The Priest's Graveyard Read online

  My resolve was interrupted by a sudden wave of regret and sorrow. Why did it have to be Danny? I thought I loved Danny. He was the kindest person I had ever known, other than Lamont, who turned out to be not so kind after all.

  Maybe I had Danny pegged wrong, too. Or maybe I was attracted to monsters because I was a monster.

  Or just maybe because I was meant to kill them.

  I held the gun by my leg and stretched my fingers around the butt, one at a time. Then I started forward, stepping lightly on my feet so I wouldn’t make any sound.

  It was time to hear Danny’s confession.

  Thump.

  Danny’s heart jerked then stalled at the sound of the book slapping wood. A chill washed down his neck.

  She’d come.

  He heard the door close, just barely. He imagined more, breathing perhaps, a pounding heart maybe. But these were only from his own chest.

  It was Renee and she was inside the church. Anyone else would be stomping around by now, calling out, mangling this eerie silence.

  So…It was as he’d hoped. And dreaded.

  For a long time, there was no other indication of her presence, and he wondered if she’d opened the door and peered through the crack only to close it without entering. But then the slight brush of shoes on the floor reached him, and he knew she was coming.

  He would remove the figurative splinter from Renee’s flesh. He would do it for her sake, not his own. He had to be sure she understood this before she killed him.

  What if he failed? And then, what if guilt and shame destroyed her? He couldn’t tolerate the thought that he might further wound that precious woman. She had to accept his death to save her life, but he would not allow it until he was sure she was absolved of all guilt.

  Tears broke from both of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. What had become of him? He’d carried the burden of death and judgment on his shoulders for so many years, and now he would finally let it go.

  He was so distracted by his own emotion that the grating of the door in the next booth seemed to come too early. She was entering.

  He heard the familiar creak of the seat as she sat. And then it all went quiet again.

  Danny reached up, gripped the knob on the small door between the booths, and slid it open. But he did not look into the adjacent booth. There was no rush.

  She was in there, he was sure of it, but she didn’t say a word. How could she, after all she’d suffered? She was only a shell of herself, having been emptied by his callous insistence that she know the truth.

  When he couldn’t stand the silence a moment longer he spoke out. “You came.”

  No response.

  “Thank you.”

  Still not a word. Surely, it was Renee in there.

  “Do you know what I want you to do?”

  The voice finally came, soft and meek. Matter-of-fact.

  “Yes.”

  That was all, just yes. But it was all he needed. Using his left foot, he nudged the gun under the partition into her booth.

  “Tell me what I want you to do.”

  “You want me to kill you,” Renee said.

  Innocent. Distant.

  “Tell me why,” Danny said.

  “Because you’re no better than Lamont,” she said. “You are two sides of the same coin.”

  “How is that?”

  She hesitated. “I’m here to hear your confession, Father. You tell me.”

  Of course, that was how he’d intended it. He could see the butt of his gun on the floor. She hadn’t picked it up.

  “It’s been three months since my last confession. I’ve never really believed that confession does much except make people feel better about themselves. It doesn’t clean up the ugliness of this world. People hurt themselves and others and then they confess and then they hurt more people. It’s the way we humans live.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I’ve taken a more direct path to cleaning up the world. I kill the worst offenders.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’ve been tempted to be good, the oldest and vilest temptation in the book, and I’ve been tempted to judge. And I’m afraid I’ve succumbed to these temptations in a monstrous fashion. I have ruined the lives of many. I have killed others.”

  He could hear her breathing now, steady and heavier than a moment ago. He had to say these words, if not for her then for himself.

  “I thought I was right, living by an ethical code based on consequential moral reasoning, everything in perfect little packages. All of us are judged, and if found guilty we pay the price.” Here it was then. “But today I learned that we are all guilty. I as much as they.”

  Why it had taken so long for this window in his mind to open, he didn’t know. But now that it was gaping, he could hardly sit still in the light shining in on his dark soul.

  “Tell me why you deserve to die,” she said.

  “In the name of the greater good, I have left hundreds of children fatherless and dozens of wives grieving. I have lived by the gun. I must die by that same gun.”

  “Tell me why I should be the one to kill you,” she said.

  Sweat broke from his hairline and tickled his right temple.

  “Because I have given you permission. I give up my right to life to you, and you alone.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “Because I am judgment, and it was judgment that ruined your life. I have become the very monster that broke you. Now you must break me.”

  He could imagine nothing else now except dying by her hand. His heart was pounding and his hands were sweating, but it was remorse that smothered him, not fear. This was the right end to it all. This was justice.

  “Please, Renee, I beg you.” It was all he could do to keep from blurting out in desperation. His voice trembled. “I have done so much wrong. I have killed so many. I can’t go on like this.”

  Still, she hadn’t picked up the gun.

  “You have everything you need to start over with a clean slate,” he said.

