These Truths

September 17th, 2016. 3:45PM

  Burlwood, Indiana

  Jake marched into Our Mother Of Sorrows with a heart as heavy as stone, a feeling he'd never taken into a place of worship before under any circumstances. He was met with an empty nave, which he expected given the late hour of the afternoon. His intent was to speak frankly with Father Lovett, a task he figured he would carry out in the man's small and musty rectory as before. No sooner had he taken more than a handful of steps into the holy house, however, he heard the squeaky hinges of a door swinging open in front of him and to the left.

  Watching a penitent looking parishioner step out from behind the large and richly stained wooden door that was the source of the sound, Jake realized that the priest was in the confessional. He was hearing the sins of his sheep, and that was a perfect backdrop for the conversation that Jake had in mind.

  Seeing that there were no others seeking absolution in line or in sight, he walked slowly towards a booth the likes of which he had never entered in all the days of his life. Touching the handle on the door sent a chill and bolt of electricity through his body, a sensation he would've called supernatural if not for the fact that he knew better. This was the work of his imagination coupled with the state of his emotion, not a fantastic demonstration of power issued by some transcendent and omnipotent force. Wiping notions of the ridiculous from his mind, he stepped into the cramped space and took a seat on a wooden stool inside before closing the door and sealing himself in.

  Once he was seated, his legs cramped in the booth apparently designed for shorter men, a wooden panel in front of him slid open to reveal the shadowed image of a figure on the other side. It all seemed ridiculous to him, really, but something inside of him was bent to play along. Some piece of him that was as penitent as Rusty Parker had been, some guilty side of his psyche that longed to have its voice heard in a sacred manner, even if the sacred and the silly were one in the same at the time.

  "Um," he said when the prolonged silence that met him became uncomfortable. "I've never done this before, Carl. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say."

  "First, you relax," Father Lovett replied calmly in a hushed and welcoming tone. "Then, you typically say something like bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

  Jake thought about this for a second with reluctance, because to speak those words required him to conscribe to something in which he didn't really believe. Trying to separate the words from the rhetoric, he spoke in plain language without the connotations that the confessional's previous customers likely applied to the process.

  "Bless me, father, for I have sinned," he said, nearly choking on the words.

  There was another moment of silence as he waited for further instruction, waiting for Lovett to realize that he needed further instruction.

  "How long has it been since your last confession?" The priest finally asked.

  This was confusing to Jake, as he'd just said moment ago that he'd never done this before. Brushing it aside, he answered.

  "I guess it's been about thirty-five years, because I've never made a confession at all."

  The shadow of the old man nodded, as though he realized his error, and he spoke once more.

  "What do you wish to confess, my son?"

  "Well," Jake began, lost in a sea of regret, "there are lots of things, really."

  Again there was quiet, then one more piece of advice from the father.

  "Why don't you just start from the beginning, Jacob."

  Hearing his name, knowing that his identity was supposed to be confidential in this environment, Jake realized that Lovett was playing this process as plainly as he was. This was not some holy practice to free his soul of imaginary trespasses, this was a counseling session. He'd never had one of those either, but it felt more comfortable and natural than the prior, so he was relieved. With the veil of mysticism dropped, his mouth opened and his sorrows spilled out like wine.

  "I've been a poor husband, Father," he began. "I've been absent from my marriage in the times that my presence was most necessary. I've checked out on my wife, and I've left her to fend for herself. I've also been a poor father, as I've done the same in matters related to my boy. I've been a poor man, because I've put myself -- my own desires, my own priorities -- ahead of everyone else in my life at their expense. I've been selfish in all of my affairs, and I've failed to realize all of this until now... now that I've lost everything that I had. I didn't deserve what I had, at least I didn't act as though I did. My wife and my son, they offered me their love with no strings attached... and I turned my back on them for their effort."

  "You speak as though there is no hope for recovery, Jacob," the priest replied. "As though what's lost is gone forever, as though what was can never be again. Is that how you feel?"

  Thinking about it, Jake realized that it was. He felt he'd played his hand, and that he'd played it wrong. The chips were being dealt, and none were coming to him because he'd made a tragic mistake from which there simply was no recovery. Choked up at that thought, convinced that what he had was gone forever, he simply nodded in response to the question of the father.

