Blood of Cain

Prologue

Kate Flanagan was glad that the confessional booth would keep her from looking the priest in the eye. Father Thomas Garvey’s sapphire blue eyes had a strange power, she thought. It was a power not of this world. But he was a priest, someone who walked a straighter path under God’s direction. He was a man of God.

Then why was she so physically attracted to him?

It had begun six months ago when Father Garvey first moved to the parish and started delivering mass at St. Vincent’s Church. Kate had sat in the pew with her husband and listened to Father Garvey speaking in a soft, yet deep voice when he led the service. His angular face was movie-star handsome. He had thick, dark eyebrows and combed his black hair straight back. Although the priest would be scanning the congregation as he spoke, she felt that his eyes sought hers, connecting, even if only for a few seconds at a time. He was somehow linking with her deepest most personal thoughts, her soul. She could feel it. Kate would catch herself fantasizing about him, her face flushing, the damp warmth smoldering under her Sunday dress. Then she would silently pray to God to forgive her for sinful thinking, and of all places, in our Lord’s house.

She tried to put that out of her thoughts as she entered the confessional booth. Before she left her home, she had spent extra time fixing her dark, shoulder-length hair, and applying blush and lipstick to her oval face and full lips. Now, she waited. How long had it been since her last confession? Was she the first to speak or was it supposed to be the priest? Think. She waited a half a minute. She could hear a farmer’s tractor, the diesel straining, pulling a load up the road outside the rural church. She looked at her watch. Too early for her husband Peter to be picking her up. She heard a sheep cry, its bleating coming from a field behind the church. Then there was the long, confident stride of someone approaching. Kate felt her breathing quicken. She heard Father Garvey take his seat. She could feel his physical presence just beyond the thin wall. She looked at the lattice grid and cleared her throat. Her heart beat faster, and she dropped down on her knees, making the sign of the cross. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

Father Garvey said nothing.

Kate folded her hands in prayer, waiting. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

“When was your last confession?”

“I can't remember, Father.”

“Our Lord, Jesus, remembers.”

“Yes, Father. I'm sorry.”

“What is it you wish to confess?”

Kate paused a moment, her hand rubbing the rosary beads she carried. “Father, I confess that I haven't been completely honest with my husband.”

“You have lied?”

“Yes, I haven’t been completely truthful with Peter.”

“In what way?”

“We have been married for three years. The last two years I have been trying to become pregnant. The Lord hasn’t blessed us with a child yet, and I believe it is my fault.”

“Why do you feel this way?”

“I think God is punishing me because I have unclean thoughts, thoughts of others.”

“Other men?”

“Yes, Father. I am so ashamed. I love my husband. I really do, but there is something happening to me that I don't understand, these feelings inside me. He can tell that all is not right. He asks, but I lie to him and pretend all is fine. Over and over I lie. He is a good man. I seek absolution … penance, Father.”

“That's why our Lord brought you here, Kate.”

She held her fingers to her lips. “How do you know who I…”

“Our Lord knows all.”

“But you're not …”

“Not what? You haven't been chaste in thought and word, have you, Kate?”

“No, Father.”

“You haven't used sex for its sole purpose of procreation. It has been self-gratification, hasn't it?”

“Yes.”

“That violates the Word.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And you seek absolution? Yes? You desire to be fruitful under God’s command?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry for being deceptive to Peter. Am I forgiven, Father? What is my penance?” She closed her eyes and stroked the rosary beads.

The door to the confessional flew open. Kate, still on her knees, looked up at Father Garvey in the open doorway. He said, “I am your penance. God, has sent you to me.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Kate slowly stood. He entered the booth and stepped next to her. He smelled of testosterone and lilac soap. His dark blue eyes fiery. Intense. His lips were moist. Square jaw-line as hard as granite. He placed his big hand on her shoulder, his fingers massaging her, working his way down to the small of her back.

“Please, Father …”

He leaned closer and whispered. “Sex is for procreation. God has delivered you here for a reason, Kate. Sometimes we fail to understand His plan. You cannot deny divine providence.” He stroked her face gently, the tips of his long fingers moving over her cheek, lips, and down to her breasts. He leaned in to kiss her, slowly, his lips soft, his mouth warm and hungry for her.

She broke away for air. “I can't!”

“You can! And you will because God has a greater plan for you, Kate. You can atone. Impure thoughts can be absolved.” Father Garvey skillfully forced his right hand up her dress. His hand was wide and strong, fingers firm as he stroked her inner thighs. He kissed her again. This time Kate felt her lips part, his tongue touching hers, his fingers arousing heat and wetness inside her. She wanted him, wanted him to take her. Suddenly, he lifted her out of the confessional, carrying her like a child in his powerful arms. She felt fragile and yet sheltered.

He walked by the front pews, through the open door in his office, and set her down on a large wooden desk, spilling papers onto the floor. He cupped her face in both of his large hands as he kissed her. She moaned, her tongue meeting his. His hand was under her dress, fingers entering her. She gasped, leaning her head back, eyes closed, her heart racing.

‘Dear God!’ she thought, glancing out the window as a car pulled into the parking lot. It's Peter. Kate made a move to get off the table.

“No!” shouted Father Garvey.

“My husband's outside. I must go to him.”

“And you will, Kate. This won't take long. God works miracles. Your husband didn’t get out of his car. He’s being delayed for a reason. Don’t you see the bigger picture, Kate?” He pushed her back down, one strong arm holding her shoulders, the other ripping off her panties. His finger moving inside her wetness.

Kate looked over her shoulder and could see her husband patiently waiting for her, the car window up, Peter listening to music. She was frightened, a dark sadness filling her pores, her eyes burning. “Please let me up. My husband’s here.”

Father Garvey pulled her to the edge of the table and pushed open her legs. She slammed her fists against his chest. “No! Please,” she begged, biting her lower lip. Within seconds he had penetrated her. The pain was intense. Hot tears streamed down her face. Father Garvey reached for her chin, holding it with one hand and turning her head toward him.

“Look at me, Kate. Look into my eyes as I enter you.” She looked at him, his face twisted, eyes fiery, nostrils wide. He pushed back and forth inside her, each stroke penetrating deeper. The priest said, “He who comes to the sacred table of the Lord without faith, communicates only in the sacrament and does not receive the substance of the sacrament whence comes life.” He drove deeper into her, his penis throbbing, ejaculating.

Kate screamed. “No! Dear God, no.” She looked over her shoulder and could see a small statue of the Virgin Mary. A painting on the wall of the Last Supper. Through the office door, across the sanctuary, was a stained glass window depicting Christ ascending to heaven. The room was spinning. She was nauseous, vomit rising in her throat. She looked out the other window into the parking lot. She could see the sky growing dark. Peter stepped from the car and walked around to the trunk. He got an umbrella for Kate, like he always did. She watched him and wept. “Peter, dear Peter,” she whispered. The clouds opened into a hard rain, engulfing the old church with the roar of a waterfall. Lightning cracked and thunder rolled, smothering the final grunts of Father Thomas Garvey.