Oakland, California | 2:00 am
Father Joe Clinton anxiously crammed all his clothes inside his Osprey duffel bag that was gifted to him last Christmas. He packed so many that when he started to zip it, the poor zipper wouldn't move. With a frustrated groan, he applied more force and pushed the thick pile of clothes—a remedy that worked successfully. He then grabbed another travel bag and began packing it with his remaining possessions.
When through with his business, he reached for the rosary around his neck and clumsily removed it. He grasped the holy necklace in his trembling hands and kneeled on the wooden floor. Then, he signed the sign of the cross.
"Almighty God." Tears slowly started to cloud his vision. "I should perish," he muttered bitterly. "The regrets, shame, and fear that I feel are getting too much for my chest to handle. I am... I am drowning, I am terrified. But I know I deserve this all." He held the rosary even tighter to his chest. "I h-have killed a man, an act which never was my intention. I am beyond remorseful, Father. I c-can't describe how disgusted I am with myself. The blood in my hands may be washed but it will never be cleaned."
The priest who is naturally very close and comfortable whenever talking to God, now felt as though he was light years away from him. And unlike almost every time, he who usually has a lot to say in his prayers, now only managed a scarce amount of words. It is like he's gone simple-minded and inarticulate.
"Father, I... I beg for your mercy and f-forgiveness. I don't know if I deserve one—I don't know if I ever will. However, allow me to express myself, Lord God. Forgive me for what I did and forgive me for what I'm about to do. Forgive me," he desperately repeated whispering the same words even though he knew that what he committed was never venial. "I disobeyed one of your greatest commandments and I will forever carry that shame." His voice came out as a helpless sob.
His breakdown eventually came to an end but his tears remained flowing, betraying him. With a little strength left, he carried himself to the same bed where he murdered the man and sat on it.
Although the crimson-stained sheets were nowhere to be seen and everything was already fixed to normal, the memories in his mind are as fresh as a grass dew. He can still see a faint image of the lifeless communion steward and can still smell the metallic odor of his blood.
Once again, he shivered and looked away. Next to his bed is a couch, enough to accommodate five people. He walked over to it and there is where he surrendered and rested. His final thought before he drifted to sleep was his escape that will take place tomorrow.
However, shortly after he sealed his eyes shut, a knock on the door caused him to blink and froze at the same time. Almost instantly, his heartbeat increased in speed and he stood up. With a slow pace, he approached the door.
"W-who is it?" he asked, his voice strained and forced.
"Father, it's Sister Joanne. I'm sorry to disturb you this early but a couple came knocking and they're in a rush to talk to you."
Fear quickly spiked in his chest and he swallowed hard. "Kindly ask them what they want then inform me about it afterward."
"Father, I tried to but they made it clear that they wanted it to be between just you and them."
He sighed. He tried to calm his nerves by assuming it was just another couple who are impatient to waltz the aisle and kneel on the altar. With that silly thought in his mind, he managed to relax a little. He then carefully opened the door.
"I let them into your office, Father," Sister Joanne informed him.
He nodded in response, all the while keeping his eyes on the floor before he turned and started walking.
Upon entering his office, he nervously scrutinized the two people in the room. When he saw nothing suspicious, he offered them a small smile before heading to one of the cushioned seats.
"I am Father Joe Clinton, a pleasure to have you here. May I ask how may I help?"
The woman returned the smile. "Sorry to interrupt your rest, Father. I am Emma and this is my husband Jack." Emma looked at her husband and nodded before looking back again to the priest.
"Father, we will make this quick and then we'll leave." She began, her face growing dull and her smile dropping. "Before we tell you why we visited you at such an early hour, we want you to promise us that you'll listen first before ever thinking of calling the cops. We are here for a very important reason and harming you is the last thing we'll ever do."
At the mention of cops, he swallowed hard. He was suddenly imagining a shackle on his wrists and a life behind the bars.
"Father?" Emma called out when she received no response.
He blinked and turned to them. "I will listen, please proceed."
This time it is Jack who spoke. "I uh... our occupation is neither something to be proud of nor worth recognizing—not even close to honorable. It's no surprise our family and relatives disowned us. Some consider what we do as just another unconventional occupation but some prefer to call it criminality. I'm positive the latter is what you'll prefer to call it as well."
Father Joe sighed softly, his uneasiness starting to fade away. The pain and disappointment in the man's eye caused his heart to clench, not only because he felt sympathy but because he knew that feeling too. "My son—"
"Please don't. You won't be calling me that after knowing who we are." He paused and looked at the priest straight in the eye. "Father, we are murderers—vile assassins."
The room fell silent and Jack chuckled bitterly. "Your reaction was expected. God may never forgive us but we will still make everything right." He then shifted his attention to his side and pulled a stroller close to him, something Father Joe did not notice despite his scrutinization when he first entered.
"Our daughter, her name is Sophie," Emma spoke, her voice soft and sounding broken. "When we decided whom to give her to, you were our biggest option. We know of your charity and affection for children so we came here."
Again, Father Joe remained quiet but unlike earlier, he was silent because of confusion and not fear anymore.
Emma understandingly nodded and continued. "We will confess everything. We will surrender and take whatever punishment they give us. The world will know of our wickedness but we want our daughter to be out of this." Her stifled tears rebelled against her but she quickly wiped them away. "Inside the stroller is a key and some cash. A secluded house in the countryside of Connecticut is built for both of you. You will also—"
"Why me?" Father Joe suddenly asked, cutting Emma off.
"Because we know you will raise her well. We know that with you, she'll be in good hands and will grow in good conscience. Please, Father. They are after us, we have no time. If they find Sophie with us, it's over." Emma's voice was desperate and pleading.
Father Joe was about to say something in refusal when his escape plan suddenly crossed his mind. That's when it dawned on him that he had nowhere to go. And so with a heavy heart, he made his final decision.
He was silent for a moment before he stood up from his seat. He then carefully walked over to the stroller and bent down to peek inside it.
His heart warmed at the sight before him. He soon found his hand moving on its own and reaching to hold the little girl's tiny fist. Her pale complexion contrasted with his dark one and he smiled at it. Sophie responded by giving his hand a little squeeze, a small act that oddly meant everything to the priest.
Father Joe, with a glassy eye and a smile, leaned closer. "Hello, there little missy. I think we'll going to have each other's back from now on. How does that sound?"
At this, Emma and Jack looked at each other and smiled.
