Cover

Title Page

Dedication

To LaVeta, my angel

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

It was a few minutes after mass on a hot summer morning, and silence filled the cathedral as if the Lord himself had said, “Peace. Be still.”

The quiet didn’t last for long. As a breeze slipped between the cracks in the centuries-old walls, and the sun shone through the angels that adorned the stained-glass windows, the priest’s heavy footfalls marched toward the confessional booth.

Father O’Reilly always walked with purpose to hear confession. He thought it was his most important duty as a priest. In helping his parishioners deal with their sins, he was more than a cog in the church’s wheel. He was an instrument in God’s holy symphony. That was why he loved to take his place in the confessional booth. It was there that he felt closest to heaven.

As he opened the sturdy wooden door and sat behind the screen, Father O’Reilly brushed his gray, thinning locks away from his eyes, fully prepared to play his part in the dance between sin and mercy.

By the time he closed the door, he could see that the first confessor was already sitting on the other side of the screen. His face partially obscured, the man spoke before Father O’Reilly could even greet him.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he said in a thin, gravelly voice. “It’s been five years since my last confession, and…”

The words drifted off into an awkward silence. Father O’Reilly glanced through the screen at a young man whose face was a mere shadow beneath his wide fedora. There was something familiar about him—something so otherworldly that it turned the sanctuary’s whispering breeze into a chilling wind.

Father O’Reilly shivered in spite of himself. “Please, go on,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s all right.”

“Is it really?” the man said, his tight smile evident in his voice. “Well, since it’s all right, these are my sins. I’ve lied to those who’ve tried to help me, and hidden myself from people who love me.”

Father O’Reilly felt uneasy about whatever was beneath those words. He folded his hands to keep them from shaking and asked the question whose answer he already knew. “Is there more?”

The man chuckled. Then a loud burst of laughter escaped his lips before he suddenly went silent.

Father O’Reilly went from uneasy to fearful. “Listen, perhaps you should—”

“Let me guess,” the man snapped, the sound of his voice growing darker by the moment. “Seek professional help? Is that what you’re suggesting, Father? Well, that’s not what I need. I need forgiveness. Can you give me that?”

“Well, I—”