Free Puzzle People (9781613280126) by Doug Peterson

apartment building. Every apartment building had been assigned a set of eyes and ears.
    Stefan stopped in front of a church—St. John’s Catholic Church. His father had taken him to the Catholic church when he was very young, so he knew the door was probably left open. On a whim, he hustled up the stairs and entered the darkness. He stood in the foyer for a minute, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. On the far side of the sanctuary, near the altar, he saw the sanctuary lamp glowing red, like a beating heart in the darkness. He remembered the priest telling him that the light symbolized Christ’s eternal presence—ever constant, for the light was never extinguished. What did the priest say? The beeswax was Christ’s body, the wick was his soul, and the flame was his divinity, never extinguished.
    Off to the left side was a row of votive candles—small white candles that one lit as a prayer for someone. Stefan reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbook. Then he went over to the candles, hoping this would bring him some sense of peace. He lit three candles, one for each of the people he had hoped to meet this evening. Then he stared at each of the three candles, one by one, sending his prayers for them into the darkness.
    Stefan turned and strode across the sanctuary, his shoes clicking on the marble, and he slid into one of the front pews. He pulled down the kneeler with a clunk, knelt down, and bowed his head. The guilt continued to weigh on him, and he wanted so badly to be free of the constant crush of remorse. His secrets were malignant, and he had to speak them, had to cast them out. He raised his head and wiped away a single tear.
    Still no relief. As he stood up, with every intention of leaving the church, he spotted the confessional along the side of the sanctuary. He thought about how the Stasi had their own version of the sacraments. Instead of baptism, they put you in a room so narrow that you could only stand, and then they filled the room with ice-cold water up to your chin. And instead of voluntary confession, they took you to a small room and kept you awake until you broke apart and told everything. Bless me, Fatherland, for I have sinned . . .
    Stefan was drawn to the confessional, a structure made of dark wood and topped by a carving of two horses with an angel in the middle. It had two booths—one for the priest and one for the confessor. The priest’s booth could be accessed through a curtain, while the confessor’s booth had a door. So Stefan eased open the door, slipped inside the musty-smelling booth, and got down on his knees. Maybe this would work. Maybe confessing directly to God would bring relief. In front of his face was an opaque glass through which the priest’s disembodied voice would normally address him. He remembered this detail from when he was a boy. Tonight the window was dark, for there was no one on the other side, but he didn’t need a priest. He simply needed to speak and exhale his sins into the air.
    “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he said out loud, remembering the old familiar way of beginning his confession. He took a breath and felt a sob building. “I informed on my friends,” he said, his voice cracking. “I betrayed my friends. Forgive me.”
    Suddenly, he felt a presence. Was it God? An angel? A priest? Maybe he was going insane, but he felt as if something or somebody was on the other side of the wooden wall, inside the priest’s booth. The notion scared him, but it also thrilled him in a strange way.
    “I informed on my wife,” Stefan said. “Ex-wife, but you know that. Forgive me.”
    Speaking the words felt so good. The truth shall set you free.
    “I spied on Katarina when she was a student in the East. Forgive me.”
    Did he hear a slight movement in the priest’s booth? Who was there?
    “I spied on Elsa when she was a student too. Forgive me.”
    Stefan closed his eyes and bowed his head.
    “I framed a minister, giving him