Confessions of a Full Moon

Ray leaned forward inside the confessional, crossed his heart and began.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned.”

“You smell rather bad too my son… but, I suppose that’s not exactly a sin.”

Maurice slid a finger under the white collar in yet another futile attempt to loosen his clergy noose. He divided a line on the mirror, being careful not to tap the glass and give himself away to this poor sinner.

“I’m… well, I’m a garbage man… professionally…”

“Ahh… well that would explain things… no sin in that, a noble profession to be sure. Forgive me son, please, confess your sins.”

Ray shifted uncomfortably in the confession booth, thinking the fathers behavior to be strange, but guilt has its way of nullifying the shortcomings of others. “Father… many would say I have done evil… great evil,”

“Many, but not you?”

“Father, is it evil if you kill a man in self defense?”

Maurice cocked a brow as he leaned over with the straw to his nose. Slowly he picked his head back up and regarded the man behind the screen in new light. “Have you killed someone?”

Ray, seeming to crumble at the confrontation, laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Father, if a man goes to war… against a country that is invading his homeland… and kills on the battlefield, is it a sin?”

Maurice blinked. Tonight might be interesting after all.

“No, no my son of course not…” The young man, in his priestly attire, leaned over once again, this time finishing the intended action. A quick snort was heard, easily mistaken for one clearing his sinus.

“Well then… how could it be a sin to… to kill… if the one killed is the enemy? I mean… I speak of the worst people… the rapists… the pimps that peddle twelve year old flesh to vermin creeps…” Ray wrung his hands unconsciously as his anger rose. “Muggers and drug dealers…”

Maurice felt his nerves twinge.

“That lurk around school yards, praying on the young… the weak… the ignorant…” Ray paused, gritting his teeth together, and lowering the tension he built just talking about his passions. “Father… how could it be a sin to kill these monsters?”

Maurice crossed his legs and lightly scratched at his eyebrow with the dull end of the razor blade. “So… let me see if I understand this…” The meth settled slowly into his system. The effects were still a couple minutes away, but the burn in his throat, alone, produced the first fruits of the drugs power. “You’re a vigilante garbage man?”

Ray frowned. The title struck him like a sucker punch and caught him off guard. “I’m not… a… a vigilante…”

“But you’re saying you avenge the weak and the ignorant, by killing off evil men… I believe these are your words.”

“Well… y-yes… but…”

“I suppose you take out the garbage in more ways than one, eh?” Maurice chuckled slightly, and then bit his bottom lip.

“Actually… yes… I mean… I use my day job to facilitate my nocturnal actions. I leave the bodies in peoples garbage of my next days route.”

“Yes… quite suitable… these people turn up missing and people suspect the worst. If anyone does come looking for them, the last place they turn to is Joe Suburbanite.”

“I… suppose that’s the idea, yes.”

Ray frowned and squinted through the veil. This was the oddest priest he had yet to encounter. To avoid being turned in by a church too afraid to keep their vows, he never visited the same confessional twice. He had heard it all. Most would urge him to turn himself in. Sin was sin, and mortal sins the worst of all. Every time, Ray would plead his case, doing his best to justify his reasons. He often wondered whom exactly he was trying to convince. Now this fellow, this voice behind a veil, young to be sure and withholding judgment, even reasoning his motives with him. Ray didn’t know weather to be refreshed or concerned.

“How many have you killed?”

“Fourteen,” Ray replied without a pause.

“And you’ve suffered no suspicion from anyone?”

“No… not that I know of.”

“Well, you’re a virtual super hero… Disposer of waste by day, avenger of evil by night… do you wear a mask?”

“What is this?” Ray retorted, getting aggravated.

“No, no… I’m only curious, I’m not being sarcastic… you rather intrigue me.”

“I’m not some… some comic book character… I’m a simple man, Father. I work for a living. I pay taxes. I’m simply fed up. I come home from work and I turn on the news, hearing about another child abducted and molested, or an innocent pedestrian getting shot… I can’t live in this world any longer without… without… doing something!” Ray hunkered his head and stifled his voice, realizing he was raising it.

“I sympathize with you… really I do.”

“You do?”

“Of course… truly, if more men had the passion to rid the world of the evils you speak of, we would all live in a better place.” Maurice let go, letting his mind rattle off, fueled by the narcotic’s effects. “Everyone, that is, every decent person at some point has had the desire to be proactive… to take matters into their hands and give treacherous people what they are due. I can’t honestly condemn you for acting upon a righteous impulse.”

“You consider me righteous?”

“I consider you a man… imperfect, as all God’s creatures are, but with right motives… sure.”

“I can’t tell you the relief I feel by hearing that.”

