Page 80 of Remorseless
Did you send her?
No!
Rule clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.Is she real?
Yes!
“Ahhh, Rule. I see you’ve met Freya.”
Father Wilkins’s voice floated from behind Rule, and he jumped, whirling around. Nowadays, Rule stood taller than the old priest, whose bald spot grew larger with each passing year. The hair left had turned white while his waist expanded and his glasses thickened.
Father Wilkins studied him, then grabbed his elbow and led him out of the kitchen. He released him in the hallway and walked away.
Rule drew in deep breaths, wondering if he carved away his ears, would he still hear the voices. At first, they were fun and kept him company. Now, they wore him out. He wanted them to go away.
Jangling keys captured his attention. Father Wilkins strolled past Rule, heading toward the side door. As usual, Rule didn’t hesitate to follow. He spent a lot of time here, so the elaborate furnishings barely registered. Somewhere along the way, the rectory was upgraded and doubled in size. Rumor was Mom and Dad funded the project.
The short walk from the rectory to the church calmed Rule. The bracing air cleared his upheaval, and his feral, exposed feeling fled. Father Wilkins didn’t speak until he guided Rule to the hallway where the confessional box sat. Made of teakwood and seemingly stolen from another era, twofleurs-de-lis on the twin frosted glass doors added mystery to the elaborate scrollwork.
Father Wilkins glanced at a closed door across the way from the confessional box. There were two confessionals. Rule tried the one where he went into that room and sat in a wingback chair with a little table separating the other chair. The room put him face-to-face with the priest. Rule couldn’t unscramble his thoughts at the close proximity.
He shook his head and nodded at the confessional box.
“I won the auction for a new painting,” Father Wilkins coaxed. “It’s in the confessional room. I would love your opinion on it.”
“No.” The word brooked no argument. As much as he loved art, he needed the pretense of anonymity. After his run-ins with Rebel, Rule barely concentrated on anything else. His voices had been overwhelmingly loud, accusing him of ignoring what a Jezebel she was. He’d seen her dead at his feet.
“Do you know what time Mrs. Caldwell is picking you up today?”
Rule shrugged. At least three times a week, he visited Father Wilkins. Either Mom or one of his aunts dropped him off, although Mom always picked him up. Tonight was the family get-together so he wouldn’t have long to spend with the priest.
Goddamn her.
Because she couldn’t keep her legs closed, she’d deserted her duties to Rule’s religious education when she almost died.
“I can see you’re more agitated than usual.” Father Wilkins nodded to the box. “Let’s get started.”
Sometimes, how much Father Wilkins knew about Rule annoyed him, when he didn’t even know the priest’s full name. He saw documents signed ‘M. Wilkins’, yet despite how much he asked what the ‘M’ stood for, it remained a mystery. Rule even asked hismother once and she said she didn’t know. She assumed it was for Michael or Matthew but couldn’t be sure.
The priest settled himself on one side, while Rule did the same on the other and closed himself in. A moment of claustrophobia nauseated him, but he shoved it aside. The priest slid open the slot as Rule knelt and made the sign of the cross.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy. Amen.”
“Amen,” Rule mumbled. Three months after his thirteenth birthday, he’d had his confirmation. Mass brought him peace. Until Mom collapsed, and then nothing worked. Not until he’d begun sacrificing the forest animals and the voices befriended him.
“I’m waiting, Rule,” Father Wilkins said sternly.
Rule didn’t hesitate. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession.” He fell silent, not knowing where to begin.
“How are your friends?”
The voices.
Tears rushed to Rule’s eyes. “They want to commit me.”
“Your friends?”
“No! Mom and Dad.”
