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As I hit send, a playful laugh echoes around the empty chamber.
My brow puckers at the sound, and I twist on the pew, on the hunt for the source.
You’re not supposed togigglein church.
I guess it isn’t a law or anything, but it’s definitely not respectful.
Just like not perving on a priest is an unspoken rule too.
The giggle is followed by a moan, and now I wonder if someone’s in pain. When I look around the dimly lit chapel, I see nothing. No one.
A squeaking sound comes next. It’s followed up with a low grunt.
Then the confessional booth starts rocking.
This has to be a joke…
Only, it carries on, and my irritation swiftly morphs into anger.
I might have a slow-burn temper, but the fuse has been lit by the strangers’ lack of decency. Does no one have any respect nowadays?!
The urge to act is overwhelming.
Coughing and demanding they stop isn’t enough. I can’t just let them giggle and get excited over being caught.
They need to be punished.
I narrow my eyes at the confessional booth, which is still moving around like there’s a highly localized earthquake affecting it.
The solution hits me like God himself whispered it into my ear…
A short, sharp shock is what they need.
So, I grab my bag, hitch it on my shoulder, and prepare to leave, my intent to find the security guard who mans the doors and get him to do something.
Only, when I leave my pew, I see it.
It might as well scream at me, “Pull here.”
It’s stupid. I know it is. And, shit, I might get into massive trouble considering it’s 100% illegal, but my slow-to-rattle temper always did make me an idiot.
With a self-righteous sniff, I trigger the fire alarm, and when it blares out a warning and the sprinkler system pops on a few seconds later, my heart leaps into my throat as I think about how crazy I?—
Then, Giggler screams.
And not in an ‘I hit the big O’ kind of way.
I stop wondering if I’m crazy.
I just smile.
CHAPTER 2
From the desk of Andrea Jura
COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA
Dear Father Savio,