The 7

by Kerri Ann

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  CHAPTER ONE

  ~

  “FORGIVE ME, FATHER, FOR I have sinned,” the small voice from the other side of the screen confided. I can just make out her shadow as she completes the sign of the cross. “Today marks the fifteenth day since my last confession. My last mass was three weeks ago, and I have one sin to atone for.”

  “Tell me your troubles, child.” I know it’s fruitless to ask, but it’s expected. Their whole reason for appearing here is to be absolved.

  “I had impure thoughts about a woman in my...book club,” she says cautiously.

  “Are you lying, child?”

  “Father, I’m telling you what I feel comfortable with you knowing.” So, she’s another one of them.

  “Continue, child.”

  She clears her throat. “You see, we were reading a book about first loves. It was about a woman, and how her best friend was the first to really see her through all her faults. Her problems didn’t matter. Seeing love conquer and repair damages, she came to love the other woman—in the story, that is. Love can be pure in so many ways. Right, Father?”

  “Yes, child. I agree that love can be pure of heart, but not sexual in its context, such as love thy brother, love thy sister. What is it, though, that has made you feel impure? Tell me. Tell your God what it is so that you may repent.” Every day, all day, this is the possible outcome of so many lives in our city. These lost souls need our care, and it’s my job to make them whole. They need to feel loved and cherished without reservation or condemnation.

  “Well, Father, I’ve never felt that from a man. It made me feel secure and cared for by this woman. She makes me feel like I’m perfect. I know in my heart that God would tell me if this love is wrong. But if love is good in all forms, then why deny me a love if he presents it?”

  And there’s the predicament of my position. How can I deny love? How do I tell her that it’s an abomination to love another woman in the way that she does? I do the will of God because it’s right and just. “What you personally feel is different than the scriptures, my dear child. Loving in a chaste way is expected and condoned, but to love her in the way that a man and a woman would is unwell in the eyes of God.”

  “But Father, what of the changes under the Pope, the holiest of Fathers on earth? Hasn’t he stated that all love is to be cherished? Why deny me? My confession isn’t in loving her, my confession is this; In loving her, the love for my husband has become secondary. I love him, I do, but I can’t love him as I love her. Do you understand, Father?”

  So, it’s not that she loves this woman, it’s that she’s venturing out of her marriage. Well, this one’s cut and dry. “This is an impure allowance under God and his teachings. You must care for your wedding vows. You will work on giving your husband the love and devotion that you imparted when you first married him. You gave your word that his love was the only love, other than that of your God.”

  “Yes, Father.” Her voice falls. Seeing her bowing her head in defeat, I wonder…did she really feel that her confession would be seen as a just reason to venture from wedlock and step out of the marriage? These are the situations I deal with, and it pains me. Our parish is in a more volatile area of the city, which brings these creatures of faithlessness to our door often.

  “You will repent your sins through your act of contrition. Repeat after me, ‘Heavenly Father, I in good faith will follow the path of your teachings, and in doing so, I will work on being a good person that puts effort into my marriage.’” She quietly repeats what I say, and I continue. “I will no longer have impure thoughts about another, as it is unfair to my vows under God.” She again repeats after me, and in doing so, I hear her voice becoming stronger; more willful.

  “You will perform six hail Mary’s and continue to work on your family obligation. I absolve you of your sins. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  “Amen. Thank you, Father.” Rising out of the booth, she closes the door behind her while I relax with another completed parishioner on the right path. Do I analyze every one of these sad souls? Yes. I care for them, not only as their direct link to Christ, but I also feel their pain and sorrow as their priest.

  There are days that these burdens weigh heavily on my soul, and that I despair with the inflicted damage on my own psyche. My lord keeps me strong, or as strong as he can. And what I cannot handle, I contain in my own way.

  Her love of the woman could be a product of a bad relationship. The dangerous liaison could be nothing more than her looking for love where love hasn’t been found yet. Nervously rubbing the sleeve of my robes, I take a deep breath and blow it out. I’ll deal with the dark thoughts I have about her and the love she has later when I’m alone.

  As the door next to me opens and closes again, a man enters. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  Garnering my composure to assist another lost soul once more, I situate myself in the confessional to take on their needs. “Tell me how I can help you, son.”

  “It’s been six months since my last confession.” His voice is deep and gruff. His voice has a dangerous tone that’s truly recognizable—hardened and callous.

  Answering him in a calm manner, I say, “Six months is a long time. How many confessions will we address today?”

  The screen doesn’t allow room for me to see his face, but I can see his profile. I know who he is. Bracken Madox, President of the Broken Bows MC. His club runs the south side of the city with an iron will, and even heavier fist. They deal in guns, drugs, and sex trading. He’s a dangerous man.

  “Only those I wish you to know, Father.” Bracken and I have history, and I both love and loathe when he visits.

  “To absolve you, I would expect nothing more than full honesty, my son.”

