Absolution
"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti," Father John McKellen intoned in Latin before concluding his absolution in English. "Amen."
As Theresa Wray rose from her kneeling position and exited the confessional, the priest forced himself to remain seated and not give in to the temptation to open the door and watch her walk away. For the hundredth, if not the thousandth, time, he considered requesting a transfer to another church in the diocese, but he knew the bishop would not agree to one without good cause.
When the next penitent entered the confessional, Father John braced himself.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." The priest knew the deep, masculine voice well. It belonged to Perry Wray, Theresa's husband. More than five years earlier, the two had married in that very same church. Father John himself had officiated at the ceremony.
One of the darkest days of my life, the priest thought, as Perry droned on, reciting venial sins for which he felt no contrition.
John McKellen had been a young curate fresh out of seminary school when Theresa was born. He stood at old Father Olaf's side when she was baptized, and he was at the helm of Holy Spirit Church when she made both her first communion and confirmation. Even as a young child, when she stood before him in a lacy white dress and white patent leather shoes, she was a remarkably beautiful girl.
For twenty-four years, Father John watched her grow from an infant to a teenager and into a woman. Although she did not have a perfect attendance record when it came to Sunday mass, she never missed a Christmas, Easter or Palm Sunday service. Then, just three months shy of her nineteenth birthday, Theresa once again donned a white lace dress and stood before him at the altar. This time, however, it was not a confirmation dress she wore but a wedding gown.
"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen," Father John repeated.
The priest closed his eyes and listened for the sound of Perry Wray exiting the confessional. He tried not to feel the animosity that Theresa's husband usually provoked in him. No one was free of sin, not even a priest. Although he had tried to lead a virtuous life, Father John was guilty of envy.
His mind went back to the couple's wedding day. The bride in virginal white had appeared so innocent, so angelic. When her blue eyes looked up at him before he pronounced the two young people husband and wife, he felt an unfamiliar stirring in his heart, accompanied by the equally alien emotion of jealousy toward the groom. In the ensuing years, despite his countless prayers, the feeling did not go away.
I love her, Father John realized with astonishment as he watched the newly married couple walk back down the aisle amidst a symphony of congratulations and well wishes from friends and family.
It was a painful admission, one that took the man of God by complete surprise and brought him a good deal of mental anguish. Of necessity, he kept his feelings a secret, one he did not even divulge in his own confessions.
It's not as though I'm a pedophile, he reasoned. God forbid! The Catholic Church has had enough problems with such people. No, I did not fall in love with Theresa until she was an adult. Furthermore, my feelings for her are not tainted with lust. My love is pure. I want only to cherish her, to see her happy and safe. If I honestly believed her husband felt the same way, I would rejoice in their union.
Having listened to Perry's confessions over the years, however, Father John knew such was not the case. In addition to admitting that he took the lord's name in vain and that he was guilty of the sins of hubris, avarice, sloth and greed, he also confessed to giving into the temptation of lust and committing adultery.
The response the priest had given to penitents over the years became automatic, yet his voice often failed him whenever it came time to absolve Theresa's adulterous husband.
"May our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you, and by His authority I absolve you from every bond of excommunication and interdict, so far as my power allows and your needs require," he would eventually manage to say. Then he would make the sign of the cross with his right hand and conclude, "Thereupon, I absolve you from your sins."
* * *
Father John gazed out the window at the trees in the back yard of the rectory. The recent warm temperatures had coaxed tiny green buds from their branches, a sure sign that spring had arrived. Palm Sunday was only a week away; Good Friday and Easter would soon follow.
Although as a man of God he celebrated the spiritual aspects of the holiday, he also enjoyed the secular festivities as well. On the Saturday that fell between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the town would hold its annual egg hunt in Washington Park, during which time the Easter Bunny would hand out foil-wrapped chocolate rabbits, jelly beans and marshmallow Peeps to the children in attendance. It was not as elaborate a pageant as those thrown on Halloween, Christmas or even the Fourth of July, but it was still a popular occasion for the community to come together.
