Nine years ago

I’m the bad guy.

I knew that when I began dealing, and I know it now.

I know full well what I chose when I signed up for it. When I decided to shake people down and beat them up just for a bit of money. When I began to kill.

I knew every step of the way that I was as bad as could be, but I didn’t care. Never do.

All I wanted was recognition. Someone to tell me that I finally made it. That I was the guy who they all wanted.

Except it’s never enough.

Nothing I do will ever make this gang happy.

They’ll always want more, more, more. To the point of making me do the impossible. Something unspeakable. Something that creates a point of no return.

That one night … when I broke my own rules … that was when I turned my back on the gang.

The moment a woman crossed my path. A woman who didn’t know any better. A woman who wasn’t supposed to be there.

Yet she was.

And the moment I pulled the trigger, I already knew I made the biggest mistake of my life.

I didn’t want her to die. It was never part of the plan.

But I was always taught to protect myself at all cost. To shoot before you look. To eliminate the threat before it even exists.

But she was never a threat.

She was simply … there.

An unlucky chance of fate.

It was her house I was robbing, but I was told no one would be home. And when I found out I wasn’t, I fired a shot without even looking to see who it was.

A fatal mistake.

It was a woman.

And she was pregnant.

In my shame, I ran to her body and began to pump her chest in the hopes of bringing her back to life, but it was to no avail. She never even breathed. Not a single whimper. Except the one coming from me.

I tucked my gun back into its holster and grabbed her arms, dragging her out of the room. I hauled her all the way back to my car and shoved her inside. In the dead of night, I drove with tears streaming down my face.

There were two golden rules. Never kill a woman and never hurt a child. And I did both.

My mistake will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Ten minutes.

That’s how much time has passed between then and now as I park my car in an alley and pull the body out. A trail of blood flows on the ground as I haul her body across the road. I don’t know what to do. Where to go.

I can’t go back to the gang. It’s done. It’s over.

I’ve hurt enough people and caused enough pain.

This is where I crossed the line, and I refuse to go back.

But I have no friends. No family. No one to go to for help.

Except for one place.

The church where I grew up. The same place I’m hauling a dead body to right now.

But the closer I get, the more my guilt weighs down on my soul, and dragging her feels more difficult with every step I take. How can I ever make this right?

In these past few years, I’ve lost touch with myself. With the church and Margaret. And with God.

How can I ever face Him now?

And still, somehow, for some reason, I find the will to persist as I haul the dead pregnant woman up the slippery stairs of the church.

Rain falls down on my face as I fight to get her to the top, but I don’t give up. Not until I’m right in front of the door where I collapse in agony over what I’ve done. My breathing is ragged and my muscles hurt, but it’s nothing compared to my heart.

At least I can be sure the rain will wash away any trail of the blood.

I bang on the wooden door as hard as I can, like a final cry for help, and within minutes, my prayer is answered.

As the door opens and light pours out, inviting me in like the end of a tunnel leading to heaven, I stare up into the face of judgment.

“Help me … please …” I mutter, tears and rain streaming down my face.

At first, Margaret’s silent as she eyeballs the woman in my arms.

But then she closes her eyes, sighs, and holds out her hand.

I gratefully take it, and she helps me up from the ground. Together, we drag the body into the church, and she slams the doors shut. When she turns, she takes a deep breath and asks, “What did you do?”

I shake my head and whisper, “I’m so sorry, Mother. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Is she alive?” she asks, approaching me and the body.

“No.”

She sighs again, looking back and forth between me and the body.

“It must be kept a secret. Someone will come looking for her.”

“I know,” she says, and she passes me. “Come.”

I quickly grasp the body by the arms and drag it all the way with me as I follow her to the back of the church and then outside. I place the body on the frigid ground and let out a few breaths.

Suddenly, Carl appears in the doorway, staring at us and the body.

A moment of silence passes, and I wonder if he’s going to run and call the cops.

“Help us …” I mutter.

He licks his lips, glances over his shoulder, and then rushes toward me.

I breathe a sigh of relief as Mother grabs two shovels from a shed in the far end of the yard and hands one to each of us.

“Dig.” Her voice stern, as I remember it to be.

Without question, I take it and start digging a hole together with Carl.

I don’t complain.

I ignore the pain.

I refuse to cry or get mad.

After all, I did this. I should be the one to carry the burden.

Under Mother’s watch, we dig a hole deep enough to bury the body and cover it with earth. The same place where I’ll bury my sins and keep them hidden forever.

Right before her hand disappears into the ground, I quickly grasp the ring that was on her finger, and I put it on my own finger. I need to wear this as a reminder of what I’ve done. So I’ll never forget this body lying here in the ground.

When it’s done, I place the shovel in the dirt and stare at the soil in front of us. The woman is gone, but this night will always remain.

I gaze at Mother and then at Carl.

“This will be our secret,” I say. “You know that, right?”

Carl nods.

“If you go to the police now, you’re an accomplice. You helped me bury her.”