  He laughs darkly. “How about I give you what I can, Father. The rest is for you to read between the lines. I think my wife is stepping out. Mostly my fault. I think I push her to it.”

  Great. The woman that was here is his wife. Just the darkness I needed today. Thank you, Father, for giving me a further trial of piety.

  “Knowing if she has stepped out is not yours to confess. Tell me your confession, son.”

  “You’re right, Father.” His sinister voice booms off the walls of our tiny enclosure. “My sins are extensive. How long do you have?”

  I don’t doubt they are. Lifting the edge of my cassock, I scratch the scars on my wrist. “As long as you need, son.”

  “Well, let’s get started then, shall we?” Laying his long legs out in front of him, Bracken crosses his ankles, settling in for a long conversation. “My first sin, of course, has multiple infractions. Sins of the flesh. I love flesh. I’ve partaken in free pussy that would make your robes curl, Father. The taste of that sweet nectar as it glides along your tongue? Mmm, exquisite. The feel of supple tits as they’re pinched, fucked, scarred and sucked? The heavy screams as they ask to be released? Yeah, that’s both dangerous and intoxicating. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you, Kyden? No. You wouldn’t know the feel of a woman’s cunt anymore. You walked a
way from that.”

  Walking isn’t the right, I ran. Slipping away in the middle of the night, I left, never looking back. He knows that every time he explains his sins, the effect is meant to shock. He understands it more than any other could. He knows me. A woman’s touch is not what I need, though I’d love it. The reminder is fresh every moment. Clearing my throat, I try to bring the conversation back to something more suitable for the venue. “Thank you for the honesty, son. You stated multiple sins—”

  “Yes, that I did. I’ve been having difficulties expressing my rage. It comes out in fits of destructiveness.” His tone is excited. I can almost see his snarky grin.

  “You have released this rage on others, I assume?” Catching my nail on one of the more recent scars, I revel at the pain it elicits.

  “Goddamn right I have.”

  “We do not take the Father’s name in vain here, son. Please refrain from blaspheme, or I’ll have to ask you to leave without completing your penance.”

  “Yes, Priest. I understand the consequences.” Uncrossing his ankles and shifting forward on the seat, Bracken brings his face close to the screen. “I understand perfectly.”

  “Good. Continue, please.”

  “Well, Father, I’ve unfortunately harmed a few poor souls in my care.”

  “Harming others is not permitted. Do unto others as you wish done upon you. Follow the path of God’s will and you will find absolution.”

  “I think I’m past the point of absolution. Don’t you, Ky?”

  “My name is Father Kyden. Please, use it correctly, son.”

  “Yes, Father Kyden. Thank you for the reminder.” His voluminous voice surrounds me, pulling me down that dangerous edge. The reason I became a priest was because of men like him. My darkness envelopes me the same way as his harnesses the truly dangerous parts of him by feeding him, fueling his need for mayhem. “Well, you see, there have been casualties left in my wake. A multitude of corpses. Some I killed with my bare hands, others I had decommissioned by the hands of another, but I was the instrument. Can I be absolved of those sins, Father?”

  The itch on my skin is a burning need, a harsh fire of release cresting under the surface. Forcing my hands away and laying them in my lap, I do my best to avoid the need to drive out my inner demons.

  Knowing Bracken doesn’t wish to repent is not a part of the confessional, though I do wish it were. There’s no savior that could clear the taint on Bracken’s soul. The devil has held him tight to his bosom for far too long. “I will pray for you, son. Beyond that, it is up to you to repent and see to your own eternal soul. God cannot help you if you do not attempt to atone.”

  “Understood. Thank you.” The glee is palpable in his voice. He’s enjoying this far too much.

  “Is that the extent of your sins?”

  Shaking his head, he looks directly at me. “No, Father. No, no, no, no. I have partaken in one of the worst sins that one can. I’ve tainted one of God’s children that felt they were unattainable.” Scratching his fingers down the screen, popping over the holes one by one, slowly, he peers through and glares at me. “I’ve tainted the soul of a priest. I’ve reminded him of what he’s hiding from, what it is that he covets. What he wishes for. What his darkest desires are.” The darkness of evil is visible in his gaze as he stares through the screen. I feel the inky darkness he talks of, the unwanted caresses that make me shake.

  “Who is it that you’ve tainted, son?”

  Sitting back hard against the confessional cabinet, it vibrates under his weight. “You, brother. It may not be today, but it will be soon. You’ve hidden for long enough. Come home.” Rising quickly to his feet, he exits the confessional before I can respond.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ~

  AFTER BRACKEN LEFT, I HAD three other parishioners for soft-minded confessional, two families request baptisms, and a confirmation lined up for the Sunday coming. It was a long day. I was exhausted, to be honest, as Bracken takes a lot out of a soul.

