Your conscience represents to you the divine office which you neglected, by which you fell into the guilt of mortal sin, and how even when you recited it with your mouth your heart was far from Me.

Source: The Dialogue of St. Catherine of Sienna

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Previously: In the middle of an informal interview with Father Brian, Sheriff Derek Oleson is called back to Headquarters. The priest does not realize that a man is in custody who claims to be Debra Padget's murderer.

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St. Matilde's rectory

Sheriff Oleson's abrupt termination of their meeting left Father Brian with unanswered questions and troubling facts to consider. The priest learned Debra Padget's murderer left behind a valuable coin collection but stripped her walls of inexpensive religious items and an antique gold cross.

The gold cross means quick cash, but what kind of sick need does he have for the rest of it?

Unbidden memories surfaced of a confession he heard in the early years of his priesthood. The penitent claimed to be a Satanist with terminal cancer who hoped to avoid God's wrath. The man's voice was filled with pleasure as he related his deeds, giving rise to doubts about his sincerity. Even as Father Brian spoke the words of absolution, repugnant images insinuated themselves into the priest's subconscious like freeloading relatives.

They returned now with a strange potency, attested to by the slight tremor of his limbs. He stacked the lunch dishes in the sink, poured the last few inches of coffee from the carafe into a mug and placed several cookies on a plate. He'd only gone a few steps before he felt as if he'd walked into the middle of a dense spider web. A quick sweep of his face did not reveal anything visible. Yet, the feeling persisted.

Imagination's in overdrive.

He continued down the hallway to his den with Alyx trailing behind. Father Brian sat down on the couch, patted the cushion, and the dog leaped beside him. Alyx circled and had just found a comfortable spot when a loud pop from the fireplace followed by the thud of collapsed logs startled both of them.

"I'm as jumpy as a cricket, Alyx. You feelin' it, too?" The dog's ears snapped to perfect peaks in response to his master's voice. Father Brian rose to add logs to the fire. With one hand on the mantle and the other in his pocket, he stared into the flames and returned to his thoughts on the case.

Debra Padget was targeted because she was Catholic. He'd known it the minute he saw the communion wafer taped across her mouth. And based on the Sheriff's pointed questions, it was the number one hypothesis on which the investigator was building his case.

It's reasonable to assume I'm a suspect. Sheriff Oleson is an astute detective, and I'm the only one who's heard from the killer. I'll have to admit the man hinted Debra was murdered because of  her association with me. But I don't understand how that could be? Our relationship was in no way inappropriate! 

Father Brian felt a sharp pain at the base of his neck followed by waves of anger that rolled up into his chest. It took all his strength not to obey the urge to grab a figurine of the Virgin Mary from the mantle and hurl it into the flames.

Stop it, Brian. Go to your desk now and finish your paperwork.

Alyx watched his master cross the room and sit down at his desk. The dog jumped from the couch, and moved to his own little bed beneath a nearby window. Soothed by the ticking of the clock and soft rustling of pages, he slept.  

Father Brian opened a desk drawer and took out a monogrammed leather case. He removed his reading glasses, and carefully rubbed each lens with a soft cloth. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the small print of the Financial Commitee's monthly report. A sticky note was attached to the second page of the report urging a meeting between the committee and Father Brian in the near future. It was signed by Dan Sherman, accountant and financial advisor for St. Matilde's.

Naturally, more bad news.

For the tenth consecutive month, Sunday collections had failed to meet the cost of keeping St. Matilde's operating. Father Brian reconfigured the pages of the financial report he'd been reviewing into a neat stack. Slouched in his chair, he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and released a drawn-out breath.

Why not paint a big L for loser on my forehead?

Responsibility for St. Matilde's financial crisis rested squarely on his shoulders. He believed it was the inevitable fall-out of his loss of inspiration and, to a degree, young families being lured to independent churches run by charismatic preachers armed with business savvy.

Brian pampered himself with a rare moment of self-pity. Normally he avoided the spring of secrets that formed the nucleus of his internal life. Although he'd experienced moments of other worldly bliss from fasting and extended prayer, the come-down to a leaden, gray world was the sheer hell of a 'dry' junkie. He preferred the indifference of purgatory.

Brian crossed his arms and grabbed the backside of his shoulders. He dug his fingers deep into the muscles and let out a soft, 'hunhh' as the tension released. A terrible thought intruded to ruin the moment.

Will Debra's murder scare away some of the older parishioners? We can't afford to lose any of them! They're the only ones that give regularly.

Frustrated, the priest stood up with such force, his chair slammed into the wall. Alyx, Father Brian's Sheltie, whined and cowered on his mat. Seeing the sensitive dog's anxiety shamed the priest. Dropping to one knee, he softly whistled for Alyx to come closer.

The dog looked above and around his master's head, and refused to move from his spot. Father Brian previously observed Alyx scrutinize parishioners who came for counselling in this manner. Inevitably, the dog would avoid an angry person or rest his paws on the feet of the sad and lonely.

It hurt Brian that Alyx wanted nothing to do with him after his angry outburst. He was anxious to make amends, so he urged softly, "I'm sorry I scared you, buddy. How about I make it up to you with a walk in the park?"

Alyx loved going to the park where he attempted to herd the geese as was the nature of his breed. The dog bounded across the floor and licked his master's hand. Brian laid his palm flat. "Friends again?" Alyx delicately placed his paw into the warm palm and barked once.

The Sheltie ran through the doorway, and Brian could hear his toenails clicking as he crossed the kitchen tile. The saying 'I want to be the kind of person my dog thinks I am' was never more true than at that moment.

He remembered he needed to secure the fireplace doors. Turning, he was shocked to see a thick, humanoid shape inches from his face. Despite his housekeeper's insistence the rectory was haunted, until this moment Father Brian had no personal belief in ghosts.

God help me!

Brian crossed himself and firmly proclaimed, "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, be gone. You have no power to harm one who has been saved by the blood of Jesus the Christ."

The physical effect of the creature's telepathic response was like the terror of a fly trapped between two clanging church bells: Lost agna, vos es iam mei (Lost lamb, you are already mine).


~~ chapter continues with Part 2 ~~