The Confession: Chapter 1
A man in a long coat stands at the front door of a very large mansion. He rings the door bell and waits. The door opens and a striking woman of indeterminate age opens the door. She is taller than the man and her manner is severe. She looks down at him.
“My name is…” The man starts to speak.
“Mr. Westbury has been expecting you.” She cuts him off. “You may enter.”
The man steps over the threshold of the door and into the mansion. Although the sun is still out, it is dark inside. Many of the curtains and drapes are closed. The woman takes the man’s coat. He wears the collar of a priest. He tries to introduce himself once again.
“My name is Father Gabriel Romero. I have been called..”
“I know why you are here.” She cuts him off again. “Follow me.”
They walk into a large dining room. There are forbidding portraits hung in succession along the walls. The room is decorated like it is from an earlier century. In the middle of the dining room a large and long table dominates. It could seat 20, maybe more. At the far end of the table there is a lone place setting.
“Mr. Westbury is detained. He insists you are served while you wait.”
The woman pulls out the chair at the head of the table for Romero.
“That won’t be necessary, I can..”
“Sit down.” She is a commanding woman. Romero sits down.
“I will return.” She leaves the room.
Romero is alone. He hesitates to get up from his chair. He looks around the room at the gothic portraits on the wall. Eventually, the woman returns with a bottle of very dark red wine and pours it into his glass.
“I will return with the food.”
“It’s not necessary…” Once again, Romero fails to stop her as she leaves the room.
Romero is alone in the giant darkened room again. He takes a drink of wine. The taste is strong. He looks back up to the portraits and studies the faces on the wall. Their eyes are alive. It feels like they are looking back at him, watching him, observing him.
As he examines the portraits from afar, a very quiet but distinct sound can be heard in the room. It is unclear what the sound is but it is definitely there. Romero listens carefully trying make out the sound. It stops. Then starts up again. It is coming from the floor beneath the floorboards, maybe coming through the vents. It could be the wind.
But it sounds more human than the wind.
It sounds like a whisper.
Romero sits still and listens. He hears the whisper again. Someone calling in a faint cry. He gets up from his chair and walks to the corner of the room. He stands near the vent listening for another sound, another faint cry and is startled.
The woman has returned and is holding a silver tray of food. She looks at him disapprovingly.
“I… I thought I heard something.”
“Please sit down, Mr. Romero.”
She is not asking.
Romero goes and sits back in his chair.
“It’s Father Romero.”
“Excuse me.”
“Please call me Father Romero.”
The woman ignores this request and sets the food down.
“Our chef has made his specialty, roasted leg of lamb with rosemary potatoes and red wine sauce.”
She leaves the room. Romero is alone again. He looks down at his plate of food. Blood is slowly running out of the piece of meat on his plate.
Romero looks up to the windows high above. A small hint of sunlight peaks through the top of the closed curtains. He sighs and picks up the knife and fork and starts cutting into the lamb.