Father John was reminiscing about his last Easter at home before going off to the seminary. His mother had baked a ham and all the fixings. Always vying for their parents' attention, his older sister had chosen that day to announce her first pregnancy. His mother's tears of sorrow at his leaving home turned to those of joy at the prospect of becoming a grandmother.
Nettie, his housekeeper, interrupted his reverie.
"Father, there's someone here to see you," she announced.
"Who is it?"
"Young Mrs. Wray."
Mere mention of Theresa's name caused an immediate reaction in the priest, one similar to butterflies in his stomach.
"Show her into my office; will you, Nettie?" he asked, amazed at the false impression of composure in his voice. "I'll be right there."
"Mrs. Wray," he declared when he walked into the room.
"Mrs. Wray?" she echoed with a smile.
Her mood appeared to be light, but she was not as good at covering up her feelings as the priest was. Something was clearly wrong.
"That sounds so formal," she continued. "You've known me since I was a baby. Why don't you call me Theresa?"
"All right. What brings you here to see me, Theresa?"
Father John wanted to repeat her name, to savor the sound of it on his lips, but he dare not.
"I want to talk to you about .... This is hard for me."
"Would you like some tea? Perhaps it will relax you. Or maybe ...."
"I came to talk about divorce," she blurted out, like a person taking hold of an adhesive bandage and giving it a good, swift pull.
"I see."
Taken completely by surprise, it was the best the priest could do at the time.
"I can't take it anymore, Father," Theresa explained, her words now coming without difficulty. "I'm miserable. I'll simply die if I have to remain married to him. Every night when I say my prayers before bed I pray one of us doesn't wake up in the morning."
"You mustn't talk like that."
"I can't help it. I'd rather be dead than continue living with him."
"Calm down," Father John advised, handing her a tissue to wipe away her tears.
Nettie brought the cup of coffee the priest requested. And Father John waited patiently while Theresa sipped it.
"Feel better now?" he asked when she put the empty mug down.
She nodded her head.
"Now, what exactly is the matter with your marriage?"
"Everything!"
"Can you be a little more specific?" he asked.
"Where do I start? Well, he lies—all the time. I can't believe a word he says. And there have been other women," Theresa answered, her face blushing a rosy red color. "Dozens of them."
It was no surprise to Father John. He knew from the confessional that Perry had been repeatedly unfaithful to her.
"Worst of all ...."
She turned her head, unwilling to face him.
"Yes? What is it, my child?"
"He ... beats me, Father."
Her words were like a blow to the priest. Theresa was such a petite young woman: five feet tall and barely one hundred pounds. Perry was more than a foot taller and a good hundred pounds heavier.
"Several times I've thought of reporting him to the police, but frankly I'm afraid that will only make things worse."
Father John's instinct was to tell her to leave the house immediately—without bothering to pack her belongings—and to seek safety with her parents or in a woman's shelter. That was the man's response, the man who loved her as a woman. However, after due consideration, he answered as a priest.
"Have you sought counseling?"
"No," she replied, with a look of disappointment on her pretty face. "Do you think it will do any good?"
"I don't have the statistics available, but it has worked for many couples. As your priest, it is my duty to help you to save your marriage, if possible."
"And if therapy doesn't work? Will I be able to get an annulment?"
"Let's wait and see if we can't patch things up between you two first before we take such a drastic step. I can give you the name of a counselor who works with the archdiocese. In the meantime, I'll have a talk with Perry."
There was a sudden look of fear in Theresa's eyes.
"Please don't tell him I came to see you!"
"Don't you worry. I'm a priest. I know how to be discreet."
* * *
Although John McKellen was an educated man with a love of books and classical music, he was also athletic. Throughout his school years, he had been a championship baseball player with a batting average of .340. As an adult, he regularly played tennis and golf with friends and fellow clerics as well as basketball with the church-sponsored youth league. Given his interest in sports, it was easy for him to "bump into" Perry Wray at a charity run to raise money for ALS research.
