"Bless me, Father... for I have sinned.."
"All have sinned," came a soft voice from behind the caged window. "Observe the sacrament of confession that you may be absolved of your transgressions."
I shook my head vigorously, "Are you nervous, father?"
"I have no reason to be, sir and neither do you. Whatever is said will remain between you and I and God the Father."
I clasped my hands together. "My sin is great. These hands..." I raised them to the window, bringing them within full view of the priest. "..they are stained with blood that is not my own."
The priest gulped; I heard the whistling of his lungs as he drew in a deep breath. He was definitely an older man... an old man who's heart must to be too weak to absorb the darkness of my own.
"Then whose blood is it?"
" I have killed a man, Father." I could hear Alice screaming in the back of my head, feel the weight of the wooden baseball bat that I had once gripped in both hands and hear the crunching of bone with each swing. I covered my face with my hands and tried to will the memories away.
"I killed a man a few hours ago, Father and his body is lying on my living room floor. There is no redemption for me."
A video tape, a ransom letter taped to two manicured, dismembered fingers and 72 hours. Damian Crusoe's clock is ticking. Will he find he find his wife? Will he lose her? Or are both scenarios impossible without the other...