Rick Mofina - If Angels Fall

Maybe it wouldn’t happen today, she thought, allowingherself a degree of relief. Maybe not today. Maybe not ever again?

Florence was calmer. She had nearly finished her work.Two more pews. Then she would go home, make some tea, and read. Moving to thelast pew, she reminded herself to pick up some cream. That’s when she looked upand all the blood drained from her face.

He had come.

Her hand trembled. She dropped her bottle of furniturepolish. It bounced and rolled, making a terrible noise. He stood at the back,dipped his hand in the holy water basin, and took a place in line. Florence hadlittle time. Suddenly he glanced at her. Florence had seen him occasionally atthe soup kitchen.

A crepe-sole shoe squeaked. A woman entered theconfessional.

He was next.

Florence collected her cleaning things into her pail,stepped into the main aisle, genuflected, crossed herself, and glanced at thehuge crucifix behind the altar for inspiration. She went to the utility room,tugged on the light. She ran the faucet full force, gazing at the ventilationregister near the ceiling. It was Mary Atkins who had discovered the registerwas part of the ductwork system for the confessionals on the other side of thewall. And that it was an excellent conductor of sound.

“It’s clear as a bell. Like listening in on atelephone extension.” Mary giggle to Florence one afternoon. “You should tryit, Flo.” Mary’s eyes grew. “It’s better than the soaps.”

For a few months after the discovery, they secretlycompared the confessions they overheard. Soon they realized the sins of theirfellow churchgoers were actually minor. For Florence, the thrill wore off. Andshe’d always felt uneasy about what they were doing. “I just don’t want to doit anymore. It’s not right,” Florence told Mary, who agreed, saying she feltashamed and promised to stop. Florence tried to avoid the utility room whenconfessions were being heard.

Except for today.

Today she wanted to hear the confession of the man sherecognized from the shelter. She had to hear it. But she was paralyzed,agonizing over whether to eavesdrop on his confession. Again.

The first time was some months ago.

McCreeny was hearing confessions when she had to go inthe utility room for more polish. She was certain no one was in theconfessional with McCreeny at the time. She was wrong. A man was confessing tohim. Florence was trying to hurry, to get out, but she could not find thepolish. She kept searching, unable to avoid the voices. At first she did notunderstand what she was hearing. Thought it was a joke. But it wasn’t. A manwas begging Father McCreeny to absolve him. A chill inched up Florence’s spinas she listened in horror, hearing him describe his sin in detail. She grewnauseous, and dabbed at her face with cold water. The man implored FatherMcCreeny to swear he would honor his vow and never reveal what he was hearing.McCreeny assured him. The man hinted he would return.

During the following weeks, Florence was tortured withindecision. She couldn’t tell Father McCreeny what she knew, nor any priest forthat matter. She couldn’t. The man would return to confess. Without warning.Once Florence saw him leaving, and made a mental note of it. He had uniquetattoos on his arms.

As days passed, her conscience screamed at her: tellsomeone!

She did.

When the three-year-old boy was abducted from thesubway, Florence called the reporter at The San Francisco Star who hadwritten about Tanita Marie Donner’s murder. But he didn’t believe her. Sheknew. She couldn’t blame him. But she didn’t know what to do. What if the man had abducted the boy? She looked for answers in the steam cloud of her kettle. Shefound one: she needed to provide proof. God showed her the way.

Now get going.

She had a few seconds. With the water still running,Florence opened her bag, removed a miniature tape recorder she had bought amonth ago, should the man ever return. Now he was here and she was ready.Florence set the volume and pressed the record button, like the clerk showedher. The red recording light glowed and she stepped up on an old file cabinetnear the wall and hung the recorder by its strap from a nail above theregister. Then she locked the door and shut the water off.

Voices floated through the air duct, tinny anddreamlike.

“Go ahead,” McCreeny’s voice was encouraging.

Silence.

“Don’t be frightened. God is present.”

Silence.

“I’ll help you begin. Bless me Father-“

“It’s me, Father,” Tanita Marie Donner’s killer said.

Reed spotted Ann and Zach in the Star’s reception area.

“Could you cover for me?” Reed, standing to leave,said to Molly Wilson, who followed his attention to his wife and son.

“Sure.” She was typing. “Just remember you’ve got theprofessor coming and I’m leaving soon for an FBI interview about Becker.”

Passing a hand through his hair, tightening his tie,he was suddenly nervous.

“Hi, Dad.” Zach leapt up. He must’ve sprouted anotherinch. He was wearing a Giants’ ball cap backward, sweatshirt, jeans, Nikes, anda beaming smile.

“Hey, big guy.” Reed hugged his son.

“Are you sure you’ve got time today? You’re not toobusy?” Ann observed the hectic newsroom.

“Naw,” He walked them to an empty room. “You lookgood, Ann.”

She was letting her chestnut hair grow out. Dressed ina pastel silk jacket, matching pants, and pearl necklace, she embodied asuccessful business woman. In her fresh-scrubbed face, her soft lips, hersculpted cheeks, and lovely brown eyes, Reed saw the woman he fell in lovewith-a love evinced in their son.

The glass walls of the office faced the Metro Desk andtwo dozen cubicles where reporters worked at their computers. The family sat atan empty round table. Reed gave Zach a brown envelope.

“What’s this?”

“A present.”

Zach pulled out an action color eight-by-ten ofGiants’ left fielder Barry Bonds sliding into home. “Wow! Thanks, Dad.”

“It’s nice, Tom.”

“So, Zach, tell me how you’re doin’.”

“Well, I don’t like getting up so early so Grandma candrive me to school. I don’t like going over the bridge so much.”

“The school’s break is coming fast, son.”

“And I miss playing with Jeff and Gordie.”

“Meet any new friends in Berkley?”

“Not really.”

“Zach, if there’s something you want to get off yourchest then now’s the time to tell us,” Reed said.

Zach put the picture down, keeping his eyes on it.“Know what the kids at school say?”

“Tell us what the kids at school say.”

“They say my mom left my dad because he was washed upas a reporter after making a man kill himself because of a screw up.”

Reed swallowed hard.

“That’s not true,” Ann lied.

“Is that what you think too, Zach?” Reed said.

Zach shrugged and met his father’s gaze. With hismother’s eyes, flawless skin, he emanated innocence. “I told them my dad foundthe guy who killed the little girl and the police didn’t like it. I told them Iam going to be a reporter, too.”

Reed was awed by his son. After all he had put himthrough, his love survived. Unyielding. Unconditional.

“You still got to put in more time at being a kid.”

“Know what else they say?”

“What else?” Ann asked.

“They say that when your folks split and move out,they never get back together. No matter what they tell you, it never happens.”

“Son, look. I know it’s tough,” Reed said. “But you can’tput much stock in what kids say. Listen to your heart. We want to move backtogether, that’s why we’re talking about it. And that’s better than not talkingabout it, right?”