The Confession: Chapter 4
It is a beautiful day, a woman in a red dress is walking on a cliff high above the ocean. There’s the sound of children playing somewhere in the distance.
The woman walks towards the edge of the cliff. Father Romero approaches her. He calls to her. She stops at the cliff’s edge and turns and looks at him. She tries to smile.
But something is stopping her from smiling. She starts to gag and then cough. She continues to cough until blood comes out, lots of blood, it flows down her red dress, the dark red of the blood mixing with the bright red of the dress.
Romero reaches out to her with his hand trying to help her, for some reason he can’t get close to her, as if she is surrounded by an impenetrable field. She is still coughing heavily, spurts of blood coming out of her mouth. She looks up. She is trying to say something. She struggles, unable to catch a breath. Finally, she is able to say one word. One faint word.
“Help.”
She repeats the word.
“Help.”
Romero takes another step towards her, trying to get through the force field but she steps back keeping the space between them. Romero keeps moving forward. The woman looks down to the ocean below. She is on the edge of the cliff now.
Romero can’t help himself, he takes another step forward. The woman looks back at him and as she does she takes another fateful step, off the cliff. She stares at him as plunges to the ocean below.
Romero screams.
And wakes on a bed in a cold cellar. He sits up in bed still screaming. He realizes he is awake now. Someone is sitting beside the bed. Romero turns and sees Westbury, in old man form.
“Nice dream?” Westbury asks.
“Where.. Where am I?”
“My basement.”
“I’m your prisoner?”
“I prefer to say guest.”
“You can’t do that.”
Westbury frowns, he clearly thinks, yes, he can do that. He is in a surprisingly light-hearted mood for someone that has just kidnapped a priest.
He holds up a black cat.
“I brought you a friend.”
Westbury lets it go and it runs away to the corner of the room.
“And some entertainment.” Now he holds up a closed chessboard.
“Who are you?”
“I have told you that. It was not a lie.”
“What do you want with me?”
“I have told you that as well. And that was also not a lie.”
Westbury places the chessboard on a small table and opens it. “Now that we are, how would you say, better acquainted, I’m afraid I can’t let you leave. I have prepared this cellar for your extended visit.” Westbury starts arranging the chess pieces to their starting positions.
“You can’t keep me here.”
“Yes, I can.”
Romero composes himself. He remembers his dream. “Souls call out to me in my dreams.”
“They have that unfortunate habit.”
“Are they people you have killed?”
“Perhaps.”
“Why do you keep them trapped here?”
“They are not trapped. Some choose to stay, some choose to go. I do not control what they do.”
“They call out to me for help.”
“I am sure they do.”
Westbury is almost finished arranging the chess pieces. “I must warn you, I am quite a good player.” He pauses then looks at Romero with a devilish smile. “Years of practice.”
Romero is seething at his predicament, at the moral corruptness of the man who sits before him.
“How many have you killed?”
“In the beginning, many, very many, now, as few as possible.”
“But you still kill?”
“There is no other way.”
“There must be.”
“I try to be humane, if that is the right word, but the longer I go without sustenance the more dangerous I become. It’s like a drug addiction, I suppose, if I go too long I become... feral, until I’m just another animal prowling, killing, drinking. Trust me, you don’t want to see me like that.”
Romero is aghast at how matter of fact Westbury is about something so important.
“You’re insane.”
Westbury sighs. “I am old and tired. I am not insane. I am forced to live a life I did not choose.”
“There is always a choice.”
“Is there?” Westbury doubts this. He leans back in his chair, relaxed, in command. “So what else would you like to know? The blood thing, we’ve covered that. The sun, yes, I suppose you could say it’s bad for my complexion. Garlic, I personally don’t like the taste, but in some dishes it’s not so bad. Crucifixes, and the cross, well that’s a little complicated, but I am not without some powers to resist. A stake to the heart and cutting off the head, well, I think that would kill just about anybody, don’t you. What else?”
“The photographs, the mirror, I thought.”
“There are many myths about us. If you couldn’t see us in mirrors or photos we wouldn’t have survived very long, would we? Of course, these days it’s harder to keep one’s privacy, which can be a challenge, but all this social media makes it easier to find suitable prey. One door closes another opens.”
“I won’t let you use me for your disturbed purposes.”
“Isn’t a sinner allowed confession?”
“Not all sinners. Not if they don’t repent.”
“I repent.”
“I will not forgive you. God will not forgive you.”
“Are you so sure?”
“Yes.”
“Do not be so sure of your favor with God. He may abandon you as surely as he abandoned me. You are part of a dying breed just as I am.”
“Humans?”
“Priests. I’m afraid the modern world does not have much need for either of us.” Westbury smiles. Romero stares with hatred.
Westbury perks up like he heard something. He gets up from his chair. “It is late.”
“It’s still night?”
“No. Morning. For me that means it is time to sleep. I see that you will need time to adjust to your new surroundings.” Westbury walks up the stairs to the door. “Good morning, Father. We shall see each other again.”
Westbury leaves the cellar, the door closing on Romero, locking him in.