The Confession Booth

“Forgive me, for I have sinned.”

Father O’Brien sat in the dim light of the confessional booth, surrounded by the familiar scent of polished wood and incense. Outside, slightly muted sounds of movement echoed through the chapel. The creak of the pews as lone visitors shifted position. The occasional pop from the wick of a burning prayer candle. A familiar backdrop to the quiet moments he cherished.

“I’m here to confess to killing a woman,” said the voice from the neighbouring booth.

Father O’Brien’s heart seized in his chest. He had heard confessions of sin before, but this—this was different. He ran a finger along in the inside of his dog collar, vaguely hoping to relieve the feeling of breathlessness. The feeling didn’t pass, so he did the only thing he could think to do and removed his dog collar entirely.

“Her name was Siobhán,” the voice said, weakly. “I… I loved her. I suppose you would describe what we had as a fling, maybe. I’ve never loved anyone more than I loved Siobhán. If ever there was anyone I would describe as “the one”, it would have been her.”

Father O’Brien recognised the accent of the voice from the next booth. The Cork accent was hard to miss, when you were familiar with it, and he had every reason to be familiar with it, having been raised in Cork himself. County Cork had been where he had taken on his first parish. He had known Siobhán. Her disappearance had sent shock through the small-town community. Rumours had spread that she had run off with a secret lover, but according to the voice from the next booth, this had not been the case.

“She was one of the most beautiful souls I have ever met.” The voice said, “Everything started off innocently enough. We made a good team, she and I. I remember the exact moment I fell in love with her, even before we became involved. She was out walking with her dog. A little one, it was. I never learned exactly what it was; a happy little thing. I was already in the church when she came in. Soaking wet, she was. Her little dog shivering with cold. She took her coat off, dried the dog with it and I was in love.”

Father O’Brien sat and listened, barely able to hear the unfolding story above the thump, thump, thump of his heart. Although confession was supposed to be anonymous, it was possible, after years of knowing the people in your congregation, to discern the identity of a speaker without them knowing. Even if they weren’t regular attendees, you could work out who they were based on turns of phrase, nicknames, commonalities which linked them to other people. By a process of elimination, no identity was secret for long. But he had no idea who could be in the booth next to him.

“I didn’t mean to kill her,” The voice said. “I suppose everyone says that, but I really didn’t. By the time… it happened we had been seeing each other in secret for around a year. At first, we hadn’t dared share more than a smile here, a chance for conservation there. Her mother had ideas about men. As time passed, we needed to touch each other. Before we knew it, we had become even more… entangled, as it were.”

The bench seat in the adjacent booth creaked and a shoe scraped the wood panelling, near the base of the booth. Even added together, the details were not enough to tell Father O’Brien any more about the person who sat within. Then, a small crackle and a flare of light, clearly visible through the mesh separating the two chambers, followed by the smell of a cheap cigarette. Smoking in the booth, in the church itself for that matter, was strictly forbidden, but Father O’Brien chose to stay silent, hoping for more time to discern the identity of the unseen presence.

“We were so happy when she fell pregnant,” the voice said, “It was everything we had ever dreamed of. We hadn’t thought we would be able to have a child, but we spoke of our dream of having one together often. We even had names picked out. Lily for a girl, and Michael for a boy. We never thought it would happen, though. Until it did. We knew her mother wouldn’t approve, so we planned to leave. We were going to sail to Liverpool and start a new life. I have relatives in England. We would contact her brother when we arrived, to let him know she was safe but not to come and find us. That was the plan.”

A fresh plume of cigarette smoke forced its way through the confession booth mesh. Father O’Brien coughed and heard a satisfied grunt from his unseen companion. He’s enjoying this, Father O’Brien thought to himself.

“We planned to leave at the start of summer.” The voice said, “We thought the crossing might be calmer by then. We didn’t want to risk any delays or give any opportunities for people to catch up with us. Siobhán was pregnant by then. You know how it is. Our faith doesn’t allow for many mistakes before providing a consequence, and the baby was one.”

Another creak from the next booth, followed by the unmistakable scrape and clatter of wood on wood. A walking stick. Father O’Brien made another mental note and braced himself for the voice to continue.

“We had tickets on the early morning boat.” The voice continued, “We thought that would give us as much time as possible to get away without anyone having a chance to follow us. Siobhán left her mother’s house just after midnight and left her note explaining she had left for England and wouldn’t be returning. She arrived at my house just before 1am.”

Father O’Brien remembered the note. It had been the main reason the Guard hadn’t pursued Siobhán’s disappearance. Her reasons for leaving were written in her own handwriting. As far as they were concerned, it had been an open and shut case. They had half-heartedly asked a few questions around the town, but more interesting crimes soon diverted their attention away.

“I changed my mind.” The voice said. “Like a coward. Right at the final hour. I got it into my head that people would put two and two together. My own letter told everyone I had been reassigned to work in another part of the country. I didn’t think people would be that stupid, though. Two people leaving a small town at the same time? It wouldn’t have taken a genius to work out, would it?”

In the silence, Father O’Brien could hear the man’s breathing. It was heavy, almost rasping. Certainly, an old man. Someone who had seen better days, and who had done nothing to lessen the blow of days to come. A smoker, but what else? A drinker? Never too much of a stretch, when you reached a certain age.

“I said she should go without me,” the voice said “but she refused. I sometimes forget how much younger than me she was. Thinking back on it, she was probably right. We should have just gone.”

The unseen man took another drag on his cigarette, held it for a moment, and exhaled. Once again, thin tendrils of smoke pushed their way through the dividing mesh and began their creeping invasion of Father O’Brien’s booth.

“I can’t even remember how the argument started.” The voice said, “All I really remember is her trying to slap me. God knows I deserved it. I went to push her away. I pushed her too hard. She fell backwards and hit her head. I begged her to forgive me, but she was already gone.”

The voice started to sob, and Father O’Brien felt a surge of sorrow and pity for the man.

“I didn’t know what to do.” The voice continued, between sobs, “I couldn’t get help. She was gone. Even then I was a coward. The woman I loved was dead, and I thought only of myself. I wish I could say it took hours for me to decide what to do, but it didn’t. Minutes at the most. Christ, she was still warm.”

Father O’Brien suspected he didn’t have long left to discover the unseen man’s identity. He dared not speak, afraid that he may spook the man, and he might choose to leave before his confession was finished.

“There was a bog just outside the town,” the voice said, “I suppose there still is. I didn’t care to stay in the area for much longer. I was transferred to a different part of the country shortly after. I requested it. She’s probably still there. Her and the baby.”

The thought of poor, sweet Siobhán, resting in an unmarked grave, one that hadn’t been consecrated at that, brought a fresh wave of sorrow to Father O’Brien. He promised himself he would pray for Siobhán, in the hope that God may somehow find her and bring her home.

“I didn’t mean to do it.” The voice said, “but I did. There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t curse the day we met. Not for my sake, but for hers. No matter which way you look at it, I stole a long and happy life from her. Whether she’d been with me, or if we’d never met. She never got to have a good life.”

As the confession ended, the unseen man finally spoke.

“May God have mercy on your soul,” he said, quietly. “Because you’ll get none from me.”

The man pulled back the curtain of his booth and left. Father O’Brien sat perfectly still. He didn’t leave his booth to see who it had been. He understood very well what the man had meant to tell him.

“I only hope that one day, God may have mercy on my soul. That He can find it within his heart to forgive me for what I have done.” Father O’Brien’s own voice said from the empty booth.

With that, the tape ran out of reel and the recording was automatically cut off. Someone knew.