The Confessional

Written 2/19/05

    Father Stephen Crane was in prison awaiting trial for six counts of rape. He was guilty of abusing twenty-four boys from his parish, six of whom had recently come forward with their accusations.  He awoke on the bottom bunk in his cell. Rising and sitting on the edge of the bed, he heard a gruff voice from the top bunk. He didn’t look at first, just listened.
“You know, they oughta burn people like you. Like how they used to with them witches in Salem. Tie you up and start a bon-fire at your feet. Wouldn’t even do you the justice of coverin’ you in kerosene. Nah, we’d let your skin roast slowly, fucker. I’d be right up front laughin’…” he said.
Crane rose slowly to see who was speaking to him. On the top bunk rested a black man in his early 50’s, with white and grey hair and extremely dark skin. His hands were closed behind his head and he looked at the ceiling as he spoke calmly.
“You stand up there at your pulpit preachin’ to niggers like me about prayer and peace, all the while you fuckin’ your altar boys and getting’ drunk on the Lord’s blood. I would tear your flesh off and wear it as a fuckin’ hat,” he said, sitting up and looking into Crane’s eyes.
“I’m Lowell Fairbanks. In for twenty seven counts of murder,” he said, extending his hand.
Crane clenched his jaw in fear and disgust.
“You don’t know me,” Crane said through tight teeth.
“Oh I don’t?” Fairbanks said, hopping down from the bunk and getting within inches of Crane’s face, “You look a lot like that ol’ preacher man at my church. The one who would take the boys out for ice cream after church and then back to his house to take pictures. All you fuckin’ collars look the same,” he said, spitting out the last words.
“You’re a murderer,” Crane said, holding back tears of rage, “You took other people’s lives, playing God. You don’t get to decide when someone dies,” he said.
“Oh I don’t?” Fairbanks said, squinting in disbelief at what had just come out of Crane’s mouth, “I sure as shit did. Twenty seven times, like I told ya. Now, friend, you said I don’t know you, well then you sure as fuck don’t know me. If I don’t get to decide when another person dies, why do you get to decide when a twelve year old gets to have his asshole ripped open?” Fairbanks said.
Crane flinched and stared at the cold cement floor. He saw Tommy Scanlon, the last one he’d had, on all fours with no pants on. Right below the crucifix. Then there was blood rolling down his eyeballs and covering everything.
“You ever read the bible, man?” Fairbanks asked.
“Of course…” Crane said quietly, crying now.
“Then you know…sodomy is very frowned upon. What would Jesus do, man? You think he’d stick his thing in Peter’s ass? I’m fuckin’ sure he did,” Fairbanks said.
“How the hell would you know?!” Crane screamed, still keeping his eyes on the ground.
“Look man, I don’t know. This, right here” Fairbanks said, motioning to the cell they were in, “This aint a pretty picture. This isn’t something we should have to see. We’re fuckin’ criminals man. I’m a psycho and you’re a pervert. We deserve to be in here, man. You ruined lives and I just plain ended ‘em. God done forgot about our asses. Now, we can either suck it up, and hope that they’ll give us the chamber some day soon…Or we can admit that there’s no good left for us. We’ve taken too many wrong turns, we’re at a dead end, man. I think it’s time to be a man and just end this shit. Here,” he said, producing two metal shivs from his pocket and giving one to Crane.
“What…What do you mean?” Crane said
Fairbanks slapped Crane quickly and said, harsh and quiet “What the fuck do you think, man? We gon’ take each other out of this world. We aint no good, man!” he said.
“But…I can’t…it’s against my religion,” Crane said.
“Nigga, are you serious? You in jail, man! For rapin’ kids! You are a rotten fuck. You aint got no religion. This,” he said, grabbing Crane’s wrist and holding the shiv up, “This is your religion, now.”
Crane’s tears dropped like acid rain on the cell floor.
“Oh, God…” he said, as Fairbanks raised Crane’s shiv to his own jugular, and put his shiv at Crane’s.
“Alright, now, on three, you gonna slice me across the throat. Make sure you get the jugular. And slice deep. We gon’ do this together, man.” Fairbanks said.
Crane was so choked up he couldn’t say a word, he just sobbed. Fairbanks slapped him again, hard.
“Stop cryin’ man! You should be happy you met me! You gettin’ a free ride outta this shithole. I’m your fuckin’ archangel, man!” he said, motioning to himself with his shiv.
“Now, on three. One…two…three-” Fairbanks plunged deeply with the shiv and slit Crane’s throat, jumping back before Crane’s blade could cut him.  The priest  dropped the shiv and grabbed his bloody throat, choking.
“Oh…Oh, God…” he whispered, falling to the ground.  His legs writhing uncontrollably.  
    Fairbanks stumbled back, rubbing his throat.  “You was actually gonna cut me, wasn’t you? Some priest you are.  Told you I knew you, man.  You aint no priest, and neither was the fuckin' collar who took my ass.  He took himself out before I had a chance to thank him for ruining me.  But thankfully for me, ya'll tend to act alike, don't ya?  I may be a liar, but I aint no murderer.  Well...don't kill anything human anyway.  Robbed my way into this place to find sick fucks like you.  You're number six, Crane.  Never even fought a man before I was in here!  'Aint been in a confession booth for a while either. This feels nice.  Am I forgiven, Father?” Fairbanks said, hands on knees, talking down to Crane.
Crane stared, wide-eyed and in disbelief, keeping his eyes on Fairbanks, his legs thrashing until it was over.
Fairbanks waited until the life had completely faded out of Crane's eyes, stooped and whispered into his ear, "Sleep now, Father."