Chapter 51
The door creaked as the priest slowly walked into the confessional. “Bless you my child; are you here for a confession?”
“Yes, father,”I uttered.
The father bowed his head and prayed. “In the name of the Father, and of the son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
"Forgive me for I have sinned. My last confession was forty years ago,” I confessed.
“What mortal sins have you committed my son?”
“I have killed several of my old friends and covalent all their possessions.”
“How many times have you committed these sins, my son?”
“It wasn’t murder, father, it was revenge.” “My dear child, murder is always a sin.” “The men I killed were deceitful killers and thieves.”
“My son, you are still committing a sin. Killing a man for his transgressions is a sin. Only God can judge these men for their sins.”
“I punished them here on earth first; then God will punish them in hell for their sins.”
“My poor son; how could you, only God can decide who is to live and who is to die.”
I sit back in my chair and contemplate the words that the priest conveyed.
“You’re also guilty for the sin of pride,” the priest bestowed.
I lean my face toward the screen that separates me from the priest. “Pride, the sin of vanity and arrogance was their sin.”
“In order for you to receive repentance for your sins, my son, you must be truly penitent of your sins and resolve not to commit them again. You must be truly sorry for your sins. I don’t believe you’re sorry for your sins, my son.”
I hesitantly bow my head. “I can’t be penitent father. I am not sorry for committing my sins, those men deserved to die.”
“I am sorry my son; I can’t resolve you of your sin. You don’t sound interested in getting penance for your grave sin. Please leave the confession.”
Just as the priest started to close the screen I scream, “I am not sorry for my sins father, but I’m afraid that I might be committing another sin right now.”
I jump into my wheelchair and throw open the confessional doors. Rage suddenly erupted in my soul I drag the priest out of the confessional and thrust him into the church’s pews.
Despair and sorrow engulf the priest as he looked into my dark gloomy eyes. A horrified looked loomed in the priest’s eyes he gazed into my eyes.
“My god!” The priest groaned as he cast his eyes on my tortured, ratchet and deformed body. I can see the reflection of my hideous face in the priest’s terrified eyes as he stared at me in repugnance.
Before the war I was a youthful, impressionable and honest young man with a young beautiful wife and pretty daughter. Now I am scared, hideous and repulsive. My once charming smile that use to light up a room, has been replaced with a disfigured snarl. The only thing that they didn’t take away from me was my deep brown eyes.
“How dare you come in here and disturb the house of god,” The priest threatened.
I slowly relinquish my grip on the priest’s robe while I contemplate how I am going to deprive Father Gregory Mansion of his life. I gaze upon my old friend for the first time in more than forty years. The middle aged priest still retained his good looks, deep green eyes and short blond hair. The only things that have changed was the priest’s long sideburns, pencil thin mustache and his larger potbelly.
“Why have you come back here my son?” The priest pleaded. “Haven’t you seen enough death in your life already?”
“Yes, I have seen my share of blood, my hands are covered in it,” I sobbed as I open my palm of my hand toward the priest.
“I didn’t teach you to kill; I tried to heal you of your animosity and to teach you to love,” The priest lamented.
I violently thrash my fist on the arms of my wheelchair and scream, “love! There is no love in my soul anymore, just betrayal, insanity, hate, revenge and death.”
The priest bows his head as he slowly wept. “You need to learn how to forgive those who have trespassed against you.”
I slowly maneuver my wheelchair closer to the priest. I reach out my sympathetic hand and slowly lift his head. “I am trying my father, but I am weak.”
“You’re not weak my child, it’s all right here,” the priest gasped as he pointed towards my heart.
I chuckle and proclaim, “Love may be in your heart father, but there is no love in my heart.”
The priest reclaimed his strength from the Holy Spirit and stood up from the floor of the church and said, “Stay with me my friend, let me mend your broken heart.”
“No,” I scowled. “ I still have revenge to spread.”
The priest stretched out his left hand, touched my face and brushed away a tear. “I beg you my son, please no more sin.”
I look up at the priest and remember the man who helped me in my bleakest hour and said, “I am sorry father, but God has placed me on this course to bring revenge upon the men that betrayed me.” I pull away from the father’s loving hands and look into his weary blue eyes and pleaded, “Father what sin have you committed?”
“What sins I have committed?” The priest inquisitively replied.
“There is blood on your hands father; you have committed sin.”
A guilty expression spread over the priest’s face.
“I know you have sinned, father, now it's time for your confession.” I grab the priest and throw him into a nearby booth. I pull out my gun and aim it at the father’s head and screamed, “It's time for you to confess your sins father.”
A horrifying look lurked in the priest's eyes as I slowly pulled back the hammer of my gun and pointed it at his head.
The priest bowed his head and slowly cried, “Forgive me god for my sin.”
“I want you to confess your sins to me. Where is the treasure? I know you helped them smuggle it out of the country? What was the price for your sin? How many people have to die for your sin father?”
“I don’t know what treasure you’r talking about my son.”
“Father, don't lie to me. I just talked to your old friend Jeffrey Anderson.”
Bewilderment festered in the priest heart as uttered, “You didn’t kill Jeff, did you?”
A sinister laugh echoed throughout the vast empty church. “I already punished Jefferson Anderson for his sin. Tell me where the treasure is before I punish you for your sins father.”
“I just helped them smuggle it out of the country.”
“Liar, you’re just as guilty as they are; where is it?”
“Montreux.”
“Who? Who is Montreux?”
The father broke down and softly cried,“Not who, where; Montreux, Switzerland.”