"Father John, I didn't know you were a runner," the young man said, unaware that the priest had deliberately sought him out.
"When I was attending the seminary, I participated in the Boston Marathon, but today I'm just a spectator. Is your wife here with you?"
"No. Theresa's at home."
"I'd like to have a talk with you after the race, if you have the time. Want to go out and get a beer at the Dubliner?"
"Actually, I'm ... kinda with someone," Perry replied uneasily, casting a glance at a shapely redhead standing nearby.
"Maybe tomorrow evening then? Can you stop by the rectory after work?"
"What's this all about, Father?"
"I wanted to find out how your appointment with the family therapist went."
Perry lowered his voice so his redheaded companion would not overhear.
"I assume you're referring to the marriage counseling Theresa talked me into going to. What a waste of time! It's all bullshit—sorry about the language, Father."
"You can't expect miracles overnight. You have to give it a chance."
"I'm not going to any more of those sessions."
"Domestic abuse is not something that should be taken lightly."
"Abuse!" Perry exclaimed, his voice rising. "Is that what that bitch told you?"
There was no apology for his choice of words this time.
"She's a goddamned liar! I never laid a hand on her!"
People were stopping what they were doing and staring.
"Let's talk about this at the rectory tomorrow night," the priest suggested.
"I don't think so. Look, you've heard my confessions," Perry said, lowering his voice again. "You know I'm not exactly monogamous; it's just not in my nature. Theresa obviously thinks she can get back at me by telling people I hit her. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a race to run."
It was evidently a matter of he said/she said, and the priest believed the wife. But was it fair to condemn a man of something as vile as spousal abuse without solid proof?
Perhaps I wouldn't be so quick to judge if it weren't Theresa making these claims, Father John thought. After all, just because a man cheats on his wife, it doesn't make him an abuser.
* * *
The first Thursday evening in April, five days after the ALS charity run, Father John made an appearance at Holy Spirit's weekly bingo game. It was customary for him to walk into the hall, smile at his parishioners and wish the players good luck. On occasion, he would even call the numbers for the round robin game. Regis Haslip had just shouted "Bingo!" and won the first twenty-five-dollar pot when he crossed the threshold.
The priest knew something when wrong when he smiled at a table of senior citizens who did not return his greeting.
"What's wrong? Regis beat you to the prize?" he asked.
"Haven't you heard the news, Father?" asked Lenore Keckley, who lived next door to the Wrays.
"What news is that?"
"Theresa Wray has gone missing."
Father John felt as though he had been punched in the gut by a world heavyweight champion.
"No, I haven't heard anything about that. What happened?"
"She went shopping at the mall yesterday afternoon, but she never came home. Her car was found abandoned on Mountain Road late last night."
"I'd better go speak to Perry," the priest said. "See if there's anything I can do for him."
In all honesty, he had no concern for the husband. He was interested only in finding out what exactly had happened to Theresa.
Perry groaned when he saw Father John's Toyota pull into the driveway. Although he had expected the priest to show up, he did not anticipate his arrival so soon.
I see the neighborhood grapevine is as efficient as ever, he thought with disgust as he headed toward the front door. It must be Lenore Keckley who told him. That old busybody has always got her nose in someone's business.
"Father John," he said, appearing distraught. "I suppose you've heard about Theresa."
"Yes. Has there been any word?" the priest asked following Perry into the living room.
"No, not yet."
"What do the police say?"
"Various security cameras show her at the mall, alone. Likewise, one placed in Sears parking lot shows her getting into her car—again alone."
"I understand her car was found on Mountain Road."
"Yeah, and with an empty gas tank. Since her keys and purse were gone, the police suspect someone offered her a ride."
"Theresa doesn't strike me as the type of person who would get into a car with a stranger."
