Free Day of Confession by Allan Folsom Page A

sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m sorry we somehow got locked into the years of bitterness and misunderstanding we did. That we never got to talk about it, or work through it, or even try to understand… . To say simply, Goodbye and I love you, and always did, no matter what .
    “Mr. Addison”—Father Bardoni had moved up and was standing beside him—“for your own good…. I have seen people as strong and determined as you crumble as they witness the unspeakable…. Accept God’s way. Know your brother would want you to remember him as he was.”
    There was a sound as the door behind them opened and a man with close-cropped gray-white hair entered. He was nearly six feet tall and handsome and carried with him an aura that was both aristocratic and at the same time kind and humane. He wore the black cassock and red sash of a cardinal of the Church. A red zucchetto was on his head, and a gold pectoral cross hung from a chain around his neck.
    “Eminence…” Father Bardoni bowed slightly.
    The man nodded, his eyes going to Harry. “I am Cardinal Marsciano, Mr. Addison. I came to offer my deepest sympathies.”
    Marsciano’s English was excellent, and he seemed to be comfortable speaking it. The same was true of his manner; his eyes, his body language, everything about him comfortable and comforting.
    “Thank you, Eminence…” Friend of power brokers and world celebrities, Harry had never once been in the presence of a cardinal, let alone a man of Marsciano’s stature within the Church. Having been brought up Catholic, no matter how nonreligious, how totally non-churchgoing he was now, Harry was humbled. It was as if he were being visited by a head of state.
    “Father Daniel was my personal secretary, and had been for many years…”
    “Yes, I know…”
    “You are waiting here now, in this room, because it is your wish to see him…”
    “Yes.”
    “You had no way of knowing, but Father Bardoni called me while you were with Signore Gasparri. He thought perhaps I would have better luck in dissuading you than he.” The slightest hint of a smile rose then left. “I have seen him, Mr. Addison. I was the one the police asked to identify the body. I have seen the horror of his death. What the proud inventions of mankind can do.”
    “It doesn’t matter….” Marsciano’s presence aside, Harry was resolute; what he had chosen to do was deep and very personal, between Danny and himself. “I hope you can understand.”
    Marsciano was silent for a long moment. Finally he spoke. “Yes, I can understand.”
    Father Bardoni hesitated, then left the room.
    “You are very much like him,” Marsciano said quietly. “That is a compliment.”
    “Thank you, Eminence.”
    Immediately a door near the altar opened and Father Bardoni came back in. He was followed immediately by Gasparri and a heavy-set man wearing a crisp white jacket who pushed a hospital gurney. On it was a small wooden coffin no bigger than a child’s. Harry felt his heart catch in his throat. Inside it was Danny, or what was left of him. Harry took a deep breath and waited. How do you prepare for something like this? How does anyone? Finally he looked to Father Bardoni.
    “Ask him to open it.”
    “Are you certain?”
    “Yes.”
    Harry saw Marsciano nod. Gasparri hesitated, and then in one motion leaned forward and removed the lid from the casket.
    For a moment Harry did nothing. Then, steeling himself, he stepped forward and looked down. As he did, he heard himself gasp. The thing was on its back. Most of the right torso was gone. Where there should have been a face there was a crushed mass of skull and matted hair, with a jagged hole where the right eye would have been. Both legs had been sheared off at the knee. He looked for the arms, but there were none. What made the whole thing even more obscene was that someone had pulled on a pair of underpants, as if to protect the viewer from the indecency of the genitals, whether they