Field of Graves(43)

“I am here, my son.”

The stranger bowed his head and made the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two years since my last confession.”

The young priest’s words were automatic. “The Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, that thou mayest rightly confess thy sins. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The man paused a moment, then started to speak, the words spilling out faster and faster. “I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin, to all the Saints, and to you, my spiritual Father, that I have sinned. I am the angel of the power of God, the angel of judgment, the angel of truth. I and I alone am responsible for creating the One who will save all of us. It is too late for me, but my legacy will be fulfilled. This will be hard for you to hear, Father. But it is time, and I must be absolved for my sins and the sins of my unborn son.”

Father Xavier sat upright in his seat. Oh Lord, this one was crazy. What a capper on the day. “Go on.”

“Father, I am a scholar—a student of life—a practiced apprentice of love and death, the twin sides of a coin where one cannot exist without the other. I seek to help my disciples into a perfect state of being. Ideal beauty and absolute goodness. I am truth. I am their deliverance. I am the sun, essential to the creation and sustaining life of their world. I am the archangel, forced into their corporeal bodies, fighting to pilot their souls to the radiance of me, where they and I, together as one, can achieve the ultimate bliss.”

“My son, I do not understand you. Perhaps you need to speak with...”

“No!” The voice roared from behind the screen. “I will speak to you, to our God. He knows what I say is true, and has told me I am the truth behind the light. That’s why I killed them. To save the One who is the light.”

“Killed them? Who have you killed?” Father Xavier felt a small bead of sweat roll down his temple and brushed it away in annoyance.

The voice was suddenly rational, coy. “We are under the seal of confession here, Father. I trust I needn’t remind you that you cannot go to the police and tell them what I have said here.”

Father Xavier leaned back against the wall of the confessional. He’d heard stories of murderers coming to confession, placing their confessors in such awkward positions that there was no clear way out but copious amounts of prayer. His designs on a quiet evening bled away.

“Go on, my son.”

“Thank you, Father. You see, I’ve studied them as they march through their mean exile, looking for the One, the One who will understand and accept my thesis without complaint. I test each one I find worthy, forcing enlightenment into their beautiful heads. I comment on their words, trying, always trying, to help them focus on the light. My disciples flow into my life, anxiously awaiting another of my lessons—to drink in the exquisiteness of my words, to seek sustenance among my phrases, anything that will allow them to flow along their menial course throughout the rest of the day.

“At last, I found the perfect vessel for my substance, one who has allowed me to unfold my wings, force my soul into hers. She carries the One, Father. Our salvation lies in the womb of a woman near here. I fear I may have become lost in her—despite my intentions. I too am not immune to the corporeal sins of the flesh. It has been a true awakening of the small spirit within me. The others were necessary. I had to hedge my bets, as it were. If several were impregnated, it only increased my chances to father the One.”

Father Xavier felt dizzy. What in the name of God was this man talking about? He was obviously suffering from some sort of delusional messiah complex. The rational tone was gone again, he was rambling on and on, and Father Xavier did his best to decipher the meaning of the man’s prophetic speech. He definitely seemed to have a God complex, but what did he mean about impregnating women to create the Messiah? Did he actually think he had that kind of power?

“... they were given the most spiritual of deaths. They were the catalysts, the ones who came before, the ones who fulfilled the prophecies. And with each death, another cycle was completed, another step toward the coming of the One was fulfilled.”

Though he knew the answer, the priest asked, “What cycle are you speaking of?”

“Don’t be dense, Father. The End of Days. The coming of our Lord is preceded by a series of events that portend His coming. The winds blow from the four corners of the earth, the seas die, and the rivers turn to blood. The Apocalypse, Father. I have set in motion the creation of our Apocalypse, the actions necessary to clear the way for our son to enter the world absolved. As soon as the prophecies are fulfilled, the One shall make himself known to the world.”





34



The reality of the situation sank in for Father Xavier. This was the killer the press had been reporting on. “You’re the one killing the Vanderbilt girls,” the priest spat out in horror.

“Oh, Father, I am not killing them. I am releasing them from their earthly bonds, allowing them to walk in the light of our Lord while the rest of the world awaits His coming.”

“You’re crazy. I suggest you leave now.” He wanted to get the man out of the confessional and out of his church.

“They were disposed of lovingly, Father.” The man continued as if he hadn’t heard a word the priest said. “Admittedly, I did lose my temper a few times. But they were given a clean and spiritual release. And it is time for me to have my absolution, for the sins I have perpetrated on these women and the ones to come.