By E. R. York
Prologue
How long had it been, really? When was the last time I went to confession? Actually I knew exactly when I had stopped going to confession, had stopped going to mass at all. Somewhere along the line, my life had taken an ugly wrong turn. I had found myself careening down a long dark road, everything spiraling madly out of control. How had I come to this point?
I breathed in deep, the pungent cedar incense filling my nose. I had always found the confessional, a small dark room no more than a closet, comforting, as I was sure all Catholics do. Lowering to the cold vinyl kneeler, I peered into the window. When I was little I always tried to make out the shadowy figure on other side, straining to see the priest. But no matter how hard I peered through the tiny window, I could only see just a silhouette. Still, it was comforting to know that I could say anything to that shadow and still be rewarded with sweet forgiveness. The anonymity promised that my secrets would remain secret from the harsh judgments of the other parishioners.
The truth is that everybody in these intimate churches knows everybody else, so when juicy gossip was passed around under a thin pretence of keeping identities secret, it’s easy to guess who committed what sin. Still… I believed in the privacy. I had to. I had been taught never to question it or anything else about being catholic, or a wife, or even about being a woman.
We spoke in hushed tones in the confessional but churches are notorious for amplifying the tiniest sound. I was grateful that no one knew me here. But I needed not have been embarrassed. No one else was here in the early dawn hours.
I hadn’t really planned on going to confession. But as the sun was rising across the desert, and this little church had appeared on the horizon, it just seemed like the thing to do. Funny how when everything falls apart we revert to that which is familiar and comfortable.
So I try again… “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was… (what-six weeks? A year? A lifetime ago?) “My last confession was … a while ago.”
“these are my sins…”
“I kept the extra change when the cashier at the grocery story thought I gave him a $20 when I had actually given him a $10. I took the Lord’s name in vain, lost count how many times. I lost patience with my child and yelled at him…more than once. And last week when my neighbor was out watering his lawn, I wanted to tear his t-shirt off and fuck him right there on the lawn, so I guess I’ve coveted my neighbor’s spouse… That’s pretty much it.”
“And, oh yeah…one more thing. I killed my husband.”
* * * *
The sun is just beginning to rise over the northern Nevada desert. The vast expanse of creamy sand shimmered a soft pink-orange. The once-indigo sky was quickly phasing from deep blue to orange to pale green. Few events in life hold such promise as a desert sunrise. My son is asleep in his car seat behind me, peaceful and innocent. Today he is oblivious to the true evil that we’ve just left behind. There will be time enough for him to learn what evil is, he can get to know it tomorrow.
How long have I been driving? It seems like years… but I know it could only have been a day, perhaps two. Before me stretches endless miles of nothing. Behind me lay endless miles of the same. Except for the occasional passing car and the odd coyote crossing the road now and again, I am alone in my thoughts. It is somewhere in this vast expanse of nothing that I happen upon that tiny town with its tiny old church. Why am I so suddenly overwhelmed with the need to confess my sins? Did I really believe that absolution was in order? I’m not an evil person, per se. For the most part I am kind and generous and good hearted. But even the kindest of souls can be pushed to do the unthinkable. Some of us have been known to run hell-bent toward that unthinkable edge and then jump of our own accord. Sometimes it’s difficult to discern whether we are running away or running toward.
I remember when I first met him. He was so charming, he seemed so sincere. He made me laugh. It felt good to be with him. But I learned from knowing him that true evil can take whatever persona serves its purpose. I don’t know exactly when I noticed he had changed. When the madness emerged.
No, that’s a lie. If I am to be honest, I have to admit that I saw the signs of true evil, even from the beginning.
But would I admit it, even to myself? In those quiet moments, when I push past the wall of denial, I know I saw it. Perhaps my greatest flaw is that I never expect people to be as bad as they truly are. My denial at times has been so complete that even blatant, overt evil has escaped my notice. I’ve kicked myself often and hard for missing what was right in front of my face. Or maybe for pushing what I know to be true to the back of my mind.
“There, it’s safely locked away. I can pretend it’s not there…”
So here was David-handsome, charming, perfect David.
