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I’ll heal you.
But first, I have to heal myself.
It’s been a decade since first we met… and you’ve been quite rude, ignoring me for so long. I’m not the type of person you can ignore, Father. You’ll learn that soon enough.
I hope you’re as excited as I am to meet.
Your Watcher,
Andrea Jura
CHAPTER 9
The church of St. Peter’s confessional
GENEVA, SWITZERLAND
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last confession.
I expect no absolution, Father. As always, I bear my sins like the albatross around my neck that they are.
The archdiocese doesn’t know what to do with me so they’re sending me to Rome.
I’m not upset at the prospect. It’s picturesque here, but it just makes me more aware of how wrong I am. Frau Sutter, one of the ladies who cleans the church, complained about blood on the confessional wall. The whip helps some days.
The Church can’t condone my actions, but they also can’t chide me for them either, not when I reasoned that it’s tied to my devotion to You. To my service of You.
Hence the move.
It’s not, of course. It’s about survival.
Yet another ‘suicide’ mars my work for You, and the Church believes being closer to the Vatican will help me. I’m not sure how, but neither am I going to argue.
Italy—a fresh start?
Do I deserve one?
As always, there is no atonement to be found here. Not when it makes my heart feel lighter, my soul less of a burden to bear. A child might be motherless tonight, but he is in a foster home with food in his belly and the bruises on his back healing. No more ‘uncles’ hurting him to supplement that hideous mother’s income. No, he is free from her now.
The memories, of course, he won’t be free of.
I know that better than anyone.
That’s why I do it. I just hope he doesn’t choose the path I took. The whipping doesn’t whitewash the past, but it stops me from committing the worst sin of all. Though, maybe ending this miserable existence isn’t that, not when I know I’ll end up in hell no matter how this life of mine concludes.
The worst part is the whip is less painful than the night terrors and the flashbacks. The doctors call it PTSD, but for me, it’s just a living nightmare.
My path might be unorthodox, but knowing I make a difference keeps me going.
The irony is, of course, that Farid and his men also worked under the guise that their actions honored You. They broke me and, in turn, made me as evil as them.
No, there’s no absolution for me, Father, but maybe Rome will be different. Maybe… No. I’m ridiculous to hope that there can be any peace for a monster like me.
May Your mercy endure forever, even if this is the nearest I will ever be to Your grace.
Amen.”
CHAPTER 10