He got off in Marylebone, bringing his collar up to obstruct a full view of his face and slinging his cap a little further down over his eyes. Not that anyone was paying attention to him—they were too busy checking out Madame Tussauds, the famous house of wax, across the street.

Prior ducked inside Saint Cyprian’s Church near the southwest corner of Regent Park. Being a Monday morning, it was fairly empty. But the clergy and altar boys were busy preparing the sanctuary for Christmas Eve mass the following night. He walked down the center aisle, glancing up at the white-gold trellis, a crucifixion statue, and the ten magnificent panels of stained glass hanging above the altar. He did the sign of the cross, then moved toward the confessional.

Soon, he was waiting inside, still holding the small wooden cross.

A couple of minutes passed and beads of sweat began to dot his brow. He contemplated taking his leave and was just rising when the panel on the confessional slid open, revealing the shadow of the on-duty priest.

The clergyman began with a prayer. Prior knew it and mumbled along. He thought the priest seemed young but it could’ve just been the high tone of his voice. The prayer concluded, and the priest continued the ritual.

“Now, let us bring into light anything for which you want to ask God’s mercy.”

Prior made the sign of the cross again, then recited the string of words he’d uttered more than any in recent years. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“How long has it been since your last confession?” asked the priest.

“Just over a week,” Prior answered.

It had been back in New York City, on the day that he’d arrived. Prior had meant to return to confession sooner, but so much had happened. As a result, he had a lot to get off his chest with the man from Saint Cyprian’s.

When Prior finished, he wondered if the shadowed figure on the other side of the scrim would refuse to absolve him.

But there was only a slight pause before he heard the familiar words.

“You may go in peace, my son—all your sins have been forgiven.”

It’s nice to know there are some things you can count on never changing.

He had just begun to stand up when the priest cleared his throat. “Forgive me for asking, but have you been to confession before at Saint Cyprian’s?”

Prior was taken aback by the question. Maybe he had laid so much on the young priest that he had caused some sort of suspicion.

“No, Father,” Prior finally answered. “They’re renovating my parish, so I’ve been going wherever and whenever I can elsewhere.”