  Getting to my quarters was not only a welcome reprieve, it was a necessary component of my evening. Removing my tippet and hanging it on the hook inside the door, I undo the thirty-three buttons on my cassock one by one. Counting them down gives me a sense of peace, and the release helps me deal with the demons I fight every day. Moving it to the hanger, I gently lay it across, giving it the respect it deserves. It reminds me of what I am—who I am. I’m no longer controlled by the wills of those that sin, that I have become a better person through reflection and atonement of my stray mind.

  Changing into more comfortable attire, I set the kettle on the stove and toast a few slices of bread before grabbing a glass of holy wine to unwind. This is my daily routine. They’re necessary to survive. No one will ever know of my demons. No one. There’s a ritualistic component to my process, but it keeps me on the path of righteousness in the eyes of God. Or, at least, that’s how I feel. It helps me to cope and to assist those in my care for another day.

  Grabbing the hot bread as it rises, I butter it lightly before placing it on a plate. Walking to my living room, I lay out my meager meal and kneel down in front of the cross that adorns my mantle. The fire has long since died down in the hearth and that’s just fine on this warm spring evening. The less light visible in the room, the better for me.

  “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Please accept my confession for the impure thoughts that I have partaken in this day.” I pick up the neatly wrapped, rolled, and tied leather case. “My perspective on the world was tried again today, Father. Why do you try my resolve daily?” I know the answer, though I don’t wish to believe it. Christ understands my failures and accepts them; therefore, my penance must be justified. Laying out the towel I use—that no one knows of—I prepare. Unwrapping the tie and laying out the kit, I roll up my right sleeve. “Today was especially difficult, Father. I understood her driving need for love. I felt that in her heart she was truly satisfied in the arms of another. I felt challenged by the trials you set forth today. Thank you.”

  Selecting my favorite tool, I place it across my marked and scarred skin, dragging it down the length to exorcise the demon that resides. Watching the darkness escape slowly in light streams down my skin, I feel the excitement and erotic release of the demon fighting to stay. He fights daily to live within me, yet this removes him, for however a short time it is.

  Undoing the clasp on my trousers, I reach inside and grab my heated cock as I watch the blood hit the towel below. At first, this didn’t occur, but over time, the releasing demon, and God, requested more of me. More pain. Stroking it lightly at first, then harder, I cut myself once more. The pain is not diminishing the envious need for sexual release with a woman. To have a woman, or a multitude of women, did nothing to cool my blood. Stroking harder and harder, I push down until the circumcised head feels like its ripping apart. The sweetness of it is both exhilarating and excruciating. “Give me the tools to release the demon that makes me wish for more, Father. Please,” I beg.

  Pushing my trousers lower, I cut the inside of my leg, taking the pain deeper. “Forgive me Father for my sins!” I holler. Thankfully, this is helping tonight.

  I cannot stomach food or drink without completing my penance. I’ve tried, but food fails me, expelling immediately. Pumping my hand hotly, again I cut my leg, bringing my orgasm to the forefront. “Thank you. I understand my penance for wishing for more than you have offered. Thank you.”

  As the ending nears, I rise to my knees and pump the evil seed into the soot. Watching the diaphanous liquid blend with the burned remains, I feel relief. Wiping up with the towel, then sopping up the blood that mars my dark skin, I accept the respite on my tortured soul. Doing up my trousers, pulling down the sleeve of my shirt, I contain the tools until I require them further.

  Rolling it up and placing it in position for tomorrow’s need, I take a seat in my chair. “Father of all, God on high, please b
less this food and drink that I’m about to eat. Thank you for your penance. Thank you for the blessing of helping others and assisting them in becoming better Christians. The trials you set forth for me are many and great. Thank you for that, Lord, and I appreciate all that you do.” I cross myself. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. In Christ’s name, O’ Lord. Amen.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ~

  TODAY, AGAIN, HAS BEEN A blessing in disguise. The morning started off blissfully well. The youngsters that attend the daycare with the good Sisters were fantastic. Each of them performed the sacraments without giggling or silliness. They attended the early mass admirably, and left without a single word spoken of chastisement.

  We don’t have a large congregation in this area of town, as there are few that feel their eternal souls require pious attention. We’re located between whorehouses, strip clubs, cocaine shops, low income tenements, and the Broken Bows MC. Most don’t give us the time of day, other than to tag the walls of the rectory with graffiti. I’ve had to clear it this week alone three times, and it’s only Tuesday.

  Most days, I don’t go to the confessional until the afternoon, as a great deal of our inhabitants don’t wake until after eleven. There’s no use in being there early.

  This morning, my fresh scabs are itchy, pulling at the skin, tearing at my resolve to run back to my residence to skim the blade over flesh once more. But I have will of the mind and soul. I can wait.

  Walking through the pews, acknowledging those that stop by for a quick prayer or blessing, I’m anticipating the joyousness that helping all of God’s children gives me.

  “Father. Could I confess?”

  Turning around, I take in the dark-haired beauty with creamy brown eyes. I’d know those eyes anywhere. She stands, waiting for my response.

  With a weak smile, I feel my heart fall deep. “Of course you can.”