Wednesday, July 11, 2012


Pulse of Evil (PROLOGUE)

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” The dark confines of the confessional room felt like a coffin.

“And how long has it been since your last confession?” the priest asked, his features and voice obscured behind a mesh screen.

“Years? I don’t know. Since high school,” I said.

Silence. My hands wrestled with each other in my lap. I shivered, suddenly cold. Squeezing my eyes shut did nothing to ease the pain that throbbed inside my skull.

“What are your confessions?” he asked. The monotone voice masked boredom or interest. Such a simple question. If I wanted forgiveness,redemption, salvation all I had to do was list the things I’d done wrong since my last confession.

More silence.

This time, it was up to me to break it. I brushed one hand though my hair, and pushed my bangs to the side so I could see. Seemed pointless. There was no light, just the smell of wood polish and the sound of the priest breathing evenly on the opposite side of the wall that separated us.

“This isn’t easy,” I said. My bottom lip rolled into my mouth. I bit down.

“Admitting sins committed rarely is.”

It felt like my heart had left my chest and was now fighting for space alongside my brain—beating, beating, beating. I dropped my elbows to my knees as I bent forward, my hands clasped together, extended out in front of me. “Father,” I said, or thought, I can’t be sure.The silence that surrounded me, seemed to pulse—throb—in my ears, in counterpoint with the beating of my heart. The tempo wracking its way through the inside of my head was draining and intensified. “Father, I witnessed a murder. Two. And I did nothing to help,” I said.

I wasn’t ready for tears. It seemed I had no choice. As they fell, I allowed them, refusing to wipethem away. “I didn’t try to stop it. I didn’t call the police. I didn’t do a thing!”

Did I hear the priest suck in air?

This had to be sodifferent from what he was used to hearing people confess. Bad words. Bad thoughts. Not informing a clerk you’d received back too much change at the check out.

“How far away from the murders were you?”

In the middle of them. “Close. Too close.”

“Does anyone else know that you witnessed these murders?”

“The killers. They know I was there.”

Wings ePress Books
Copyright © 2012 by Phillip Tomasso III
ISBN 978-1-61309-084-8

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