Page 9 of Absolution

Evidence of his cruelty still lies on the bathroom floor, where the unplugged curling iron, coated in scant drops of blood, stirs flashes of him shoving it up into me while forcing me to look at myself in the mirror. Punishment for embarrassing him in front of his friends. Tears sting the rim of my eyes at the memory of him threatening to plug it in, a warning that if I ever humiliated him again, he’d take pleasure in returning the favor.

I relieve myself quickly, wiping to find blood smeared on the tissue as well, and with shaky hands, I clean myself with a warm washcloth. My chest tugs with a sob, but I choke it back, grinding my teeth in anger, instead. I prefer anger. It’s far more useful than tears.

I force myself not to look at him lying sprawled on my bed, as I make my way to the kitchen, where beer bottles, scattered cards, and overflowing ashtrays litter my once-spotless table and countertops. Rubbing a hand over my forehead, I will myself not to break down, and tug a balled-up grocery bag from beneath the sink. The bottles clang against each other while I clean up the mess, but his snores in the other room confirm he’s too drunk to hear it. I set the bag of empties onto the counter, beside the knife block, and pull one of the blades from its sheath. Touted as the sharpest brand of knives in the world, I suspect he wouldn’t even feel it sinking into him at first. Maybe a mild sting and the warm blood leaking down his skin.

Gripping tight to the hilt, I tiptoe back into the bedroom until standing over him.

Back contracting with each breath, he snoozes away, completely unaware of the urges beckoning me to slam the blade right into his spinal column. Perhaps it’d paralyze him immediately. I once read a medical record, about a man who sustained a cervical stab wound and immediately suffered tetraplegia. Could’ve killed him, had he been struck just right.

The curve of his neck draws my eyes, and I’ve tightened my grip of the blade, going so far as to raise it over my head before I’ve realized the motion.

Calvin snorts, flips over to face me, and I startle with a gasp, lowering the blade behind my back. Though his lids open, he seems oblivious to me standing beside him. A second later, his eyeballs roll back into his head.

Exhaling a shaky breath, gaze locked on him, I inch backward toward the kitchen again. Thoughts spin inside my head, none of which express any level of remorse for having nearly killed him just now. Instead, I stand smacked by how easily I could’ve ended this nightmare, how quickly I’d have severed him right out of my life for good. How thin the line between a normal human being and a cold-blooded killer really is. I’d have lost everything in those split seconds—my beloved apartment, my job, the many things I’ve collected over the years, like my cherished phonograph and my wardrobe of vintage clothes.

Everything but my dignity and self-worth.

My freedom.

If only I didn’t take that deal all those years ago, how different might things be for me today?

A quick glance at the clock shows one in the afternoon. My shift at the hospital starts soon, and my day will undoubtedly tick away, as it usually does. Only today, I’m far more dangerous than I was yesterday.

5

Damon

My search is fruitless. Not that I wanted to find a child’s dead body up on Angel’s Point, but had he buried her there, at least someone would know. At least her death wouldn’t have gone completely unnoticed.

At first light, I took my morning jog up to the graffiti spattered overlook, where the city stands off in the distance. Had I not been preoccupied with searching for the remains of a little girl, I might’ve taken in the breathtaking views, but instead, I left that place wondering if I imagined the whole thing. If the man who stumbled into that confessional was nothing more than a visual sent by God, to test my faith and dedication.

Morning mass seemed to slip by almost in robotic fashion, my mind swarming with thoughts I feared I’d accidentally divulge to the entire congregation, as I spoke of sin, and God’s mercy and compassion. I decided to get through my day, to be here and present for my parish, and then resume my inquiries into the Ames girl later tonight, after my Street Safety meeting. At the very least, Lia Ames is still missing. That alone draws my curiosity in troubling measure, to the extent I dreamed of having found her bones, and woke up in a cold sweat.

I turn my Chevy Impala into the parking lot of Los Angeles General Hospital, where I’ve been called to offer prayer and support to the family of a comatose child who fell into a pool and nearly drowned. I’m early, as usual, the result of having worked construction for so many years prior to the priesthood, and getting up before the sun. Keys in hand, I exit the car and make my way past security, who wave me on as I enter the lobby. With three hospitals and several nursing homes within my parish boundaries, a few visits in the last couple of months have made me a familiar face here.

Through the halls, I make my way to the Medical Surgical floors, coming to a stop at the elevator. Beside me, a woman hobbles up with a chocolate lab, a service dog, I’m guessing. Offering a friendly smile seems to ease the stiff expression on her face—one I’m all too familiar with, suggesting she’s not comfortable in the presence of a priest.

“Someone die?” she asks, stroking her dog, who sits at attention.

“Um, no. I’m just here to offer prayer and support for a family.”

“Thought you was giving someone last rites, or something.”

“No. I’ll be praying for her recovery this week.” The elevator seems to be taking longer than usual. Or maybe I’m just not in the mood to talk after having spent half the morning searching for a little girl’s remains. “That’s a beautiful dog.”

“I have seizures. Bad ones. Epilepsy. Rango, here, keeps me from swallowing my own tongue.”

Frowning, I nod and clear my throat. “I’m sorry to hear you suffer from seizures. That’s gotta be terrifying.”

“Hell, I ain’t scared. I was married to a bastard who beat me to within an inch of my life. Finally worked up the courage to divorce him. Seizures ain’t nothing.” Her eyes seem to challenge me, maybe expecting that I’ll say something about thepermanence of marriage.

“I’ll pray he takes a long walk off a short pier.”

With a chuckle, she shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re not like most priests, are you? I’ll bet your church appreciates that about you.”

“I’m an acquired taste, for sure.”

The elevator dings open on a half dozen people inside, presenting room for no more than one more passenger. Hand ushering her forward, I offer to let her go.

---