  "Part of this process, Jacob," Lovett continued, "when it's done in the context of religion, is the offering of forgiveness. People come into this booth and they tell me incredible things, things that would make the deeds that you speak of now look like petty crimes in the face of God! When they finish spilling their guts, when they tell me of the terrible things they've done, I offer them the absolution of Jesus Christ, our savior, for all that they've brought to bare. If Christ can forgive them of the things they do, certainly there can be forgiveness for you from your family. Tracy loves you, Jacob. She has loved you for a very long time. Love that powerful cannot be destroyed, young man. It can be tarnished, it can be soiled, but it can never be completely washed away!"

  "That's easy for you to say," Jake replied, "you don't know what I've put her through over the years."

  "Jacob," the priest said with a new level of sincerity in his voice, "The Swete family attended this church every week during the time that they lived in town. As their conduit to their faith, I developed strong relationships with Nick and Nancy, and with Tracy as well. I knew them well, and I know that they're not the type to offer love and then retract it under duress."

  "That was then, father," Jake answered. "Things are different now. I've made them different."

  "Things are different than they were last week?" The old man asked, peaking Jake's attention. "Because when Tracy called me after you told her you were coming back to Burlwood, she sounded much the same as she did before! Her concern for you seemed just as legitimate now as it was back then, and her desire to have you back came across as very real to me! She didn't want the Jacob that sped off into the night after raising a hand to her, of course, but she wanted her Jacob back. As sure as I live and breathe, she is capable of forgiveness, my son."

  "Wait, wait," Jake broke in, considering what he was hearing. "Are you telling me that Tracy called you? When I left, when I came here? Are you saying that she called you and spoke with you?"

  "She did," Lovett said definitively. "And so did Nick. They told me that you were in trouble, that you were lost. They asked that I try to help you, but I told them both very honestly that you must be the one to help yourself. Neither of them had closed the book on you, Jacob, they wouldn't have called me if they had! Based on the things that you've just said to me, given the nature of the feelings that you're expressing, it seems to me that you've found the help that they asked me to give to you! It seems to me that you've figured it out, and that's all that was really necessary! If the content of your heart matches the color of your words, then you've found the path back home! They'll be waiting for you there, Jacob, because they are your home! There may be damages that will be difficult to forget, wounds that will take time to heal, but they are willing to forgive. The rest will come with time, that's just how it works."
br />   Absorbing the words, Jake felt that familiar sting in his eyes... that one that comes before he finds that he just can't cry anymore. He didn't fight it the way he generally would, but the tears would still not come. His heart didn't seem heavy anymore, though, despite the fact that he knew what the second half of this conversation would likely reveal. Satisfied with the results of this first half, he prepared himself for a transition that would be rough and jarring for each of them. Sincere in his words, he first gave thanks for what the old man had said.

  "Thank you, father," he offered with much less difficulty in using that particular F word than he had ever before. "Thank you for telling me, thank you for the help."

  "Eh," the priest sighed. "It's what I do, Jacob. I help people. Some deserve it, some don't. Which category you fall into will depend on what you do with the second chance that so many others never get."

  "I don't intend to let you down," Jake replied, preparing for the pivot. "And now, father, I'm ready to take your confession."

  There was a new silence after this, one that was tangible and sent waves of tension through the entirety of the booth. Father Lovett cocked his head and froze where he sat, staggered. Jake let the silence sizzle for a few moments before breaking it, letting the drama of revelation set in on the priest before the discussion of sacraments that would follow.

  "I know what you did, father," he said simply. "I know that you spoke to Ron Boudreaux about Chucky. I know that you're his confidential informant. It took awhile, but I figured it all out."

  "If you know," Lovett sighed after a long pause of consideration, "then why do you want to hear about it? It won't change anything to hear me spell it out."

  "No, I suppose it won't," Jake responded, furling his brow. "I guess I just want to know the details because some of them are missing. I guess I also want to know why you broke your own rule. God's rule. This whole confession thing, I thought it was supposed to be confidential. But the only way I can figure it and have it still make sense is that you failed to keep one particular confession a secret between the penitent, yourself and your God."

  In silhouette Jake saw Lovett put his face in his hands, shaking his head in some combination of regret and shame.