"Who knows? Perhaps she knew the driver, or maybe she was just eager to get home."
"Is anything being done to find her?" Father John inquired.
"Police are looking for her, and I'm going to meet with a group of volunteers first thing in the morning. Some will put up posters in town and others will help me search the woods up along Mountain Road."
"I'd like to help search for her."
"Good. We can use all the help we can get. Why don't you stop by the town hall at six o'clock?"
Perry's invitation was an attempt to bring the conversation to an end.
"I'll be there," the priest replied, standing up to leave. "If you should hear anything before then ...."
"I'll give you a call."
In the weeks immediately following Theresa Wray's disappearance, an intensive effort was made to find her—hopefully alive. Volunteers came out in full force to search. Hundreds of posters with her photograph were placed on trees and telephone poles as well as in shop windows along Main Street. Local and even state news programs featured frequent updates, and a reward was offered for any information that might lead to her return.
As the weeks became months, however, there was no news. Everyone—with the possible exception of Father John McKellen—feared the worst. Theresa had been abducted, possibly sexually assaulted and then murdered. Some people even feared she had been a victim of sex traffickers.
The priest, who knew Theresa had given serious thought to divorce, prayed she had simply run off—alone or with someone else—and left her husband, deliberately leaving her car behind to throw authorities off her track. As unlikely a scenario as it was, he preferred it to the alternative.
Eventually, the searches stopped, and the faded posters came down. Everyone, including Perry Wray, had apparently given up hope; everyone, that is, except for Father John, who prayed for her safety every night before he went to bed.
* * *
Nettie arrived at the rectory much earlier than usual on Saturday morning and began cleaning at once rather than joining the priest for a cup of coffee first as was her custom.
"You seem to be in a rush today," Father John observed.
"I've got an appointment at the beauty parlor this afternoon, and I don't want to be late," the housekeeper replied.
"What's the occasion?"
"My son is taking me out for Mother's Day tomorrow. He's made reservations at that expensive French restaurant, and I want to look my best."
"I hear the food there is pretty good."
"I'll let you know. Are you going to visit your mother after Sunday services?"
"Yes. It's become a family tradition to go out for a high tea. Mom says it reminds her of the trip she and Dad took to England after he retired."
"Do you want me to cook you some scrambled eggs for breakfast, Father?"
"No, thank you, Nettie. Coffee's enough this morning."
"I don't mind, and it won't take too long."
"I'm in bit of a rush myself. Today's the day I hear confessions."
After decades of having served as the priest at Holy Spirit Church, Father John knew his parishioners by their voices. He could also predict with better than ninety-five percent accuracy, what sins each of them would reveal in the confessional. He had heard them all before, and for the most part, they were not serious infractions of the commandments. As he listened to a devout elderly woman enumerate her shortcomings, he thought about his mother and their plans for the following evening.
The silence that fell on the confessional was his cue to speak.
"May our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you ...."
He had given that same response so often in the past that it had become routine. A mere formality, it meant little more than saying "God bless you" when someone sneezed.
No sooner did the elderly woman leave than another penitent took her place.
It's becoming a regular assembly line, the priest thought irreverently.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
Another familiar voice, but it lacked its usual arrogance and self-assurance.
"It's been quite a while since my last confession."
Father John grew fearful at Perry Wray's apparent sorrow and despair. Could he have received word of Theresa? Could—God forbid!—the police have finally found her body after more than five years of her having gone missing?
"I ... I have sinned ...."
The words were cut off by the sound of heart-rending sobs.
"You appear deeply troubled, my son."
"I can't bear it any longer. The truth is eating me up inside."
"What is it?"
"I have begun proceedings to have my wife declared legally dead."
The priest was not surprised by the husband's words. In fact, he had expected him to do so.
"I'm thinking of remarrying, you see."
Again, no surprise.
"Before I can make such a commitment, I need to unburden my soul."
"Yes, my son?"
