Eleventh Hour

He’d recognize that voice anywhere, had heard it in his dreams. He didn’t know if he could bear it. He said finally, his voice thin as the thread hanging off his shirt cuff, “What have you done?” He prayed to God that he wouldn’t hear words that meant another human being was dead.

The man actually laughed, and Father Michael Joseph heard madness in that laugh. “Hello to you, too, Father. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. You’re right, I killed the pathetic little prick; this time I used a garrote. Do you know what a garrote is, Father?”

“Yes, I know.”

“He tried to get his hands beneath it, you know, to try to loosen it, to relieve the pressure, but it was nice strong wire. You can’t do anything against wire. But I eased up just a bit, to give him some hope.”

“I hear no contrition in your voice, no remorse, only satisfaction that you committed this evil. You have done this because it pleased you to do it—”

The man said in a rich, deep, sober voice, “But you haven’t heard the rest of my tale, Father.”

“I don’t want to hear anything more out of your mouth.”

The man laughed, a deep, belly-rolling laugh. Father Michael Joseph didn’t say a word. It was cold and stuffy in the confessional, hard to breathe, but his frock stuck to his skin. He smelled himself in that sweat, smelled his dread, his fear, his distaste for this monster. Dear Lord, let this foul creature leave now, leave and never come back.

“Just when he thought he had pulled it loose enough so he could breathe, I jerked it tight, really fast, you know, and it sliced right through his fingers all the way to the bone. He died with his damned fingers against his own neck. Grant me absolution, Father. Did you read the papers, Father? Do you know the man’s name?”

Father Michael Joseph knew, of course he knew. He’d watched the coverage on television, read it in the Chronicle. “You murdered Thomas Gavin, an AIDS activist who’s done nothing but good in this city.”

“Did you ever sleep with him, Father?”

He wasn’t shocked, hadn’t been shocked by anything for the past twelve years, but he was surprised. The man had never taken this tack before. He said nothing, just waited.

“No denial? Stay silent, if you wish. I know you didn’t sleep with him. You’re not gay. But the fact is, he had to die. It was his time.”

“There is no absolution for you, not without true repentance.”

“Why am I not surprised you feel that way? Thomas Gavin was just another pathetic man who needed to leave this world. Do you want to know something, Father? He wasn’t really real.”

“What do you mean he wasn’t really real?”

“Just what I said. He didn’t really ever exist, you know? He wasn’t ever really here—he just existed in his own little world. I helped him out of his lousy world. Do you know he contracted AIDS just last year? He just found out about it. He was going nuts. But I saved him, I helped him out of everything, that’s all. It was a rather noble thing for me to do. It was sort of an assisted suicide.”

“It was vicious, cold-blooded murder. It was real, and now a man of flesh and blood is dead. Because of you. Don’t try to excuse what you did.”

“Ah, but I was giving you a metaphor, Father, not an excuse. Your tone is harsh. Aren’t you going to give me my penance? Maybe have me say a million Hail Marys? Perhaps have me score my own back with a whip? Don’t you want me to plead with you to intercede with God on my behalf, beg for my forgiveness?”

“A million Hail Marys wouldn’t get you anywhere.” Father Michael leaned closer, nearly touched that evil, smelled the hot breath of that man. “Listen to me now. This is not a sacramental confession. You believe that I am bound by silence, that anything anyone tells me can go no farther than the confessional. That is not true. You have not made a sacramental confession; you are not contrite, you seek no spiritual absolution, and I am not bound to silence. I will discuss this with my bishop. However, even if he disagrees with me, I am prepared to leave the priesthood if I have to. Then I will tell the world what you have done. I won’t allow this to continue.”

“You would really turn me over to the cops? That is very impassioned of you, Father. I see that you are seriously pissed. I didn’t know there was a loophole in your vow of silence. I had wanted you to be forced to beg and plead and threaten, but realize you’re helpless and let it eat you alive. But how can anyone predict someone’s behavior, after all?”

“They’ll throw you in an institution for the rest of your miserable life.”