The Trust

Chapter 43: Jake

16 Hours Earlier...

Everyone thinks hearing Confessions is salacious, or depressing or even interesting. It is none of those things.

When folks see the collar, it's the question I get the most. "How can you stand hearing about people's sins all day? You must get so depressed!" Or, "You know everything that's going on in town — all of people's terrible secrets," some say, excitement in their eyes.

Actually, I can't remember what I eat for breakfast, let alone the mischief people get up to. I usually forget people's sins five minutes after they leave the confessional.

And it's not depressing at all. I get to watch people come back to the Lord; help reunite them with God and their families and friends. I see true penitence and the weight of sin lifted from their shoulders. It's God's mercy in action and it's a beautiful thing. I used to think so. 

Until Darcey's Uncle Rob started coming to see me.

Nothing ever surprises me in confession, I've truly heard it all. But that first visit shocked the hell out of me. Back when he pulled the disappearing act; he was supposed to be in New York getting a heart transplant or some such bullshit and the town was running around like chickens with their heads cut off, in he strolls to my Confession booth, Mr. Big Time himself.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been many years since my last confession." He hastily crossed himself and I recognized his voice instantly. I'm close enough to the family to know that gravelly voice, ravaged by time, cigarettes and whisky.

That first day he spoke in banal generalities about the nature of sin and forgiveness, testing my patience. I was in no mood to engage in a battle of wits a narcissist who destroyed his family and many in the town. "Do you have sins to confess?" I asked finally. But he was gone.

Everyone losing their minds trying to find him and I was the only one who knew. He was right here, under everyone's nose.

After that day, he started coming back regularly. It was the same bullshit for awhile, causing me to confess my own sins to the Father after he left — mostly, the sin of wanting to drag him out of the confession box, beat him senseless and deliver him to the RCMP. It was clear, he wasn't in search of penance, forgiveness or reconciliation with God. He was there to taunt and torment. 

Then, things changed.

One day, he actually confessed his sins. Banal ones at first; cheated on his wife, cheated on his taxes. Nothing major. But it sparked a foolish hope in me that the man actually was contrite and sought reconciliation with God. 

"Is that all," I asked. He said it was, which infuriated me. I assigned him penance, he prayed an Act of Contrition and was gone. He came back with more of the same bullshit and it had been going on for weeks. My temper was at a slow simmer, ready to boil over. I was sick of playing his games.

Then one day, he came in and confessed it all. The whole thing, including the fact that he murdered dear Jack, knowing full well I am bound to absolute secrecy by the seal of the confessional. We're not like health care professionals, even if someone is a danger to themselves or others, I cannot break the seal even to save my own life or the life of others. 

At first, he recounted every grim detail with glee. Like any narcissist, he just wanted someone to bear witness to his brilliance, his ability to get away with fraud, theft and literal murder, like it made him special or something. My heart ached for the senselessness of it all; Jack was a good man, a second father to Darcey and her sister. I've heard some evil things in my time, but hearing this man talk about killing his own brother with all the emotion of recounting what he'd had for lunch sickened me.