  "It is supposed to be confidential, Jacob," he explained. "And I tried to keep what Chucky told me bottled up inside of me with all of the other petty sins of this little town. But I'm an old and fading man. I haven't much time left on this Earth, and I couldn't bare to face the idea of crossing over with something so awful on my conscience. Confused, conflicted, I conferred with God, I begged for his guidance. I prayed for days about what I should do, and in the end... in the end... I did what I felt I was compelled by God and my conscience to do. Yes, I broke the rules. Yes, I revealed what was meant to remain hidden."

  "What did he tell you?" Jake wondered.

  "Everything," the priest said, pained. "Keep in mind, Jake, that I've taken Chucky's confession every week or two for years and years. He usually came in with something as silly as shame about masturbating or not putting in his tithes for a given week or something so ridiculous. He was so sweet, so innocent... the sessions with him were almost humorous from this side of the booth. Then came July thirtieth. He came into this confessional in tears and he told me... he told me all about what happened to little Billy Marsh. He told me what he and Rusty had done to him. I'd known for some time that he'd been hanging out with Rusty a lot, but that seemed like a normal thing to me because, after all, they worked together so closely for so many years. He rarely said anything about their interactions, until that fateful day. Apparently, he'd known for some time that Rusty was The Butcher Of Burlwood. Why he didn't reveal that to anyone in all of these years I'll never know, but he told me for the first time after he sat where you're sitting now just barely a week after Billy Marsh had gone missing from this building. I asked him if he knew something about Rusty and little Billy, I asked him if he had evidence that Rusty had killed the boy, but I was in no way prepared for what he said next! He told me that Rusty had been pressuring him to pick up a young boy for months, that he was saying he felt near death and wanted to kill one more before he died. After the trouble Chucky got into with the Marsh boy, apparently something broke in his mind and he decided that he was going to do what Rusty wanted him to do! He told me he walked here on July twenty-fourth, like the roving goat-headed beast himself, the day that Billy went missing. He told me that he lured that boy out of the classroom, knocked him out with some sort of chemical that Rusty had given him, and he kidnapped him in the church's own van!"

  The old man paused his narrative, the sound of sobbing and shallow breathing spilling through the screen, leading Jake to spur him on.

  "Then what happened?" He asked.

  "He said he took Billy to Rusty and the two of them --" he stopped again, struggling to vomit the words, "the two of them killed that little boy!"

  "The two of them, you say?" Jake probed. "As in Chucky participated? How do you know that Chucky participated?"

  "He told me!" Lovett expectorated with disgust. "He told me they hung him upside down and slit his throat, the way Rusty had with the first round of murders! This town barely survived that period, Jacob, I couldn't let it all begin again! I couldn't just keep my mouth shut and let this go unpunished, let Billy Marsh go unavenged! He was a sweet little boy, Jake, just like Timmy and the others had been! It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, Jacob, but I called Ron Boudreaux and I told him everything. I expected that both Chucky and Rusty would be arrested, I expected that they would find some evidence on which they could build a case, since a religious confession is confidential and inadmissible in court. Boudreaux said he would take care of things and leave me out of it. Instead, they only arrested Chucky... I don't know why they're waiting to get Rusty, unless Chucky won't talk!"

  "Oh, they aren't waiting," Jake advised him. "Boudreaux made him a confidential informant, just like you. They had no intention of arresting him... and now he's dead, free from all prosecution."

  "Dead?" Lovett asked. "Rusty's dead?"

  "Yep," Jake said. "Took a little too much morphine."

  "If this is true," the priest continued, "then Rusty is far from free of all prosecution, Jacob! Rusty Parker is being prosecuted as we speak... in the eternal fire and damnation of Hell!"

  "That doesn't help Chucky much, does it? Now he rides the sea alone, with your and Rusty's testimony to send him up the river."

  "My testimony will do no such thing," the father said, shaking his head. "I told you, it's inadmissible. If Rusty was to testify against him and is dead, all that remains is the van."

  "The van?" Jake asked. "What about the van?"

  "They left it in Rusty's storage unit. Boudreaux tells me the interior was covered with blood, and the steering wheel with only Chucky's fingerprints."

  "So -- they have it? The police have the van?" Jake wondered.

  "They do," Lovett confessed. "And it appears that it will be the only evidence to bring justice for poor Billy Marsh."

  "I suppose that's true," Jake replied, "but is justice for him the proper justice for Chucky?"

  SIXTY-FIVE