"Das Polizei-Geistliche"

“Das Polizei-Geistliche”

By: M. B. Fields, Jr.

Tag line: "It seemed to the police detectives that, the way this investigation was turning out, this case would be closed only if the killer arrested himself. If only they knew...."

Chapter One


“I know how I will kill him!” The priest thought to himself with sudden surprise, as he prepared to offer his congregation the Communion sacrament.

He was usually very careful to keep his religious thoughts separate from his “other” diversions, but this particular Deliverance had been uncharacteristically difficult to plan. His thoughts had been on this one piece of the puzzle for some time. When the answer came to him, right in the middle of the weekly Worship service he was conducting, it fell into place beautifully. It came, he felt, as if it had been especially carved for just this cause, and for just this most holy moment. The solution completed the exquisite plan for the sacrificial deliverance ceremony he would soon perform on his next servant. The Sacrament of Communion was celebrated once each month in this parish. This solution was a once-in-a-lifetime piece of perfection. It was comforting to him that they occurred simultaneously today.

He did not understand why it was exactly, but such gnarled decisions usually simplified themselves by themselves, off in some unknown corner of his mind. So too had this decision. It had been festering for some time now, yet the priest was nothing if not patient. He had known that, in its own time, the solution would come to him. It always did.

He knew that he was perfectly safe now. The plan was complete. Every part of the deliverance ceremony was now in place, and the service would be carried out with seamless and reverential precision. He knew from his experiences of the past that the plan must be meticulously created. Each service must be carefully and uniquely crafted. Even as each servant was unique, so must each deliverance speak to the uniqueness of the servant.

It was not only his meticulous skills and his never-failing patience that made these extraordinarily beautiful services such a holy reality, however. His insistence that each "Service of Deliverance" be unique was his trademark, and his security. Each servant must be reflected in the deliverance itself. So far, almost every service of deliverance had been flawlessly executed.

The Priest truly hated sloppy services. They made him feel uncomfortable and dirty, as if somehow the service had become less than worthy. That had not, thankfully, happened in a very long time. This cleric had learned some painfully difficult lessons well. His preparation and training had paid off handsomely. His services were not good, they were holy! This alone had been his trademark as a Lutheran pastor for over 20 years. This one trademark had kept him completely safe.

His “congregation" of cops loved him because of the intensity of his service to them. His servants found peace in the holiness of his services. They knew, better than anyone, the love he felt for them as they were delivered from their sin. They loved him because of his sacrificial holiness to them. And this service of deliverance would be even more holy.

He could feel himself physically relax. He knew that the perfection was upon him. His faith had been validated yet once more. The Father was surely pleased with his dedication and his loyalty, and had finally lain upon his heart and mind that for which he longed: the perfect plan. The priest was pleased. He knew his success was now assured. His heart suddenly filled with gratitude in such measure that a single tear began to flow slowly down his cheek. But, first he must finish his work.

Bending slightly, he allowed his calloused hands to gently wrap themselves around the golden chalice which was in its correct position for the Communion sacrament. He looked thankfully at his beautifully angelic young acolyte, who stood only paces away, staring lovingly into the priest’s face. Yes, everyone loved this priest.

Carefully, the priest lifted the chalice high above his head, for all in his congregation to see. His eyes open, followed the cup as it was raised. The priest seemed to be inspecting the chalice. But, even more, it appeared as if he was peering through it, to see the contents. For those members observing their pastor, his tear-stained cheek was nothing less than a visible sign of his love for this moment, and for them.

He knew that the mysterious nature of this single, simple act brought both awe and majesty to this Service of Worship. This one act made every Communion memorable, and never failed to elicit deep feelings of reverence and worship from the hearts of his congregants.

He slowly lowered the chalice to chest level and extended his hands towards the first partaker in the line of worshippers. His congregation had mostly gathered along the front rail of the church nearest the altar, clinging to the altar rail as if they were not human, but rather reaching tendrils of climbing Ivy. Those who could not (or would not) receive the bread and wine at the rail from their Pastor would be served later in their comfortable pew seats--by the Deacons.

Forcing a countenance of perfect peace to take its required place upon his face now, the priest felt the beginnings of a smirk slide across his lips. Looking deeply into the eyes of the first member of his congregation to share the cup that day, the priest extended the chalice, and opened his mouth to speak.

“The blood of Christ, which is given for you!”


NB: Thanks to my friend Kate~Rune Writing & Reading for featuring this work in the March 10,2010 edition of the "Mystery" Newsletter.