Page 18 of Priestly Sins

“For what? My family? To put food on the table and keep a roof over our heads? What else is worth sacrificing for?”

“But, Henry—”

He cuts me off again, the words tumbling out of him. “Don’t, man. Need you to understand. He’s beating me from beyond the grave, and I’m still getting fucked.”

The door slams open and smacks shut and I fall into self-loathing. Hank Tremaine was a fuckwad and didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as his son. I’m glad he’s dead, but now I’ve got to figure out how to save Henry from the fallout I caused.

All I’ve done is created a mess and made myself into a son Patrick would be proud of, all in one fell swoop.

I’ve spent years plotting to get out of my father’s empire, avoid his sins. Finding a way to not just not be like him, but dismantle him and smile doing it. And all I’ve done is become a version he might’ve celebrated—ending people, ruining the survivors, destroying families.

Self-loathing doesn’t begin to come close. How have I let this happen? I feel the revulsion swirling like vomit in my gut and…

“Forgive me, Father.”

That voice is music to my ears. Sirona! And then the sobs begin.

“Shhh, Sirona. Tell me what’s going on?”

“I-I didn’t know. I couldn’t stop it.”

“Didn’t know what, sweetheart? Can I help you?”

“Can’t fix it. I’m stuck.”

“What can’t you fix?”

“I can’t tell you.” Her soft cries rip at my heart.

“Talk to me, please. Let me help.”

“I w-won’t bring you into my this. Can’t bring you into my mess. You wouldn’t understand. ”

“There’s got to be something I can do, some way I can help.”

“Sorry. I’m just sorry.”

The slap of the door reminds me where I am. And for the second time today, I’ve been left unable to help. Unable to absolve. Just sitting on my hands when two people need help and I’m powerless to do anything. Impotent.

“Forgive me, Father.”

I’m rarely caught off guard but this confession does. For one, I didn’t know anyone was in here with me. For two, I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here. For three, this is a priest in the diocese at a small church to the west.

“Yes?”

“Sean, I need help. I need forgiveness. God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I need to unburden my soul.” His rich baritone voice starts and I can almost hear the homilies in his voice. But when his words continue, the timbre of his voice is the last thing on my mind. “I … I’m one of them… one they’re investigating… one that did it. I did it. God, I hate myself and I hate that I would do such a thing. I… I… They never tell you about how lonely this life is. They don’t explain how loud your brain is when your house is that quiet. They don’t tell you that forever is so damn long when you’re by yourself. Or that it starts to seem normal. Your hand, then the pictures and videos, and then… them. I—”

This time it’s me who cuts him off. “Terry, tell me you didn’t.” My stomach roils and anger crawls up my throat until I’m choking on it.

“Oh, Sean, I didn’t mean to and I hate myself for it. And I don’t know what to do or how to stop.”

“How to stop?” I pause only so I don’t scream inside these walls. “You mean you’re still doing it? I thought you were here because you were repenting and wanted forgiveness? Wanted to be free?”

“Oh, God, how I want to be free.”

That’s the last thing I hear. I’m sure we continue our back-and-forth but I’m on autopilot. By the time the door closes, I’m out of the booth, not seeing if anybody else was even in line.

I skip going back to the office. Henry and Sirona were enough—too much actually. Now Terry. Fucking Terry!