THE CONFESSION

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… it’s… Father, I—”

“Easy now, son. Take a breath for a moment. How long has it been since your last confession?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“There are folks from Glen Lake to the Hudson that I only see once in a while. They will say, ‘Oh Father Sheehan, I know it’s been too long.’ But I still see them and that is okay. I don’t recall when you last sat with me and there is no shame in that, son – God is still happy you are here.”

“It’s been a few years, I guess. I’m not sure if I should be here but I can’t bear it any longer. I want to do the right thing.”

“Sin distances us from God. There is no better place than within the walls of this beautiful church to bridge that gap through the sacrament of reconciliation. You are doing the right thing.”

“Father, I’m not sure where to begin…”

 “Well, you sound like you have a whole heap of worry on your shoulders. Take another moment, get comfortable, and then start by telling me how things are in your life.”

“Okay but I’ll leave my coat on – it’s brick out there.”

“It certainly is. I think we will have fresh snow before mass. When you are ready, just start anywhere. How about work?”

“Hah, there it is in one. I didn’t even want to be a mortician. This is what happens, you’re born into the family business and it’s just expected… no choice.”

“You know I am familiar with your family’s business. A reliable funeral home with staff that cares – you serve the families of those that have made their journey, and you serve God.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t feel that things are working out the way I wanted at all.”

“What things?”

“Everything.”

“Did you know I wasn’t always a priest? I was going to be a physician but things don’t work out sometimes, son. It is how we are tested.”

“Really? When did—”

“Are you penitent about something specific at work?”

“I am but… I should just go or I won’t be able to look you in the eye when I sees you next. The Sheriff’s visit and—”

“The Sheriff? Hold up, son. Please, sit back down.”

“Father, I’m not sure.”

“You mentioned the Sheriff. That sounds serious. I think you should tell me.”

“I’ve done some terrible things, but I’m not sure my confession will change anything.”

“Yes, yes it will.”

“How do you know, Father, really?”

“Let me just say I have completed my penance. Your confessions can change more than how you are feeling – mine changed my life. Now I am a man of God”

“I feel ashamed. She had no family so I figured nobody would ever know. I just can’t understand how the Sheriff is onto it.”

“What have you done? Who are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Byrnes. She used to make those huge fish pies and bring them to the dish-to-pass dinners.”

“Yes, that’s right, Ivy Byrnes. I knew her well. She was a good friend of the church and her donations made a big difference.”

“Yeah and we did a lovely service for her if I remember correctly. Sheriff Greene is asking… the Sheriff asked if she was cremated or buried… and then she’s asking about Miss. Wilson… and I says…”

“Hold up. Take a deep breath. What did you do?”

“I… I didn’t know her too well but I figured like Mrs. Byrnes, nobody would ever know because she—”

“She lived on her own, yes, I remember Evelyn. What on earth have you done? She volunteered at the community theatre… a big benefactor of the church fundraiser too.”

“Yeah, that’s right. She had a quiet service, but we honored her memory all the same. I just want you to understand that the first time, I never planned it. Not really, it was just an opportunity… and the Sheriff, she wants to know about Miss. Wilson’s arrangements too.”

“You must listen to me. I will absolve you of your sins, but you must tell me what you have done.”

“I didn’t harm them, if that’s what you’re thinking, Father.”

“Goodness, no. I am sure of that.”

“Sorry, Father. I know this all sounds...”

“Is the Sheriff asking about anyone else?”

“Mrs. Sanchez.”

“Mariana. A wonderful lady and truly selfless, in life and beyond.”

“This is why I feel awful – they were all such generous people and you’ve shown them such kindness ever since you arrived. I remember you visited them when they got ill, right to the end. Helped sort out their affairs and even arranged for someone to look after Mrs. Sanchez’s cat.”

“It’s all God’s work. You played your part too and we did a nice service for her when the time came.”

“Yeah, the service… just the volunteer from the rescue place. She brought the cat. It was quite sad.”

“And the Sheriff?”

“She wanted to know about Mrs. Sanchez and her arrangements too.”

“What about her, exactly?”

“The Sheriff was asking about her legacy to the church. She asked about others too.”

“How many others, son?”

“I lost count. I says to the Sheriff that we handled all of those funerals and it’s like my chest is being crushed. I feel so bad.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“It’s Sheriff Greene, she wants to… she’s talking about digging up bodies.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, she phoned the County Coroner's Office. Asked about exhumations.”

“Which bodies, son?”

“All of the ones she asked me about.”

“Tell me what you have done!”

“Father, I… I’m so sorry.”

“Damn it, Bill!”

“Okay! I’m not proud… I overcharged for those arrangements, all those years, the services, the flowers, everything. Just the ones where they had no family.”

“And this is what you have been feeling guilty about? Overcharging the church for the funeral services?”

“Yeah, and when the Sheriff came I got scared. I’m so sorry.”

“So the idea was that nobody would realize you cut back on what was ordered?”

“Yeah. I was just trying to make some extra so that eventually I could get out of the business. Leave this place for good. It never seemed to be enough though.”

“The casket materials?”

“I bumped up the margin and used cheaper woods, handles, and lining. I felt awful but you were right, now I’ve told you, it’s a huge relief. It feels like someone cut the straps around my chest.”

“I chose you specially. Quiet services for friends of the church, people that didn’t have anyone to look out for them.”

“I’m so sorry, Father. I figured the church could afford it, with all the donations and gifts. I was desperate. It’s been eating away at me for years.”

“You could have told me.”

“I know. Should I pray the Act of Contrition?”

“What? Wait… I am thinking.”

“Father?”

“What else have you told the Sheriff?”

“I’ve not said anything. Do you think the Sheriff worked out that I've been making a few extra bucks?”

“That’s not what she’s after.”

“I don’t understand. What is she after?”

“When did the Sheriff visit you?”

“A few days ago. Why is she asking about all those arrangements?”

“Think, son. Exactly, when was this visit?”

“Last week.”

“You have no idea what you have done.”

“I don’t want to get into trouble. Do you think the church will be able to put a good word in with the Sheriff?”

“I’m sorry, son. I have to go.”

“You have to go?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Did you hear that? Father, what’s that noise?”

“Michael Peterson! This is the FBI. We know you are in there, now exit the booth slowly, with your hands raised. There is no way out this time, Peterson.”

“Father, who… What’s going on?”

“Easy there, son. Don’t open that door, just stay where you are.”

“But who is Michael Peterson?”

“Listen, all is forgiven, okay? And don’t worry, you are protected by the seal of confessional after all.”

“Michael Peterson – you are under arrest for the murder of Father Joseph Sheehan, identity theft, and the murder and defrauding of 23 parishioners. Don’t make us drag you out of there to read you your rights.”

“Like I said, son. Sometimes things just don’t work out.”