Page 4 of The Reaper

I switched my attention to Mr. Callahan, who was standing proudly. “On behalf of the parish, we’d like to thank both of you for your generosity.” I shook his hand, giving them my most genuine smile.

“It’s our pleasure,” Mr. Callahan said. “We wanted to meet Father Oller’s replacement as soon as we heard of his reassignment. His move was abrupt. I hope he’s okay,” he continued, rubbing Mrs. Callahan’s back. He eyed me, his smile fading. His stare made my skin crawl.

“He is doing very well,” I said. “Father Oller had always wanted to travel to Southeast Asia, so it was Godsent, truly.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mrs. Callahan said. “So, to whom do we owe the pleasure of having you in Boston?” she asked, transferring her small leather purse to her other hand. “Is this your first parish? You seem too young to be leading this size of congregation. Is this temporary?”

“I think we should let Father rest. He’s been meeting parishioners all morning and I’m sure he’s tired,” Jessica interrupted.

“It’s okay, Jessica,” I said. She was being kind, rescuing me from the barrage of questions Mr. and Mrs. Callahan were throwing at me, but I was used to it. They mean no harm, I told myself. They were just curious. I faced the couple, meeting their inquisitive gazes. “I led parishes in Albuquerque and San Luis Obispo prior.”

The couple nodded, appearing unsatisfied. “But you sound like you’re a local,” Mrs. Callahan commented. They stared at my face, and then at Jessica, waiting for more information.

“Boston is home for me. I was born and raised here before heading west to study theology. And as far as age …” I paused and walked toward the front of the church.

Jessica and the Callahans followed.

“Although I’m only thirty years old, I can assure you that the church is in great hands,” I said. The three of them kept pace with my stride. “I can’t express how thankful I am for this visit and your continued support of our parish.” I pulled the wooden door open with my left hand while gesturing my right hand outside. “And Father Oller is just one call away if I ever have any questions.”

“We’re not insinuating that you can’t do it,” Mr. Callahan said.

“Oh, of course not. I appreciate that you care,” I said. “I appreciate both of you.” My eyes bounced between the older couple.

“Well then. We’ll see you this Sunday,” Mrs. Callahan said before heading out.

“I’ll see you then.”

They marched to their car without looking back.

A gentleman wearing a black suit and white gloves opened the door of a black sedan, ushering the Callahans inside the car.

Jessica and I waved at the same time when they looked back. Their tight smiles couldn’t cover the disappointment in their faces. I hope I didn’t upset them.

“I’m so sorry about that, Father,” Jessica said once we were inside. “They’re very …” she paused, perhaps looking for kind words to describe our recent visitors. “Inquisitive,” she finished with a chuckle.

Inquisitive. That was an understatement. “No need to apologize. I get it.”

“Do you need anything else before I leave?” she asked.

“No, I think I’m okay.”

The door creaked open, catching our attention once again. “Oh, thank goodness.” Jessica placed her hand on her chest. “I thought it was the Callahans again.” She blew out a breath when a tall man wearing a black sweatshirt and dark jeans entered the church. His head hung low, preventing us from getting a glimpse of his face. Wisps of blond hair sticking out of the hoodie covering most of his face was the only thing visible. He strode with intent to the confession booth, tugging the red velvet curtains with such vigor I thought it’d ripped from the hooks.

Jessica glanced at her watch. “Look at the time. It’s already ten o’clock. Are you ready to start the confession hour?”

“I am.” It was one of my favorite parts of being a priest. It was a great opportunity to gauge the community and come face-to-face with my flock.

“I’ll leave you to it. Call if you need anything.” She exited the church via one of the side doors leading to the rose garden.

I headed to the booth, going through the series of Bible verses I loved to employ for these kinds of visits. Most verses would work for most occasions. Stealing, infidelity, lying, guilt—you name it, there was a verse for it. “What has brought you here, my son?” I asked after settling on the cushioned seat.

The man lifted his head so quickly, his hoodie almost fell back. “Who the fuck are you?”

Four: The Reaper

The scent of spice and aftershave I’d come to know from Father Oller wasn’t the one that greeted me when the curtains opened. Instead, the smell of fresh linen and oak filled the booth when someone who wasn’t Father Oller took his seat.

“You’re not him,” I continued, leaning closer to the mesh separating our spaces. “Where’s Father Oller?” I felt for the gun tucked into my waistband, my kill mode activated being caught off guard by this unfamiliar man on the other side of the confessional screen.

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