoulders.
“I am here, my son.”
The stranger bowed his head and made the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two years since my last confession.”
The young priest’s words were automatic. “The Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, that thou mayest rightly confess thy sins. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
The man paused a moment, then started to speak, the words spilling out faster and faster. “I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin, to all the Saints, and to you, my spiritual Father, that I have sinned. I am the angel of the power of God, the angel of judgment, the angel of truth. I and I alone am responsible for creating the One who will save all of us. It is too late for me, but my legacy will be fulfilled. This will be hard for you to hear, Father. But it is time, and I must be absolved for my sins and the sins of my unborn son.”
Father Xavier sat upright in his seat. Oh Lord, this one was crazy. What a capper on the day. “Go on.”
“Father, I am a scholar—a student of life—a practiced apprentice of love and death, the twin sides of a coin where one cannot exist without the other. I seek to help my disciples into a perfect state of being. Ideal beauty and absolute goodness. I am truth. I am their deliverance. I am the sun, essential to the creation and sustaining life of their world. I am the archangel, forced into their corporeal bodies, fighting to pilot their souls to the radiance of me, where they and I, together as one, can achieve the ultimate bliss.”
“My son, I do not understand you. Perhaps you need to speak with...”
“No!” The voice roared from behind the screen. “I will speak to you, to our God. He knows what I say is true, and has told me I am the truth behind the light. That’s why I killed them. To save the One who is the light.”
“Killed them? Who have you killed?” Father Xavier felt a small bead of sweat roll down his temple and brushed it away in annoyance.
The voice was suddenly rational, coy. “We are under the seal of confession here, Father. I trust I needn’t remind you that you cannot go to the police and tell them what I have said here.”
Father Xavier leaned back against the wall of the confessional. He’d heard stories of murderers coming to confession, placing their confessors in such awkward positions that there was no clear way out but copious amounts of prayer. His designs on a quiet evening bled away.