Father John expected to hear a repeat admission of infidelity, a common occurrence for Perry during his marriage to Theresa. He had certainly never imagined the words he was about to hear.
"I killed my wife."
The priest did not immediately comprehend the meaning of Perry's simple statement. People often blamed themselves for someone's death even though they had no hand in it.
"When she came home from the mall that night, we had a terrible fight," he continued. "I hit her several times. She just made me so damned mad! The madder I got, the more I hit her. When I realized she was no longer breathing, I panicked. I drove her car out to Mountain Road, drained the gas from the tank and left it on the shoulder for the police to find. Then I ran home, cleaned up all the blood, put her body in the trunk of my car and drove it about two hours north of here and buried it."
"And you never told the police ...?"
"I never told anyone. But now that I've made my confession and will receive absolution, I can begin a new life with a clear conscience."
There was silence in the confessional as Father John fought the desire to knock down the partition that separated them and beat Perry Wray as the man had beaten his defenseless wife.
"Well, Father? Are you going to ask me to say some Hail Marys and perform an act of contrition? Father? Are you still there?"
In the end, the priest had no choice. As much as it pained him to do so, it was Father John's duty to absolve Perry Wray.
* * *
The dreams began that same night. Theresa appeared to Father John in several forms. He saw her as an infant in her christening outfit, as a child in her confirmation dress and as a blushing bride in her wedding gown. The three white outfits served to highlight her innocence.
"Help me!" the infant, child and adult cried out to him in unison.
The priest woke with a start, his body bathed in perspiration, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind went back to one of the last times he had spoken to her: when she came to the rectory to talk about the possibility of divorcing her husband.
I should have told you to leave him that very day. If I had, you would probably still be alive.
For the first time in his life, Father John experienced a crisis in faith. How could he believe in a religion that frowned on a woman's seeking release from her vows when she was married to a monster?
Just before dawn he fell back to sleep, but the dream returned the next night and the next. Eventually, he saw the nightmares as a personal condemnation. Theresa was dead because he had failed her when she needed him most. Riddled by guilt, he prayed for forgiveness. It took months for the dreams to lessen in frequency, going from seven days a week to three. He took the reduction as a sign of absolution.
Finally, Father John reached the point where Theresa haunted his dreams only two or three times a month and he could look at his reflection in the mirror and not feel ashamed of himself. It was at that point that Perry Wray showed up at the rectory.
"We've set the wedding date, and I'd like you to perform the service," the widower announced.
You should be rotting away in jail, not getting married, the priest thought, but wisely held his tongue.
"First, I'll have to meet with you and your fiancée," he replied.
"Of course. I remember the drill from my first marriage."
Father John was amazed that Perry could refer to that union so casually. He stared at the widower's smiling face, looking for some sign of regret or remorse; there was none.
The man killed his wife, and it doesn't bother him at all!
When Perry and Laurel showed up at the church, the priest steeled himself to meet the fiancée, believing only the worst kind of woman would marry a murderer. One look at Laurel, however, softened his heart. She was so much like Theresa that Father John fought to hold back his tears. At nineteen, she was the same age as Perry's first bride, and she expressed the same hope and optimism as Theresa had when she faced the uncertainties of marriage.
My God! the priest thought when the couple left. She could wind up dead, too.
He had failed Theresa; he vowed he would not fail Laurel as well.
* * *
Father John was faced with a dilemma. He knew Perry Wray killed his wife, but he could not reveal the man's guilt without breaking the seal of confession. If he did, he would face excommunication from the church. Rather than seek advice from his bishop, the priest decided to talk to Blake Cranston, his childhood friend and a detective on the local police force. After playing a friendly game of basketball, the two men stopped at the Dubliner for burgers and beers.
"You wanted to talk to me," Blake reminded the priest as they munched on the complimentary salted peanuts on the table.
"I want to discuss a hypothetical situation with you. Let's say a priest had information about a murder."