“I know,” he says. “But I’ll always help you.”

I nod. Even after all these years, he’s still fiercely loyal. The little boy who grew up to be quite the reliable kid. Surprising, to say the least. And now we’re bound to each other.

“You will never go back to those people,” Margaret suddenly snaps, her arms folded. “Understood?”

I nod, looking her straight in the eyes. I don’t want to insult her by looking away even though I fear her judgment more than anything in this entire world.

“You belong to this church. Agreed?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Good. Because this is one debt you won’t easily fulfill. But you can begin by cleaning up the blood.” She points at the trail behind me, leading all the way back into the church.

I lick my lips and nod again. I’m not going to go against her wishes. I fucked up, and she saved me yet again.

After all this time, all these fuck-ups, the betrayal … and she still helped me.

There’s no way I can ever repay her for that.

But I will try.

I will try with every last breath in my lungs and beating of my heart.

I will work toward gaining her trust.

I will learn to love this church and God once more.

After forsaking this church for so long only for a bit of recognition, I owe that to her. To myself. To God.

I will repent.

* * *

Now

My eyes open and I’m instantly awake. God, what an awful nightmare.

Sighing, I look at the clock. No use in going back to sleep because it will be time to wake up soon. Besides, I hate to bring up more memories, and they always come when I go to sleep sober.

I stare at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life. I can’t help but think about Laura and everything that happened. After I had found out she was his daughter, I felt the rage flowing through my veins.

Was I wrong to send her away?

It was ruthless, yes, but I did it for the right reasons.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts, and I sit up straight to see who it is. Mother peeks around the corner and asks, “Can I come in?”

I nod, and she pushes the door open further.

“I just wanted to … talk.” She seems hesitant as she approaches me, and I wonder what’s bothering her.

“Is it the mess in the hall? I’ll clean it up.”

“No, it’s not that.” She frowns.

“The broken benches? I’ll ask Carl to buy new ones.”

“No, it’s not about the mess those two boys made,” she says, and she sits down on the edge of my bed.

I sigh. “This isn’t about Laura, right?”

“Are you sure you want her gone?”

“No, but it’s for the best.” With furrowed brows, I look away, not feeling up to this conversation. “Please don’t try to change my mind.”

“If I showed you something, would you be willing to fight?”

“Why? Does it matter?” I bark.

“Yes. Because, despite those filthy things you did on the altar, I still care about you. I care about your well-being. Don’t you know that? I want you to be happy.”

I chew on my lip. “Of course, I do …”

“Then you know I only want what’s best for you. And that girl clearly makes you happy. You’ve been drinking much less since you met her, and you’ve finally started smiling again.” She grabs my chin and makes me look at her. “Frank, this is important.”

I don’t know what to say, but then she opens her mouth again. “I wasn’t sure if I should show this to you, but I decided your heart was more important than the hope you might be at peace again.”

She rummages in her pocket and pulls out something that looks like a card. “One of the guys who came in and ruined the church dropped this on the floor.”

She holds it up. It’s a photograph.

Showing the image of my little boy way back when.

And my world feels like it’s come to a stop.

I snatch it from her hand and gawk at his picture. I haven’t seen this in ages. Actually, the last time was in my old home, which I haven’t been to since I left it all those years ago. I couldn’t stomach going back to that place with my whole family gone.

But how the fuck did those assholes get their hands on this?

Mother places her hand on top of mine and says, “If you want to go, I won’t stop you.”

I nod. “I need to find out more …”

“I know,” she says, smiling softly.

I smile back. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.” I stare at the picture in my hand, and I can feel the anger flowing through my body.

This isn’t just an old picture of my son.

It’s a call to action, and it ignites a fire in me that I’m not willing to put out.

It makes me wanna go after those fuckers and finally get my revenge.

“This is what you need,” she says. “I tried to ignore it for so long, but now I finally understand,” she says, still holding my hand. “But you have to promise me you’ll come back.”

“I will,” I reply.

She leans in and presses a kiss to my cheeks. “Good luck.”

Then she turns and leaves again. When the door closes, I jump out of bed and grab some clothes I haven’t worn in ages and put them on. I straighten my cuffs, position the collar and tie exactly right, and put the cross around my neck. Along the very bottom of the wall, I pull out a loose brick and remove the knife I’d hidden there long ago, tucking it into my pocket.

From the corner of my eye, I spot the bottles of liquor right below my bed. A nuisance, and not what I want to remember. I’m a different person now. I can feel it in my veins.

So I grab the bottles and pour them out in the sink then discard the empty bottles. It feels good to finally get rid of it. A new start with a clean slate is exactly what I needed. And now that I’ve finally got a goal in life again, I’m not going to let anything get in my way.

Right before I go out, I take one last look at myself in the mirror while holding up the picture of my son.

I pick up the Bible on my nightstand and open the pages until I find the verse I’m looking for.

Dear God, give me strength in this time of need. Because now, more than ever, I’ll need you by my side.