  For a long time nothing happened. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He’d made his point and couldn’t think of a way to clarify it. His life was nothing more or less than an abscessed tooth that needed to be pulled from the world’s mouth, and she was the one he’d chosen to do the pulling.

  Renee started to cry in the other booth, and his heart began to melt with pain.

  I was holding my gun in my lap, knowing that I was going to shoot Danny. It was the right thing to do, because he’d given up his right to life and was begging me to do it. I was going to do it, because everything he said made perfect sense to me.

  Danny was more than an evil man who’d killed so many other evil men. He was judgment itself—the very essence of humanity that made people hurt each other in the first place. That’s what he was saying and I was sitting there thinking, Yes, that’s right. That’s exactly right, Danny.

  But that didn’t stop me from feeling sorry for him when I finally lifted the gun. He couldn’t see me, of course, but I got the gun halfway up to the window when a new truth hit me.

  Danny’s my only friend.

  A terrible wave of sadness swept over me and I started to cry. I lowered the gun, trying to reset my mind.

  “No, Renee,” Danny said. “You must not lose your nerve. Pick up the gun.”

  He was right, I knew that, and I told myself to get a grip. I sucked in tears, faced the window, pushed the long silencer through the lattice, and slid my finger around the trigger.

  He wasn’t in front of the barrel and I didn’t turn the gun back to where I thought he must be sitting. Somehow I knew that I had gone far enough. I was offering him the barrel. It was up to him to take it.

  I sat there, squared to the window, holding the gun in both hands, sobbing quietly.

  She had her own gun. His still lay on the floor. She’d come into the church with her own. This was the first thing that struck Danny when he saw the long black barrel slide throu
gh the latticework.

  She had come intending to kill him.

  He wasn’t sure why this bothered him, only that it did. But then it made sense. He’d wounded her this deeply. Such an innocent young woman had been so ravaged by judgment that her only course was to extract her own judgment. It was a vicious circle.

  Judge not lest you be judged.

  She was trying not to cry, but her sobs were shaking the gun.

  Danny slid off the bench, knelt on his right knee, faced the window, and held the long barrel against his mouth.

  “Pull the trigger,” he said.

  A single bullet to the brain would do severe damage but might not end a victim’s life immediately. A single bullet through the back of the neck, on the other hand, would separate the brain from the rest of the body as surely as if the victim had been beheaded.

  He could see her now, facing him, tears streaming from her eyes, gun in both hands.

  “Pull the trigger,” he repeated.

  She sucked in some air in an attempt to control herself. Her knuckles were white on the butt of the gun.

  Danny felt his own face heat with a mix of emotions he couldn’t place right away. Two thoughts crowded his mind as she stared into his eyes.

  The first was that he loved her.

  The second was that he was losing his nerve.

  “Pull the trigger!”

  “I don’t think I can judge you, Danny!” If anyone else had been in the church they would have heard her cry. It was surreal, she with her gun against his teeth, Danny begging her to pull the trigger.

  “You can! You can do it!”

  “I don’t think I can judge you.”

  “You’re not!”

  “What’s the opposite of judging?” she asked.

  Danny froze. The reverend mother’s voice had spoken in this very confessional.

  “Love?” Renee answered for him. “Isn’t it love?”

  I don’t know how it happened, but the moment I looked into Danny’s eyes I knew that I couldn’t pull that trigger.

  I knew that I loved those eyes. That face. That man. In a way that I’d never loved Lamont.

  He was still on his knees, staring at me as if I’d slapped him. I still had the barrel sticking through the latticework, and I was shaking—it was so strange. But we were both killers, and I suppose that part of us didn’t know how else to behave.

  “It’s love, isn’t it?” I cried.

  He didn’t seem to be able to speak.

  “Tell me!” I screamed.

  “Grace,” he said.

  “Grace?”

  “It’s…it’s grace.”

  “And love?”

  “And love.” He said it softly and his eyes were shining as if he was saying something for the first time.

  My world melted. I had the barrel pressed against his face and he was kneeling like a prisoner waiting for the final count, but my need to kill him flew out of my mind.

  I didn’t know much about grace, it sounded too religious for me. But love was a different story.

  I thought I had loved Lamont. I thought he had loved me. But here in the confessional, I saw the truth: I had only feared him.

  But Danny…I did not fear Danny.

  I loved Danny. And Danny loved me, I mean, really loved me.

  We both hated injustice enough to die for it, that was the thing. He was like me and I was like him. In fact, Danny was the only person in the whole world I could trust, a man I would rather die for than lose. He was beautiful and I loved him. I really, truly loved him.

  Yet there I was holding a gun against his teeth…

  Gasping, I jerked the gun back and dropped it onto the bench, where it landed with a loud clump. I spun for the door, managed to spring the latch, and flew around to his side.

  Danny was coming to his feet when I crashed into his booth and threw myself at him, sobbing. He was a solid man twice my weight, and he absorbed me with only a slight stagger.