"Information he got from the confessional?"
"Yes. Now, you know he can't officially come forward with what he knows, but is it possible for him to unofficially point the police in the right direction?"
Detective Cranston took a long drink from his beer before proceeding.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with Theresa Wray's disappearance, would it?"
Father John's face turned red, and he nodded his head.
"Don't say anything more," Blake advised. "There's no need for you to put your immortal soul in danger. We already know Perry Wray killed his wife. We've known it all along."
"Then why haven't you arrested him?"
"We've got no evidence, not even a body.
"He's getting married again to a sweet kid about the same age as Theresa was when he married her."
"And you're afraid history might repeat itself?"
"If he got away with it once ...."
"I don't suppose he mentioned where he buried her?" Cranston asked, hoping for an affirmative answer.
The priest shook his head.
"There's nothing the police can do then."
"I suppose I'll just have to pray Perry changes his ways."
"Yeah, well I wouldn't count on it, John."
* * *
The day of the wedding arrived, and despite Father John's prayers, the couple was determined to go through with the ceremony. Perry and his best man were waiting at the altar when the organist began playing the bridal march. Dressed in a flowing white gown, Laurel walked down the aisle on her father's arm. For a brief moment, the woman in white was Theresa Wray.
Father John had performed hundreds of marriages, most of which varied little from this one in form.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
When Laurel leaned forward to receive Perry's kiss, the priest noticed a bruise on her cheek, barely visible through her makeup.
He did that!
How long would it take before this young girl went missing? Of course, it was possible that the next time he would be caught and sent to prison; but at what cost? The life of another innocent young woman.
As Father John watched the newlyweds walk up the aisle to the doors of the church, he decided that one way or another Perry Wray must atone for the sin of murder.
* * *
Normally whenever Father John paid a visit to a parishioner, he wore a black shirt and his stiff white collar. On this occasion, however, he had donned his formal priestly vestments. Praying silently, he stood on Perry Wray's doorstep and rang the bell.
"Father?" the killer said with surprise. "I wasn't expecting you. Have you come about a donation to the church?"
"May our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you," Father John intoned as he walked, uninvited, past Perry and into the house.
"Look, this isn't really a good time for me," the homeowner said uneasily. "I have to meet Laurel at the obstetrician's office. I'm going to be a father, Father."
The priest seemed not to hear him.
"... and by His authority I absolve you from every bond of excommunication and interdict ..."
"How much do you want?" Perry asked, taking his wallet out of his pants pocket. "Will twenty dollars be enough?"
"... so far as my power allows and your needs require."
Father John moved his arm, and Perry could see that he carried a baseball bat in the folds of his surplice.
"What's with the Louisville Slugger? Are you forming a Hoy Spirit baseball team? Did you come over here to invite me to ...?"
"Thereupon, I absolve you from your sins."
With a swing that harkened back to the days when he was a .340 hitter, Father John swung the bat, and the meat end connected with Perry Wray's head. The expectant father fell to the floor in a heap.
"In nomine Patris ..."
The priest took another swing with the bat.
Whack!
"... et Filii ..."
Whack!
"... et Spiritus Sancti."
Exhausted from his exertions, Father John let the bat fall to the floor.
"Amen," he said, wiping the blood and brain matter from his face with his stole.
As he walked out to the kitchen, words of his faith sounded in the priest's mind: absolution, atonement, redemption. The priest turned on the gas burners of the stove, took a dishtowel and set it alight. He then set fire to the curtains, the couch, Perry's blood-drenched clothing, the carpet and any other combustible material he could find.
Once the flames was blazing, Father John sat down on the living room chair. Eyes tearing from the smoke, he clutched his rosary and prayed.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
His last thought before the inferno consumed him was of Theresa Wray dressed in her white wedding gown, looking up at him as she knelt at the altar.
Salem, you don't have to go to church and confess you ate all the chocolate chip cookies. Besides, you're not even Catholic.
