Free Altar of Bones by Philip Carter Page A

Where were the tourists? They came every evening at this time, drawn by the setting sun, which turned the church’s famous giant white onion dome into a brilliant pink.
    He parted the purple velvet curtain to peer out. Not a soul. Then a movement by the altar rail caught his eye, and his heart jumped. A woman in a bright yellow sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat genuflected and made the sign of the cross. Her hair was dark brown, though, not red, and he felt stupid.
    He let the curtain fall into place again, but the fear had come back, like a punch to the gut.
    Why was the church suddenly so quiet, so empty? Something wasn’t right—
    The door to the confessional box on the left creaked open, startling him. He heard the rustle of clothing, the hum of an indrawn breath. He smelled jasmine, faint and sweet.
    “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession … rather I should say, my last
real
confession, in a church, before the presence of God, was a long, long time ago.”
    A woman’s voice, low and quiet, and so compelling he turned toward it to look through the mesh screen, but he couldn’t make out her face, just a hat and a cloud of long dark hair, and he thought,
Okay. You’re gonna be okay
.
    “Our Lord is everywhere,” he said, “not just in a house of worship. But I’m sure He’s pleased you are here all the same.”
    She nodded and her mouth parted on a soft sigh. “Oh, Father, you are so right. Time is an earthly concept and God is truly everywhere. He sees all. So I guess what I really need to know is, will He absolve every sin? Even the terrible ones? Provided a girl is sorry enough, of course.”
    “Would I be sitting in this stuffy, dark little box on such a fine summer’s evening if I didn’t believe in God’s mercy?”
    Her laugh was delightful, soft, but something about it was off, as if this was some sort of game to her, a play to act out—and he knew then that he was not okay, not okay at all. Had known it instinctively all along.
    He went utterly still. He felt her intensity, felt the impact of each separate word as she said, “I have blood on my hands.”
    “Don’t kill me.”
    “The first time I killed for him,” she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken, “I used a knife and it was messy. The blood, it got everywhere and later I showed him the blood smeared on my skin, so he would know what I would do for him, the lengths I could go, how I would kill for him. I think it shocked him, but he also liked it. It excited him.”
    Hot bile rose up in Dom’s throat. “Listen to me. You don’t want to do this.”
    “Actually, I do. I really, really do. I’ve never killed a priest before,and I wonder what it feels like.” She sighed. “You know what I’ve come for, Father. Give me the film, and I promise I’ll let you live.”
    Liar
.
    “Don’t you have it backwards?” Dom was surprised at how calm he sounded now. “As long as I have the film, you can’t do anything to me. Right now it’s hidden in a safe place, but if anything were to happen to my brother or me—”
    “Yes, yes,” she said, impatient now. “I know the drill. But the thing is, Father, I don’t believe you
do
have it. Shocking, I know—what with you being a priest and saying as much right here in church, in the presence of God. But then some of you guys have been known to diddle little altar boys in the presence of God. So what’s a lie or two compared to that?”
    Dom gripped his hands so tightly together he could feel the throb of the pulse in his wrists. He had to convince her that he had the damn film, had to or he would die.
    “Okay, so you don’t believe me, but what if you’re wrong? Can you really afford to take that chance? Imagine the film played in an endless loop on every TV set throughout the country. This man you work for, kill for—it would destroy him. And then he would destroy you.”
    She was silent, and he felt the evil in her like a poisonous cloud. The one tenet of his