"Gosh, Father, I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you saw me."
The man was large and fleshy, with a receding hairline and soulful eyes. His hooded sweatshirt made him appear even larger, standing in the shadows like he was, with his smile floating in darkness. Father Willie smiled awkwardly, too, because he was so startled that he was sure he squirted a whiz. Age brought a weak bladder.
"I know we've met, but I don't recall your name. Sorry."
"Frederick-Frederick Conrad, not Freddie or Fred-I work for Payne Keller, myself and Elroy Lewis."
"That's right. Payne."
Father Willie remembered. Frederick had once come to Mass with Payne, and when they were introduced, Frederick had pointed out that his name was not Freddie or Fred, but Frederick. Now Frederick shuffled closer, and Father Willie thought his eyes seemed lonely and cold.
"I know Payne's been seeing you, Father, and I'm hoping you know what's going on."
"What do you mean, son?"
"Payne's missing. He hasn't been home and he didn't tell me or Elroy he was going, and we're left with his station to run. Tell you the truth, I'm worried. It's not like Payne to just up and go like this. I'm scared."
Father Willie stood thinking. He had no wish nor right to share the matters of counsel with a parishioner, but Payne had spoken often of Frederick Conrad, and Father Willie himself had grown concerned about Payne's absence. Payne was a troubled man, so deeply troubled that Father Willie often probed him for the possibility of suicide.
Father Willie saw the concern on Frederick 's face, and weighed what he could offer.
"Payne didn't tell you he was going away?"
"No, sir, and I'm getting scared. I'm thinking I should call the police."
Father Willie thought calling the police might not be such a bad idea. His conversation with Mrs. Hansen about folks gone missing had put the spook into him, though he also knew that Payne had made plans.
" Frederick, I don't think you need to call the police just yet. If you're truly worried, you should follow your heart, but Payne was planning a trip to Los Angeles. That much I can say. I didn't know he would go so soon or be gone so long, but he did tell me he was going."
Something like a ripple worked across Frederick 's face, and his eyes grew smaller.
"Why Los Angeles?"
"I can't really get into it, Frederick. Suffice it to say that Payne felt the need to make peace with himself. You ask him when he gets back."
Frederick wet his lips.
"Can you tell me how to reach him?"
"I'm sorry."
"Well, he just left us, Father. We have this station to run."
Father Willie wanted to go home, but Frederick didn't move. The priest already regretted the conversation, reminding himself this was why you could never tell people anything-they always wanted to know more, and seemed to feel it was their right.
"I really don't know what else to tell you. Maybe tomorrow you should call the police like you said."
Father Willie tried to turn, but Frederick caught his arm, and the force of it almost pulled Father Willie off his feet.
"He was planning this trip? It was Los Angeles, you said?"
"I think you'd better calm down."
"Why was he going to Los Angeles?"
Father Willie stared into Frederick 's eyes, and felt a fear he had not known since his days volunteering on death row at the penitentiary. He found the pistol in his pocket, and gripped it, then came to his senses. He let go of the gun. He drew his hand from his pocket and patted Frederick 's hand, the same hand that held tight to his arm.
"Let go, son."
The eerie wrongness faded from Frederick 's eyes, and he made an embarrassed smile.
"Jesus, I can't believe I did that, Father. I'm sorry. I'm just so worried about Payne, is all. Can you forgive me?"
"Of course I can. Let's talk about this tomorrow."
"I'm just worried, you know."
"I can see that."
"Listen, will you let me confess to you? I'm not a Catholic, but would that be okay?"
"We can talk, son. You can tell me anything you need to say. Let's talk about it tomorrow."
"I want to confess, is all. Just like Payne. I got a lot to get off my chest. Like Payne."
Father Willie wanted to comfort this man, but could not divulge that Payne's anguish had remained private. Payne had never confessed, not the things that most tortured him. Payne wanted to confess, knew he desperately needed to confess,