Well respected in this town, he as a professor of English at Santa Domino College. It was unusual for these border towns to have colleges but this adjunct of the University of New Mexico was a busy school, drawing scholars from all over the Southwest. The faculty loved him. The students loved him. His smile was engaging, his blue eyes disarming. He was often seen dashing across the campus, books under his arm, the wind tousling his blond hair and just adding to his boyish good looks. Everyone loved David. All the men wanted to be him, all the women wanted to be with him. He couldn’t help but be enamored with himself. And no one begrudged him his arrogance.
And I was no different. I fell under his spell too.
But he certainly wasn’t charming as he watched me walk around that basement floor. He was finally awake, even though he was groggy, just barely conscious. I struck the matches and lit the candles, one by one. His cold blue eyes glared at me above the duck tape that covered his mouth and nose. Those eyes were so arrogant, so smug even now. David struggled against the tape, trying to pull his hands free. He still hadn’t grasped what was happening. He tried to move his legs, but his thrashing and kicking did nothing against the duct tape that held his legs to the chair. When I walked past the chair he jumped for me, trying desperately to reach me, but his arms were well secured to the arms of that very same chair. They say duck tape binds the universe. It certainly was the right tool for this particular job. And I had been generous with the tape.
David’s mocking stare continued even as he watched me load our son and his few belongings into our old car. He could see me through the basement window, I’m sure, watching my feet go back and forth from the house to the car.
He was still scoffing when I turned on the gas on the stove, careful to blow out the pilot light first. Did he finally start to show an edge of recognition then? I think maybe so. Those hard blue eyes widened a bit when I lit the rest of the candles (and silently said a prayer). I placed them strategically here and there around the rooms.
But I do know for sure that realization gave way to panic when I picked up my keys and my purse and walked toward the door. Those eyes, once angry slits were wide open in terror when finally hit home that I may really do mean it this time. That arrogance surrendered to panic when I started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. I never even looked back.
Chapter One
David’s breath came in raspy shards. His heart pounded, his blood thundering waves coursing through his ears. With effort, he slowed his breathing, clawing for control again. Finally his heart slowed, his blood quieted, his breathing slipped back toward normal.
David opened his eyes finally and looked down at his handiwork. She was absolutely lovely. She looked peaceful and serene, lying there naked and exposed on the cold metal table. Those lovely brown eyes still had their color. It was fading, but not too quickly. Brown eyes were the best, they faded the slowest. David reached out his hand, sticky with her blood, and stroked her soft black hair away from her forehead. She had been magnificent. She had struggled and fought, but in the end she had surrendered to him, like a good girl. But not too soon.
The knife had moved easily through her skin between her breasts, slicing through the muscle below.
Her screams still echoed in her ears. He liked that. David had found, mostly through trial and error that if he worked smoothly and quickly enough, he could get to the heart while it was still beating. If he was successful, he could cut it out of a girl’s chest before she stopped screaming and he could hold her beating heart, her life in his hands. And that was the key – the thing that made this all worthwhile.
David picked up the girl’s heart, warm and wet and lifted it to his critical eye. Good, he thought. No nicks this time. He breathed deeply, inhaling the acrid scent. Then he placed it gently onto the glass dish already waiting for it. The heart was really all he wanted from this one. It would have been a shame to have to mar such a lovely face. Even the staring eyes did not obscure it. David sighed in contentment as he unbuckled the restraints at the girl’s wrists and ankles. He placed a sheet on top of her , and rolled her lifeless body to its side. He wrapped the sheet around her. Then he lifted the girl and carried her out into the moonlight.
When he returned, he washed his hands and changed his shirt and pants. He turned and walked toward the door of the little cabin and opened it. Before stepping through though, David looked back toward the inside of the room. Another girl, her bound hands holding her naked body only slightly above the floor, whimpered softly, her eyes stark and wide. She flailed her feet a bit but the bindings held her just out of reach of the floor.
It would be a pleasure to work on her tomorrow night, he thought. Smiling, he turned off the lights and stepped through the cabin door, closing it softly behind him.
