The Vows We Break - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,9

forged that man into this one.

I can only save so many people at once, and this is Diana’s turn.

She needs me.

And, like she knows I need her at that moment, she hugs me harder and whispers, “Did you know him? Was he your priest or something?”

I guess, from my reaction, that’s a sensible question.

Yet my answer is anything but sensible.

“Yeah, I did. Once upon a time.”

Savio

“I didn’t mean to kill him.”

The grate in the confessional separates me from the man whom I’m coming to loathe.

He comes every day, wailing about his sins. Begging for forgiveness.

I give it to him.

But I make him pay for it.

Everyone knows not to expect leniency from me. They forgive me for it, ironically enough, but I know there have been complaints to the archdiocese.

Still, what could they say?

That I gave them too many Hail Marys? When each punishment is justified?

Just because they’ve had weak-kneed priests in the past doesn’t mean I’m doing my job wrong.

But this one?

There’s just something about this parishioner that gets to me. And he’s proved me right.

He’s gay—he admitted that to me a long time ago. Only, I don’t care who he screws. Don’t give a damn. Maybe the bishop would care, but I don’t. What occurs within this box is between me, Dirk Benson, and God.

But today, things are different.

Dirk isn’t here with a tale of woe about how hard it is trying to follow the Christian path, trying to stay straight, while intermittently admitting to me that he pays male prostitutes to ease himself.

No, today, he’s here with blood on his hands.

After my experiences, I know that I hate weakness. Not when someone is too frail to protect themselves—be it in spirit or in body—I mean people who are too fucking weak to admit to what they are.

There’s strength in owning what makes you you.

And everything about Dirk is weak. To the bone.

I’ve known for a while it would come to this. He’s admitted to beating the guys he’s paid to service him in the past, and though it’s irked me, I’ve listened to him.

But I’ve been waiting.

Judging him.

Seeing where he’d go, which path he’d take whenever he hit a crossroad.

At first, it was whether or not he’d come out as gay.

He did, after a year of confession.

I forgave him for that, especially because this small town in Gronigen is particularly devout. Someone who is gay definitely doesn’t stick around long. They head to Amsterdam or one of the bigger cities to live their lives in freedom.

Dirk, however, owns the local hardware store. His family has run the same place for four generations, and he’s proud of his roots.

He has a wife and two sons.

He’s ashamed of who he is.

But his admission of being gay came as no surprise. The man is repressed beyond belief, and while I’ve often seen marriages with no chemistry, the interactions between the family are awkward. Almost like he has no place with them.

His confession pleased me. I hoped we’d turned a corner.

Then came his next confession—he’d gone to Amsterdam on business, and he paid for sex.

I absolved him, because we all make mistakes.

But three times more, he’s paid, making special, unnecessary trips to the city to fulfill his needs.

I didn’t absolve him the last two times, because if he was truly repentant, why would he have returned for more?

His visits to church waned, and I was glad. Grateful. Dealing with him was tiring.

Then he returned.

His knuckles were bruised. Bloodied.

News had spread around town about his trip to the city where he’d been mugged and had defended himself.

I’d known what it was—bullshit.

He’d come to me and admitted to beating up his prostitute when he’d taken a photo of them in bed together.

I hadn’t absolved him.

Today?

He’s told me he killed the prostitute.

Why?

Blackmail. Because his prostitute was underage. Because the kid was fighting back, and demanding money.

Sins on top of sins on top of sins.

I can’t say anything to the police. The seal of confession is absolute. I’m supposed to use my lack of absolution as a means of leveraging him to admit to the truth to the authorities, but Dirk won’t do that.

He’s just going to do it again.

Maybe not the murder, unless he gets blackmailed again. But screwing around on his wife? Yes. And the violence is in him. I can feel it.

Seething inside.

I’m a violent man myself. I can control it. I learned to do so a long time ago, but Dirk?

He’s weak.

And so it comes full circle.

“F-Father?”

His rasping words make me clench