Chapter 1
I rushed through the waning light of the autumn afternoon, having been caught unexpectedly in the biggest thunderstorm of the season. It figures, I think as I hurry through the downpour, holding my coat tightly around my body, the evening I've finally chosen to make that long pilgrimage to confession would turn out this way. Leaves of all colors fall through the saturated air. Italy is beautiful this time of year and I was happy I was attending school here even though I knew it was my last year. I would be going home this spring. Wet and cold, I finally find shelter in the doorway of the church. The sepia toned sunset seems liquid itself, spilling over the ancient building like some ghostly effluvium. As I reach to open the door I realize I'm shivering; I didn't know if it was from the weather or the nervous storm brewing inside me. It had been a long time since my last confession.
I push the great door open, into the incense rich air, and step inside. Surprisingly for this late in the day, all of the candles are still lit, though services ended hours ago. Wax spills down over the candelabras, some burn brightly in their pools. I remove my hood and shake the rain from my coat as best I can. I was still shivering. It is my nerves I think even though the rain had soaked through my coat. My impulse is to turn and leave, but before I can make that decision a voice speaks.
"I've been waiting for you. I almost thought you weren't going to come". The priest steps from the shadows of an alcove, his robes casting great and varied shadows across the walls, larger than life, larger even than my sins.
I involuntarily take a step back, and look to the floor. "I've come to confess, Father. I have much to tell you." He chuckles, but there is no gaiety in the sound. It's not the laugh of a man of God, but it's too late for me to leave. He stands before me and places his hand lightly on my cheek. "I have much to cleanse from your soul," he says. His gentle touch is disarming, and I'm stunned when he slaps me across the face and an instant of blinding bright light flashes across my vision.
He says, "Come with me," as he grips my shoulder.
With stars still dancing in my vision from the cruel slap, I take his hand and follow him deeper into the church away from the eyes of the faithful. My steps are wobbly, and my heart is beating mightily. I've come to be absolved of my sins but at this moment I realize that absolution is not obtained here through forgiveness and silent prayer.
This priest, this man, is different. I've heard the rumors from other girls in the congregation. Father Jason is said to have requested they join him in private for spiritual counseling. On those nights, for these sessions are said to begin at sundown, wails and cries and moans have been heard from deep within the bowels of the church. I had never believed it myself, in fact the rumors of sounds were amusing in the way that ghost stories often are. But now, dripping wet and walking through the candle light, a new reality is setting in.
"You want to confess?"
"Yes, Father."
"You wish to tell me of all of your sins, from your earliest memory until this very moment?"
"Yes, Father."
"But you are sinning even as we speak, aren't you?"
"I do not understand, Father."
Another slap strikes my face, on the other cheek. I cry out involuntarily, and Father Jason touches my cheek gently. "I'm sorry, child, but these things are necessary. Your sin is in your thoughts. I know the rumors about me, and I know what you're thinking. We will work tonight to remove those sins from your mind."
I'm shaking more furiously now, even as my body begins to respond to a new sensation altogether, confusion. I feel the unmistakable arousal of my body, but how can that be? This is the darkest place I can imagine, and the thoughts racing through my head are the worst kinds of sins, those of Father Jason, ripping off my clothes and forcing me onto the altar, forcing me to... but that can't be.
He interrupts my racing thoughts. "We'll begin in the confessional. Please remove your coat and your sweater."
We are deep under the church now, a place I have never been before. I quickly look around, the darkness is deep. The only light is coming from a lone candle burning from within the confessional. I am a little frightened.
"But Father, under my sweater is only..."
Another slap and I shiver and do as I'm told. What I was going to tell him is that under my sweater is only a t-shirt. It's partially wet, and my nipples are plainly visible. I usually never wear a bra. Shame courses through me and I reflexively cover up.
"That is not necessary, child. If you cover up, you are covering your sins from me. Now, into the confessional..."
I follow him towards the ominous wooden confessional. What else am I going to do? A man of God should not have this sort of control over me, and yet there I am, prepared to follow him to the very gates of Hell if need be. It's not my soul that he cares about, after all, that much has become clear. And yet somehow that has ceased to matter.
He turns to face me in the dim light coming from the confessional. His eyes are dark and yet they reflect and seem to amplify the candlelight around him. There is something very nearly supernatural about it, a power lurking just beneath the surface of his retinas. He takes my face, cups it in his hands, and says in a near-whisper. "Are you prepared to begin this journey towards salvation?"
"Yes, Father."
"Will you follow my every instruction, obey my every order?"
"Yes, Father."
