“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

It was warm in the church, and bright – but where Chris sat in the confessional it was dark indeed. It was funny – he’d been afraid of the confessional box when he was a child, but now it was one of the only places he felt safe. Wherever he went, no matter how far his self-imposed exile took him, there was always a church, and always a confessional. Nobody could see him in that dark box; nobody would be afraid.
“It has been twenty days since my last confession.”
[i]The woman at the pew, crying softly. Mourning someone. Her… husband? No. Boyfriend. A hunter. Killed in action.[/i]
“I have brought pain to my fellow man… I have sown fear and dismay with my presence…”
[i]Begged him not to go. One more hunt, he said. Promised. Begged him.[/i]
“I have lied to friend and stranger… I have defied the laws of the land…”
[i]Dead on a knife. Killed himself. It told him to, and he did it.[/i]
“And I have failed to do as much good as I could do. As I should do.”
[i]They should all be killed. Put down like the wild animals they are. All those crazy-eyed freaks-[/i]
“My child?” The priest’s voice was soft and steady, as though it had always known exactly what it was about to hear and exactly what it would say in reply. It shook Chris away from the woman, back to the dark box and his own head.
He continued. “You are… gifted… aren’t you?” His voice was still steady, still calm, but Chris knew he was afraid, afraid of the answer to his question, and the strange young man who had wandered into his church.
Chris said nothing. The priest was silent for a moment, then spoke. “I will speak not of it. Three Hail Maries, three Our Fathers. Go and sin no more.”
Chris rose from the confessional, pulled his hood up, wrapped his scarf around his face and placed his sunglasses over his eyes. It wasn’t exactly a stealthy get up, but the alternative was no better – and might hurt people.
As he walked toward the doors, he stopped by the weeping woman. “It didn’t take him away. He was still him, and he wasn’t afraid when he died. He was thinking about how much he loved you.”
He kept walking before she could reply, before she could look at him or recoil in horror at his presence. He didn’t know if what he said was true; hell, he wasn’t even sure what it meant. All he knew was that she needed to hear it. It would help her.

As he exited the church, Chris saw a public library across the street. Crowded, but as good a place as any to spend the night, if he could find a quiet corner. Maybe he could try the mystery section.
“Our father, who art in heaven…”