  All I could think was that a few more ounces of pressure on that trigger and I would have blown him all over the booth. It was an agonizing realization.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him like a koala hugging a tree. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Danny!”

  I was kissing him on his neck and mouth and face as he stood still, caught completely off guard.

  “Renee…” He was objecting, but he didn’t know what to say.

  “No, don’t say anything more about that. I forgive you. You’re not like Lamont. If you love me, tell me to stay with you. Tell me to run away with you.”

  “Renee, you don’t know—”

  “No, don’t say that, Danny! Don’t say I don’t know what I’m saying!” I was still kissing him on his face and neck. “Take me away, please, just take me away.”

  “I…I don’t know—”

  “No, Danny!” I calmed myself. “Do you love me?”

  I could barely see his eyes in the dim light, but I could see him blink.

  “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you.” He could barely speak.

  “Then tell me you’ll take me away from here.” I spoke in a rush, as eager for his words as for water in the desert. “Tell me you’ll protect me and never let anyone ever hurt me again. Tell me that, please tell me that.”

  “I…” His voice was shaking. “I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

  “Tell me you will never kill anyone again,” I said.

  “I…Never…”

  “Tell me we will always love each other.”

  He nodded and said it while kissing my forehead and my hair, returning my embrace. “Always. Always, always. I am so sorry, my dear. I am so very sorry.”

  “This is love, Danny.”

  Danny began to sob. “Yes!” I thought that he might either melt in all his tears or come apart in my arms because he was shaking so hard. “Yes…”

  “I love you, Danny.”

  We stood in that confessional, holding each other like two lost children, and I knew then that all the lies were finished. Lamont had been a monster, I knew that now, and maybe Danny had been one, too, and I as well for that matter—all monsters.

  But it was over. The law, the rules, the deceit to cover it all up, the failure, the revenge, the judging, the failure, the endless cycle of not being good enough—all of it was over.

  Love and grace had found us finally.

  We had each other, and even if our reprieve lasted only one night, it would be a night that would last forever.

  I let Danny hold me close and we wept.

  36

  Three Months Later

  I CAN REMEMBER some things about myself but not everything, because I’ve chosen to leave a few things in the past. My name, Renee Gilmore, is something I will never forget—how could I, after hearing it spoken by Danny so lovingly and so often, as if it were cotton candy and he was tasting it for the very first time.

  Danny walked into the sunroom overlooking the valley, handed me a steaming cup of coffee, and settled into the chair next to mine. Our house was small, only nine hundred square feet, not including the porches or the barn. Our lives were simple, though we had more than enough money to last us many years. Our love was sure. “It’s a beautiful morning,” he said, gazing out the window. I’d awakened to the sweeping valley before us every morning for ten weeks, and I hadn’t tired of the stunning view. It was all so green, with meadows that sloped up to a sharp tree line. The houses that spotted the meadows were white stone with shake-shingle roofs steep enough to shed the snow, because there would be a lot of it, Danny said.

  “It’s perfect,” I said, taking his hand in mine.

  I had been reborn many times in the last eighteen months. But not like the time both Danny and I found new life in the confessional at Saint Paul Catholic Church in Long Beach, California. We wept and we begged each other for forgiveness and then we collected what we had and fled the building.

  Long Beach was only a
memory. California was far behind us. We moved to a small town in Bosnia, not so far from Sarajevo.

  “How much longer?” I asked a variation on that same question nearly every morning, not because I thought Danny knew, but because I wanted to hear his answer.

  “A couple of months,” he said.

  “That’s still a long time,” I said.

  “Not long enough.”

  “Not nearly.” But it was enough for now. “And then what?”

  He squeezed my hand and offered a comforting smile. “And then we will go to the authorities and confess our sins.”

  “What will they do to us?”

  “They’ll put us in prison.”

  We would make the front page, Danny had said. They would call us monsters. They would lock us up and Barbara Walters would ask for an interview. Life would never be the same. This said with a wry smile that always made me chuckle.

  We’d been married in a small chapel in Sarajevo two weeks after leaving the States, one day after Danny got his requested discharge from the priesthood. He’d insisted, and I couldn’t pretend I wanted to be together any less than he did.

  “What if they give us the death penalty?” I asked.

  “Then we’ll die knowing that turning ourselves in was right,” he said.

  “They were all very nasty people,” I said. “They deserved to die.”

  “They did. But then so do we.”

  “So do we.”

  This was our mantra and it usually ended here. But today I wanted to ask another question before we took our weekly walk down to the village square.

  “Danny, do you mind if I make a confession?”

  “I would be disappointed if you did not,” he said.

  “I mean, to a priest.”

  “Other than me?”

  “You’re no longer a priest.”

  He considered my question for a few moments. “And you would tell him everything?”

  “If that would be okay with you.”

  Danny looked out across the valley. “Yes. Yes, it’s the very least you deserve.”

  “Hmm…”

  Did I tell you I like Danny?