He was probably going to suffocate; Rev. Fr. Lionel Adesanmi thought to himself, as he adjusted the stiff plastic collar around his neck. The confession box was hot, a reflection of the humid atmosphere. He withdrew his phone from his shirt’s breast pocket, swiped the screen, and checked the time. It was just a few minutes’ shy of noon and he would soon vacate the oven he called a confessional.
Usually, the time for confessions were Saturday mornings and evenings, but a few persons preferred weekday penance, and he did not have the heart to say no to them. That was one of his weaknesses, he told himself. So, to please his erring flocks, he gave them an hour every day before noon, but only one or two people showed per day. To occupy his time while waiting for them, he would read books, pray, or guiltily play candy crush on his phone.
He checked the time again, and it was five minutes to twelve. He sighed in relief, but he froze when he heard footsteps on the other side of the box. A Penitent had arrived. Unlike most of the usual crowd, this Penitent’s footsteps were almost inaudible. He could have sworn the person was floating, if the Penitent’s foot hadn’t scratched a tile on the floor.
Fr. Lionel sat up, cleared his throat, and adjusted the purple stole around his neck, while gazing skyward as he placed himself in the mood for reconciliation. The overbearingly sweet but cloying perfume of the other occupant of the box tickled his gag reflex, but he knew he had to comport himself. The scent was familiar, but he couldn’t place the face of the carrier. He waited for a few seconds for the Penitent to begin the rite, but the person was silent.
“In the name of the Father…” Fr Lionel began. If the person wouldn’t start it, he would urge them on.
Finally, a soft but definitely masculine voice filled the confined space. “Bless me Father for I have sinned. This is my first confession since…”
A low chuckle came from his Penitent as he tried to recall the date of his last confession. Fr. Lionel didn’t know why, but the chuckle raised the hairs at the back of his neck. He couldn’t understand why anyone would laugh in the middle of a confession, unless he wasn’t truly remorseful.
“Well, let’s just say this month.” The voice concluded.
Fr. Lionel cleared his throat, trying to remind the supposed Penitent that he was in the presence of God, but before he could say anything, a sound interrupted them.
Mheeeee! The sound came.
Snorting audibly, the Penitent asked. “Is that a goat? In your church?”
Sweat trickled down the Priest’s brows from the sudden but sometimes expected embarrassment.
“Yes.” He responded after a few seconds. “That’s Timmy. He thinks it’s his right to come here for food every noon. When he doesn’t see me outside, he comes in to remind me.”
Another snort came again. “How very fitting.”
Fr. Lionel didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but he needed to get on with the very unusual confession.
“And ever since then?” He prompted.
“Ha.” The Penitent’s voice suddenly had a smile in it. “And ever since then, I accuse myself of the following.”
The only sound in the church came from the man’s laboured breathing and Timmy’s hooves as the goat wandered between pews.
“How do I begin, Father?”
“Anywhere son. Anywhere. God does not judge anyone, nor does he castigate. Rather, He’s happy that you have come back to seek his forgiveness. He will give it to you. Yes, he will. Only if you confess those sins.”
“You really think God or even you Father, would give me total absolution?”
“It is not in my place to deny anyone of forgiveness, my son.”
“Even a potential murderer?” The taunting voice rolled out.
Fr. Lionel stopped short as the ominous feeling returned to him. “What?” He managed to ask.
The voice cackled this time, because the sound had no mirth, so it couldn’t be called laughter. “Surprised Father? Yes, I came to confess a sin I am going to commit.”
Shock was what kept Fr. Lionel on his seat, and not duty.
“You see Father, there’s this girl I’ve always loved. Beautiful, chaste, and seemingly unreachable. The more she grew, the more I knew she was mine, and I just had to have her. Just five days ago, I followed her down Manitoba lane, made sure she was alone, and dragged her into Chief Osuide’s unfinished building.”
