Bill Franks: Jesuit

However, over recent weeks, Lawrence had begun to question his own activities again. There had been so much in the newspapers about paedophilia that the public was extra sensitive to anything of that kind and, in his quieter moments, Lawrence felt so sorry for the poor victims he read about. He wondered how he, also, could do such things? Then, alone in bed with his thoughts; thoughts that aroused him, he ratified his perversion.

Even so, as a good Catholic boy, he had finally confessed to his parish priest in the confessional box, seeking spiritual advice. The priest, Father McGiven, had first pointed out the fact that, as he had only just brought this to confession, having been carrying out the abuse for the past four years, he had been living in permanent sin and, by accepting Communion, he had been systematically defiling Christ.

The admonition had not been what Lawrence had been prepared for, nor had been the following advice that he should go immediately to the police and report his crimes. The confessor had suggested that Lawrence must be aware that abuse of innocent, pure children was a most heinous sin, not to mention a crime against humanity itself. He told him that, until he purged himself by admitting to the police and suffering the consequences, he could not be accepted to the Kingdom of Jesus. The priest offered to help in any way he could and would be understanding and approachable. Lawrence was given five ‘Our Fathers’ and six ‘Hail Mary’s’ to say as penance and then dismissed with the words: “Go in peace, my son.”

He went back to the polished wooden pews in the main body of the church and knelt, quietly intoning his penance. In between the familiar prayers, his thoughts wandered, wondering why, if God was all forgiving, did he have to confess his pleasures to the police. Surely, on the Day of Judgement, his Creator would show pity. Not a single thought travelled in the direction of the suffering of his victims. By the time the penance had been completed, Lawrence had decided that the priest was wrong on this occasion; after all, whilst the Pope may be infallible, priests were not.

Two days later, another hot, cloudless day, the boys were out in the fields, enjoying an unseasonable kick-about with a football. Drenched in sweat, they stopped often to take in hefty drinks of soda pop before continuing with their efforts. The game was interspersed with friendly wrestling and chasing of the two girls who had joined them. A quick kiss when caught was magic — for both parties.

After half an hour, the heat proved too much to continue the game of soccer, so it was decided that the group, half a dozen lads and the two girls, all between the ages of eleven and thirteen, would take a ramble through the adjoining trees and fields, earthen pathways intersecting at regular intervals.

They strolled along, chattering enthusiastically, enjoying the six-week school holiday of which they were in the fourth, not yet becoming bored by being at home. At times, one or two would scale gnarled and knotted trees, to see who could climb highest but none proved better than another, each reaching roughly the same height. As usual, the girls endured being chased by the boys, somehow always getting caught even though much fleeter of foot. One could be forgiven for believing it to be planned.

Far into the woods, the group decided to take a rest, coming upon a small clearing. They were thankful to lie down and chat about their various interests; pop music, their favourite artists or artistes, football, television programmes, etcetera.

After a short time, one of the boys, after chatting earnestly to one of the girls, got up and escorted her from the group and into the nearby trees. The others smiled and gave knowing winks and rude signs to each other, knowing what the friends were sloping off for. Much giggling followed before the subject of pop music again took up the interest.

Andy and Paula, as the two young people were named, drifted deeper into the trees, cuddling and kissing as they went, Andy risking a tentative hand up Paula’s T-shirt. Not having his hand or face slapped, gave him the encouragement he needed and he continued to fondle her firmness, albeit a little clumsily and over-vigorously. Although the experience was a bit painful, Paula allowed him to continue, basking in the pleasant tingling ‘down there.’ At thirteen, she was coming to terms with her blossoming sexuality and indulging in early experimentation.

With eyes misted and only for each other, the couple lay down on the fern-laden ground. “Have you ever done it?” asked Andy, coming straight to the point.

A blushing Paula answered: “No. Have you?”

“Oh, yes.” Andy lied, “loads of times,” inadvertently pushing out his chest. He was Mr. Experience.

“Will it hurt?” Paula asked, nervously, letting Andy’s hand slide up her thigh. Her face and body were burning as never before. This was new, exciting and sinful. It was great!

Lowering his trousers, Andy slid between the trembling girl’s legs, his lust raging. He pressed himself to her, realising that she was still wearing her panties, but this was not going to be an obstacle at this fiery stage.

Andy had seen his teacher, Mr. Maddigan, every weekday over the past two years, holidays apart. He had always thought of him as rather nice but not very good-looking. He knew Sir was not married and he was not too surprised. There had been talk amongst some of the school kids that he was a ‘faggot,’ and had been with a few of the boys, but nothing had ever really come to light. However, it was good to be able to label someone of authority with a derogatory tag.

Andy had never noticed that Maddigan’s eyes were blue, although the sparkle in them did draw attention. He had always seemed a good teacher; interesting and not too strict.

Today, though, Andy did notice the teacher’s eyes, and that they were blue. However, there was no sparkle in them. They stared directly at Andy and Paula in their compromising position on the padded ground. The whitest face Andy had ever seen surrounded the eyes.

Whilst the young boy’s passion instantly subsided, it was a full minute before his vocal chords began to work. “Sir? Sir?” he gasped, hoarsely, not expecting a reply from the man who was, so clearly, dead.

Hearing the word, Paula immediately panicked. ‘Sir! A teacher from school? Oh, no! How could she live down the shame? What punishment could she expect? Oh, no!’ she thought, all in a microsecond. The front of her neck stretched as she slid the top of her head into the ground allowing her to look behind from her place beneath her shocked partner.

What Paula saw would live with her for many years to come, possibly for the rest of her life. Mr. Maddigan was completely naked and secured between two saplings, forming a bizarre ‘X’. The body was covered in cruel wealds, criss-crossing over the chest and abdomen. The face bore a largely untroubled expression, seeming to be seeking an answer to some unknown question. Paula’s eyes moved down the scourged body, pausing momentarily on the shrivelled, and now useless, manhood. Curiosity at a time like this!

Then came the scream. It began with a silent hiss, teeth bared, lips curled as if in a snarl, raising to a hoarse, elongated cry before developing into a full-blown, nerve-jangling scream, the vessels on Paula’s neck filling with blood until it seemed they would burst.

Andy got up quickly and readjusted his trousers. He was shaking like the leaves around him, now stirred by a gentle breeze. His hands clamped over his ears and he began to wail, mirroring the awful cries of Paula who had not moved from her uncomfortable position, and whose scream was continuing unabated.

The local police in Penn contacted Scotland Yard at four in the afternoon on the day Maddigan’s abused body had been found. The call was put through to D.I. Sampler.