"Guilt" by JeanCroix


The camera flashes had not yet stopped when the coroner entered the room.
The body was in the bed, with as much blood on the bedclothes as she
would expect from stab wounds.

The scene wasn't particularly grisly; she'd seen much worse. The attack
did not appear hurried, though, and the victim didn't seem to have put up a
struggle-- she had probably been asleep when it happened.

"White female, aged 47 years. Sister Agnes DeLuca, a teacher here for
nineteen years," the detective in charge read off to her. She was 
busy examining the three wounds on the otherwise peaceful-looking
corpse, and did not really ackowledge the detective saying that they
didn't have any suspects yet, but were asking the nuns about some
of the kids in the school.

 - - -

Mother Katherine drummed her fingers on her desk quietly as she
skimmed the file in front of her. Agnes's death had yet to fully
sink in, and all she could feel for now was numbness. And duty--
a duty to Agnes to find who did this, and see that things were
made right in the eyes of the Lord. The grieving over one of her
dearest friends would come later. As would the fear.

She looked across her office to the dark wooden chairs against the
wall. Scott Duff was sitting in the middle one, quietly staring
at his feet. Aside from telling him to sit down, she hadn't
spoken to him since he'd entered five minutes ago.

"Scott, we are the third parochial school you have attended within
the past four years, correct?"

He looked up at her and silently nodded his head. He'd been in this
office enough times in the past year to know that speaking to
Mother Katherine, even when asked a question, could serve to get him
in more trouble than he was already in.

"And in your previous schools, as well as ours, you have displayed
inappropriate behavior toward your superiors, time and time again.
Talking back. Swearing. Threats." She paused to let it sink in.

Had he been spotted last night? Did they think that he was the
one? He ran though it again quickly in his mind... Sneak out
of bed at about three a.m. Head toward the east side entrance.
Quietly open the door and tape the latch. Walk quickly to the
7-11 eight blocks away. Get the two packs of Marlboros from the
night clerk who doesn't care about buying age. Hurry back to the
school. Close the door behind him. Notice Sister Agnes's door
open and her light on. Peer inside. See the blood. See the
body. Panic. Run back to his quarters. Hide the cigarettes. Get back
in bed.

It was his usual Tuesday night routine except for finding the body;
he thought he'd made it unseen. What went wrong? Had one of the other
kids ratted on him? He tried not to show anything, though he knew he 
was sweating now.

Katherine looked at him intently, and continued. "Last night,
something awful happened. If you know what I'm talking about,
I advise you to tell me about it. For your own good. For the
good of your soul, and your conscience."

It didn't sound like she knew that he'd seen, only that she suspected.
If he played it right, maybe she'd never know. Then he could try
to forget it.

"I... I don't know what you mean," he replied meekly.

Her intensity increased. "Just last week, you got into a shouting
match with Sister Agnes in the middle of history class, didn't
you? I cannot bring myself to repeat the things you called her,
but I am sure you remember."

"Um, yes..."

"And there were incidents before that, weren't there? How many
times have you told her you hated her? We've tried to have as
much patience with you as the Good Lord can grant, but it
never seems to be of any use. Nothing is of any use with you, is it?
Have you ever regretted any of it, or even felt the slightest bit
sorry for anything you've done?"

He had. A few times, he thought. But most of the time, for most of the
little things he did, why should he? What had anyone ever done for him,
except either abandoned him or tried to stick him away somewhere? Somewhere
like here.

"Most of that old 'gang' you used to be with are now either in prison
or dead. You were the lucky one-- because of your youth, you were
allowed to come to a place like this. We try to help you here.
And how do you repay us?"

Lucky? Yeah... cooped up with a bunch of mean old women and
mental-case kids. He'd escaped twice, and both times the cops had
scooped him up the next day and brought him back. If he'd had someplace
to go, someplace to hide, he might have made it. But no, he was
stuck here, for who-knows-how-long. Until he was 18.

Katherine's face was livid, and the numbness had been chased away
by righteousness. Her path was clear; her duty was not only to her
late friend, but also to the one who'd committed the sin. He 
could be saved.

"You did it, didn't you. Last night, you decided you'd finally
get rid of her, and that would somehow solve your problems!
You must admit it! You killed her!"

She stood up, and there was momentarily fury in her eyes. She knew the
police had told her not to mention any specifics to the kids, but what
did it matter when he was the one? He knew, he obviously did it, there
was no reason to beat around the bush. The important thing now was that he
confess his guilt and give himself unto the Lord's mercy. There was nothing
more she could do for him. It was in his hands, and in His.

Scott sat rigid at her accusations. He knew his hatred for Sister Agnes
ran deep. But... he couldn't do that, could he? Yes. He could. He didn't,
not this time, but he could. He'd imagined it so many times now. About her,
and some of the others. But the ability was there, he knew.

But that's crazy, it was just a cigarette run. Someone must have found the
door he'd left ajar, and come in off the street. He hadn't done the deed,
but it was his fault, he thought. And it was only a matter of time before
it was actually him doing the deed.

"For your soul, Scott."

He could see it; it was inevitable. He would murder someday.

"Yes, Mother Katherine. I killed her."

 - - -

Copyright 1998 by JeanCroix (gruzlj@rpi.edu)