“I’m happy to relieve, my son.”

“Yes… well… I just feel… I feel guilty sometimes… when I do it, when I kill… it feels good…”

“I see…” Maurice cracked his neck and began to feel restless and confined. “Please… describe exactly what you mean by this.”

As Ray began to pour out his soul, his deepest complex traumas, Maurice quietly slipped out of the confessional and made his way to the front door. The night air felt invigorating and he longed for conversation. Even the ramblings of the crazy night patron in the parish would have been acceptable, but he loathed the restrictive confines of the confessional. He sunk his hands into his robes and began walking in the direction of the library. A woman in her early thirties, roughly his own age, had caught his eye. Only a half block’s walk from the parish, he set out.

There she was, dark brown hair and a placid expression on her face. She reminded Maurice more of an undertaker than a librarian. Then, on second thought, the professions did seem to mesh. He casually walked in her direction and began inspecting books that were directly in her line of sight. Keeping the corner of his eye trained on the young book mistress, he failed to realize that he was browsing the maternity section.

“Expecting soon, Father?” She said from her desk halfway across the room, her voice cutting sharply through the empty and otherwise silent library.

“Excuse me?” He shifted his eyes to her, and then back to the books he was posing to survey. “Oh… I, well… my uh, sister… my sister is expecting and I, being so close to the library, offered to pick up some aides for her… and the newborn… when it comes…”

“I see,”

Maurice tilted his head and smiled at the attractive and young, if not expressionless, woman. When he spoke again he was already approaching her. “Could you make any recommendations?”

“Sorry, Padre…but I’m single and childless.”

“Well, I thought you may be wiser than I, at least, as a woman… and a librarian,”

“Actually, I haven’t read a single book in this place.”

Maurice feigned shock, now at her desk. “Really? A librarian that doesn’t read?”

“I happen to be dyslexic.”

Maurice blinked. “A dyslexic librarian…”

An awkward silence ensued for nearly twenty seconds. Awkward for Maurice, but the librarian simply crossed her arms and glared at the odd priest, waiting for him to finish his thought.

“Well… I wonder, doesn’t it make your job… difficult?”

The first hint of a smile spread lightly across her curved lips. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Father. All I have to do is run the book across this amazing little gadget and it takes stock of all the inventory for me… no reading required.” Her fingertips seductively traced over the scanner setting on the desktop.

“Intriguing…”

“More like boring… endlessly and mindlessly boring… this certainly wasn’t my first choice of professions.”

“And what was, my dear?”

She shifted in her seat, and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I wanted to be a coroner… but the job requires a degree…”

Maurice widened his eyes. “Indeed… why such a morbid choice?”

“I’m hopelessly obsessed with death.”

Before Maurice could respond, the libraries doors swung open with such force that they hit the walls. Ray stood in the doorway, with a murderous look in his eyes. Maurice could not recognize the man, having never seen him, but Ray knew from the collar and robes that he had found his fifteenth victim.

“You…” Ray pointed at Maurice. “You swine… wretched vermin…”

Recognizing his voice, Maurice swallowed and began backing away. “Sir… there must be some mistake…”

“There’s no mistake, heathen… after I rattled off like an idiot and you didn’t respond, I checked the booth… I found your paraphernalia. I thought to myself, what kind of priest uses narcotics? Then I heard the muffled cries from three confessionals over. You left that poor old man in his underwear… hands and feet tied… how could you do such a thing? To a priest!”

“Now listen, I can explain everything… this isn’t what you’re thinking…”

Ray moved forward, pulling out a heavy book on his way. “You’ll do your explaining to God, heathen. I’m only his executioner.” In a swift motion, Ray swung the book with a lethal force, connecting with Maurice’s head, and brought the man, unconscious, to the ground.

The librarian watched the whole thing in fascination, never leaving her seat. Ray knelt down and scooped the imposter up, raising him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He glanced to the young woman and gave a somewhat embarrassed expression.

“I’m sorry you had to witness this ma’am… he wont bother you anymore tonight.” Ray said, and then turned to leave.

As if worried of losing him, she replied urgently. “No… I mean… no need to be sorry, I’m Eleanor.”

Ray looked at her hesitantly. “Umm… Ray… don’t ask me for my last name now… you can call the police if you want, but I’m doing nothing wrong. This man is a scoundrel…”

“I would never… I mean, I do not intend on calling the police.”

Ray nodded and then turned to leave.

“Wait,” she called to him, not hiding her urgency. “Will you… kill him?”

Ray glared back at her with cold assassins eyes. “He deserves to die…”

Eleanor rose from her desk and walked to Ray, placing a hand on his forearm as he propped the unconscious body up. “Can I watch?”