Status: Constantly updating chapters
Frankie
1. The step in
“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.” Said a shaky male voice in the confession booth, where a noisome stench of bourbon lurked. “Well, I haven’t sinned yet. But I will… Soon.”
Frankie sat in silence, loosening his white collar while the other hand let Jim Beam bourbon trickle down his neck. Once he has consumed the required amount, he let out an almighty yawn, mouth stretched wide that was tantamount to a hippo waking up. He wiped the sweat from his brow and ran his hands through his perfectly styled blonde hair before slapping his boyish face.
“Father?” Came the voice again.
Frankie took another swig of his liquor. “What?”
“I am about to sin.”
Frankie exasperated, “About to sin?”
“Yeah.”
“So, by the sounds of it, you are pre meditating something?” Frankie continued to swig the bourbon, and then let out a burp, followed by a laugh. “Sorry.. Uh… Pardon me.”
The voice became shakier. “I… I don’t know if I am ready to make this confession.”
Frankie laughed again, punching the barrier between them playfully. He tried to look through the gaps to see what the man looked like. He was now intrigued. He said, “Then why come at all?”
“Father, please. I don’t feel comfortable.” Said the soon to be sinner.
“Don’t feel comfortable?” Frankie asked mockingly, “Don’t feel comfortable? What are you afraid of?”
There was a moment silence before he whispered, “Of what is to come.”
Frankie jumped out of his seat playfully and donned a patronizing vibe, “And what is to come? Are you going to have an affair? I bet that is it, isn’t it? An affair… Must be.”
“No”
“No?” This made him even more intrigued, “Do you masturbate to gay porn?”
The soon to be sinner let out a massive gasp of disgust, “Good God no! Never! Disgusting.”
“Alright, alright.” Frankie sat back down, “Don’t need to be so judgemental. You can never tell who is a faggot sometimes. I once knew this guy from when I stayed in the Bronx, a real tough, macho Spic son of a bitch, and…”
“I am going to murder someone!” Blurted out the soon to be murderer.
This caught Frankie off guard, who started gargling his alcohol straight for a few seconds then prompts the soon to be murderer, “Continue…”
After a slight hesitation, “I don’t want to mention names.”
“Oh, come on!” taunted Frankie, “The names are the best part! I want to know everything. Why only gossip about certain things, right?” Frankie put down the bottle of bourbon, took out a cigarette and lit it while in the booth.
“Are you… Are you smoking, father?”
Frankie, smiling from ear to ear, “If you had the morning I had, you would understand.” He took a long draw and puffed out a huge cloud of smoke towards the soon to be murderer. “Apparently second hand smoke is more harmful than for you than actually inhaling the smoke directly. That fascinates me. I mean, how is this so? How can this be? Do you know?”
“No, father.” Said the soon to be murderer, perplexed.
“I didn’t think so. No intelligent man will confess to a murder they haven’t committed yet.” Frankie decided to play with him, “You are aware that if I believe you are going to be a danger to someone, I can report you to the authorities?”
The soon to be murderer began to panic, breathing heavily, “No, please. I can’t do it!”
“But a minute ago, you said you were going to do it.” States Frankie, still smiling.
“No! My head is all over the place. Please! No!”
Frankie laughed loudly, “I am messing with you, man!” he stubbed the cig out on the woodwork and composed himself, “Look man, I dunno why you wanna kill this guy. But I assume he has done something to really piss you off.”
“Where is Father Myers??”
This made Frankie snap in to seriousness now, “Father Myers is away on a mission.”
“He never mentioned anything about a mission.”
“Yeah, well he is.” Frankie was getting nervous but composed himself, “Now enough about that guy. Why are you wanting to kill someone?”
The soon to be murderer said, “He raped my daughter.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“No.”
Frankie was impressed, “This is because you want to get your own justice, huh?”
“Yes.” The confessor said, shamefully.
“Have you killed anyone before?” Frankie said, suddenly interested.
The confessor exasperates, “Never. I haven’t even been in a fight with anyone.”
Frankie speaks very clinically, “Here is my advice.” He lit up another cigarette, “Don’t kill him. Get a wrench, the biggest one your arms can carry. Sneak up on him and smash him over the head with it. Just one blow would do it. Give the bastard brain damage.”
The confessor was extremely confused, “Father, you can’t be asking me to sin?”
“Why not? Jesus will forgive you if you repent afterwards, right?”
“But father, I am not sure whether I should…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Frankie interrupted, “Have ten Our Fathers and ten Hail Mary’s for good measure.”
They both sit in silence as the confessor tries to make sense of what Frankie just told him.
Frankie picked up his bottle of bourbon and after stubbing his cig out. “Now I have a bottle of poison to finish, so fuck off.”
Hesitantly, the confessor left the booth in complete silence.
Laughing hysterically, Frankie stood up and left the booth. He walked through the back passage, singing some hymn, until he reached the utilities room. He opened the door to reveal the corpse of Father Myers on the floor naked, blood spurting out of his gashed throat, where the knife is still lodged in deep. Frankie carefully walked over and removed the butcher knife with ease, then carefully hides it underneath the priest’s cloth, which he was now wearing. He starts to talk to the corpse of Father Myers, “You see, father. When you rape little boys this is what you get.” He smiles as he stands up, “Sick fuck.” He leaves the room shouting, “Confessions suck dick!”
