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He laughs out loud as if this is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “Never. You’re the only one I want, the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
And then he’s gone.
Twenty-Six
Aidan
I hate that I scare Maddie. I thought that even though it’s still early in our arrangement that I was starting to build trust with her. But me being gone so long and then coming back so erratic seems to have reset the clock on trust-building and intimacy.
I wave off Vinny’s offer to drive me and get in a black SUV. I neither need nor want anybody with me right now. Once I get in and close the door, I slam my hands on the steering wheel.
“Fuck!”
Why does everything feel like it’s falling apart? It’s all slowly unraveling along with my sanity. I tried to do the ritual like I wasn’t fucking it all up. I lied to myself the whole way home tonight that I would complete the ritual and everything would be fine. It would go back to normal. The order of it all would return and… I. Would. Be. Fine.
But I am not fine.
It was always… one kill, one disposal, the secret underground level, the incinerator, the shower, a red X through the photo, a line through the name, put away the weapons, fresh clothes, confession. In that order. Always.
But days passed. It was one kill and disposal, two, three… By the time we got to the fourth one Brian could tell something was very wrong with me. But I shrugged it off and said I was worried about leaving Maddie for so long and what she could be getting up to in my absence. Brian seemed to accept my explanation, but I’m not sure he really did.
So when I finally did get home, I didn’t know how to salvage the ritual. It felt broken, cobbled together, wrong somehow.
Everything inside me felt like it was vibrating and buzzing. This was worse than Van Alen’s brains on the wall. I did my best, but everything felt like “not enough” somehow, and the catharsis I usually feel when marking out a name on my list was dampened even though I got to mark off four names this time.
It should feel good, satisfying, but it’s just… wrong.
If only I could have kept my ritual exactly the same… I know it would have felt different, better… somehow. Complete. Satisfying. Practically orgasmic. I just want to get back to the afterglow of the kill. The peace. The sense that everything is going to be okay. Why didn’t I just go to confession while we were out there? But I know why. Brian would have known.
I should have gone straight to confession as soon as I got back to reset everything, but I really needed to see Maddie, and now I just hope I can somehow get everything back on track.
I drive into the city, several miles past Our Lady of Hope. I’ve already decided with Father Rossi gone I can no longer make my confessions there. Instead I go to The Sacred Heart of Divine Mercy. It’s a bit less traditional—at least the architecture is—but still serves a primarily Italian community so at least it feels like home in that way. I could never go to a church that looks more like a modern art museum than a cathedral for Mass.
I need to attend a place that looks otherworldly… a place big enough to contain all that I am. I just don’t think Sacred Heart has enough mystery for me, but hopefully it will do for confession.
Fingers crossed.
I’m reassured that the inside looks far more traditional, with stained glass and old carved dark wood pews. The scent of faded incense fills the room as though it cloaks the place in magic, making it both in this world but not in it at the same time. There are several tealight candles lit in red votives at the front where people have lit candles to represent petitions or just for family members or general devotion. No one but the petitioner and God knows what the candle is for.
There are statues of saints and the Mother Mary around the altar, and a giant crucifix behind everything in a place of central focus. I genuflect and make the sign of the cross then go into the confessional booth.
The priest hearing confessions tonight is Father Moretti. He’s in his late sixties and clearly of Italian ancestry. This should do.
“Forgive me father for I have sinned. It’s been about a week since my last confession.”
“You may begin when you’re ready.”
And suddenly words fail me. I’m so used to doing this with Father Rossi, That’s one of the problems with killing my confessor. I was comfortable with Rossi and his understanding about the life I live. Despite how much I hated him for what he did to my mother and the fact that I was thinking about the day I would murder him from the moment I knew he’d been a part of it, at least he understood my devotion is no less just because I’m killing people. I do take other sins seriously. Like, I would never harm Maddie. I would never be unfaithful. But the killing is different. Part of it is just business and part of it is for my mother, but the Church doesn’t see it that way. And I can’t be an active practicing Catholic without confession for these deeds.
“I did… a less than ideal thing… a bad thing. Several of them in fact,” I say. I can practically hear the priest’s eyebrows raise.
“Could you perhaps be a bit more specific?”
“I’d really rather not.” Brian thinks it’s insane to incriminate myself to a priest. He doesn’t understand the seal of confession or trust it.
As if to echo my thoughts, the priest says, “The seal of confession is higher than any law, no matter what the sin is. I am bound by my oath to the Church not to reveal anything said in the confessional booth. Even the most heinous of crimes.”
I clear my throat. “It was a violent thing.”