Fr. Lionel’s blood ran cold, and his freezing hands and chilled nose were testaments of this. He knew what the depraved Penitent was going to say next, and he didn’t want to hear it. Yet, his body couldn’t seem to respond. He was frozen on his confessor’s chair.
“The more she resisted, the sweeter she got. The stench of fear and the look of hurt in her eyes heightened my release. How divine the experience was. I’m sure you know of the girl I speak of. You know Laura, don’t you Father?”
“No!” Fr. Lionel whispered, but the Penitent heard him nonetheless.
“Yes!” The man whispered mockingly. “I would want to have her again, but a girl in coma isn’t as appealing as a girl struggling with you. You should try it sometime. Trust me, you’ll never want to stop.”
“Stop that, you mad man!” The Priest finally found his voice.
He laughed again, and the sound sent repulsion and fear through his confessor’s body. “Mad? You call me mad? All I wanted was her love, but you wouldn’t let her give it to anyone, so I took it. Unfortunately, they said she will wake up soon, and I am not going to take that chance. Laura has to die, for me to live.” He sighed, like it was a huge burden. “Mad man, you say? Who’s the mad man? The man who just wanted love, or the man that fathered the girl I loved so much?”
Fr. Lionel’s shocked intake of breath was very audible in the box, and it made the Penitent laugh again.
“Oh, you’re surprised I know? Yes, Father, I know your little secret. Laura Adeyemi, or should I say Laura Adesanmi, is your biological daughter. I wonder what the Church and the people would say when they know the fatherly affection you show the girl, is more than the general Priestly love you have for your flock.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?” The Priest asked in a low voice, afraid that someone could hear him.
“Blackmail? Come on, let’s not use such profane words.” The man on the other side sounded nonchalant. “Let’s call it an agreement. You don’t tell anyone of my plans, and I don’t reveal your dirty little secret to the world.”
Fr. Lionel was not a claustrophobic man, but the confessional suddenly felt too tight and small for him.
“If you didn’t want me to go to the police, why tell me of your plans?”
“It’s simple really. One, you’re bound by office not to reveal a single word of my confession.”
“This was not a confession. This was a gloating spree.” The Priest almost shouted.
The man rolled his eyes, although the Priest couldn’t see him. “That’s a technicality. Anyway, the second reason is that I want you to suffer.” His voice took on a dark ambience. “You killed my aunt, Laura’s mother, because you impregnated her. Now, you’ll suffer the way I did. Watching your loved one wilt away and not be able to do anything about it. I’m sure there’s a stole around your neck right now. Your symbol of office. Well, I am going to make you regret ever wearing one.”
The sound of scraping feet brought Fr. Lionel out of his pity state, and he quickly scrambled to his feet to catch the departing Penitent. Something clattered to the floor from his laps, and he realized it was his phone. He bent down to retrieve it, wincing visibly when he saw the cracked screen.
He abandoned it on the chair, and rushed out of the box. He turned to his right, rounded the box to the direction of the open church, but there was nobody there, except the remnant of the distinct perfume, and a tall black goat.
His heart sank with despair, and he found himself sitting on the last pew with a racing heart.
Mheeeee! The goat bleated, but the melancholic Priest was lost in his own thoughts. His eyes trailed to the jotter and pen on the bench he was sitting on; courtesy of a forgetful parishioner.
He picked the materials, opened the jotter and saw illegible scribbles, safe for the legible numbers. He opened a fresh page and started writing. So lost in the action was he, that he did not hear the very soft footsteps nor did he see the shadow that fell over him until it was too late. Gloved hands held his neck, bent it backwards, and made him stare upward, into a pair of very familiar eyes.
“Changed my mind.” The now familiar voice said. “I want you to die like her.”
It was almost painless, but it was definitely swift. The Priest’s body clattered to the floor in one heavy heap, while his feet shook, as his body let out its last phase of pulses. His clenched feet gradually released themselves, while his clear eyesight slowly drifted to a close.
The last thing he saw wasn’t Jesus, but the clean hooves of his adopted goat, as it stood in front of him.
Mheeee! Timmy bleated again.