He works his way through the old church, to the fire exit. As he opens the door, the fire alarm goes off. “Ah fuck off!”
Frankie sat in silence, loosening his white collar while the other hand let Jim Beam bourbon trickle down his neck. Once he has consumed the required amount, he let out an almighty yawn, mouth stretched wide that was tantamount to a hippo waking up. He wiped the sweat from his brow and ran his hands through his perfectly styled blonde hair before slapping his boyish face.
“Father?” Came the voice again.
Frankie took another swig of his liquor. “What?”
“I am about to sin.”
Frankie exasperated, “About to sin?”
“Yeah.”
“So, by the sounds of it, you are pre meditating something?” Frankie continued to swig the bourbon, and then let out a burp, followed by a laugh. “Sorry.. Uh… Pardon me.”
The voice became shakier. “I… I don’t know if I am ready to make this confession.”
Frankie laughed again, punching the barrier between them playfully. He tried to look through the gaps to see what the man looked like. He was now intrigued. He said, “Then why come at all?”
“Father, please. I don’t feel comfortable.” Said the soon to be sinner.
“Don’t feel comfortable?” Frankie asked mockingly, “Don’t feel comfortable? What are you afraid of?”
There was a moment silence before he whispered, “Of what is to come.”
Frankie jumped out of his seat playfully and donned a patronizing vibe, “And what is to come? Are you going to have an affair? I bet that is it, isn’t it? An affair… Must be.”
“No”
“No?” This made him even more intrigued, “Do you masturbate to gay porn?”
The soon to be sinner let out a massive gasp of disgust, “Good God no! Never! Disgusting.”
“Alright, alright.” Frankie sat back down, “Don’t need to be so judgemental. You can never tell who is a faggot sometimes. I once knew this guy from when I stayed in the Bronx, a real tough, macho Spic son of a bitch, and…”
“I am going to murder someone!” Blurted out the soon to be murderer.
This caught Frankie off guard, who started gargling his alcohol straight for a few seconds then prompts the soon to be murderer, “Continue…”
After a slight hesitation, “I don’t want to mention names.”
“Oh, come on!” taunted Frankie, “The names are the best part! I want to know everything. Why only gossip about certain things, right?” Frankie put down the bottle of bourbon, took out a cigarette and lit it while in the booth.
“Are you… Are you smoking, father?”
Frankie, smiling from ear to ear, “If you had the morning I had, you would understand.” He took a long draw and puffed out a huge cloud of smoke towards the soon to be murderer. “Apparently second hand smoke is more harmful than for you than actually inhaling the smoke directly. That fascinates me. I mean, how is this so? How can this be? Do you know?”
“No, father.” Said the soon to be murderer, perplexed.
“I didn’t think so. No intelligent man will confess to a murder they haven’t committed yet.” Frankie decided to play with him, “You are aware that if I believe you are going to be a danger to someone, I can report you to the authorities?”
The soon to be murderer began to panic, breathing heavily, “No, please. I can’t do it!”
“But a minute ago, you said you were going to do it.” States Frankie, still smiling.
“No! My head is all over the place. Please! No!”
Frankie laughed loudly, “I am messing with you, man!” he stubbed the cig out on the woodwork and composed himself, “Look man, I dunno why you wanna kill this guy. But I assume he has done something to really piss you off.”
“Where is Father Myers??”
This made Frankie snap in to seriousness now, “Father Myers is away on a mission.”
“He never mentioned anything about a mission.”
“Yeah, well he is.” Frankie was getting nervous but composed himself, “Now enough about that guy. Why are you wanting to kill someone?”
The soon to be murderer said, “He raped my daughter.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“No.”
Frankie was impressed, “This is because you want to get your own justice, huh?”
“Yes.” The confessor said, shamefully.
“Have you killed anyone before?” Frankie said, suddenly interested.
The confessor exasperates, “Never. I haven’t even been in a fight with anyone.”
Frankie speaks very clinically, “Here is my advice.” He lit up another cigarette, “Don’t kill him. Get a wrench, the biggest one your arms can carry. Sneak up on him and smash him over the head with it. Just one blow would do it. Give the bastard brain damage.”
The confessor was extremely confused, “Father, you can’t be asking me to sin?”
“Why not? Jesus will forgive you if you repent afterwards, right?”
“But father, I am not sure whether I should…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Frankie interrupted, “Have ten Our Fathers and ten Hail Mary’s for good measure.”
They both sit in silence as the confessor tries to make sense of what Frankie just told him.
Frankie picked up his bottle of bourbon and after stubbing his cig out. “Now I have a bottle of poison to finish, so fuck off.”
Hesitantly, the confessor left the booth in complete silence.
Laughing hysterically, Frankie stood up and left the booth. He walked through the back passage, singing some hymn, until he reached the utilities room. He opened the door to reveal the corpse of Father Myers on the floor naked, blood spurting out of his gashed throat, where the knife is still lodged in deep. Frankie carefully walked over and removed the butcher knife with ease, then carefully hides it underneath the priest’s cloth, which he was now wearing. He starts to talk to the corpse of Father Myers, “You see, father. When you rape little boys this is what you get.” He smiles as he stands up, “Sick fuck.” He leaves the room shouting, “Confessions suck dick!”
He works his way through the old church, to the fire exit. As he opens the door, the fire alarm goes off. “Ah fuck off!”