Confession of Adultery

With that he turned and walked out of Harrison's office. His last view of Harrison was of the man laughing behind his desk.

As he walked out the door, Father Mac struggled to control his temper. The man was impossible! He had no desire to confess his sins -he wanted to boast about them! But why would he want to do that? Mac wondered if Harrison might have a mental illness.

* * * * * * * * * *

On Saturday morning, Colleen seemed anxious to get started on her weekend getaway. Mac broke away from his regular Saturday routine long enough to see her off. He noticed that she seemed preoccupied but he attributed that to her eagerness to see her sister. Nevertheless, he made a special point of trying to connect with her before she left. "Drive carefully, babe," he urged her. Then he hugged her and added, "I miss you when you're not here." She hugged him back perfunctorily and then hurried to get behind the wheel. As she started the engine, he called out, "I love you, Colleen," but by then she was backing out of the driveway, and didn't hear him. Mac returned inside, feeling vaguely disquieted.

As he walked back in the house, his unease mounted, although he wasn't sure why. Then an insidious thought struck him: "Harrison said he was taking his lover to the beach!" He tried to dismiss his suspicion as soon as it came to mind. "It's just a coincidence; lots of people go to the beach," he told himself. "Colleen would never cheat on me, and certainly not with someone like Carter Harrison. Harrison's weird behavior has gotten to me and I'm just being neurotic."

But once it had arisen the idea kept eating away at him, and he found himself unable to concentrate on his Sunday sermon. No matter how hard he tried to shove the doubt away, it wouldn't leave him alone. Finally he put down his sermon and reached for his phone to call Colleen, intending to settle his fears. But he hesitated because he couldn't think what to say. "What am I going to ask: 'Are you going to the beach to screw Carter Harrison?' If she denies it, can I believe her? She's hardly likely to just admit it. And what if it's not true? Then she'll know I don't trust her, and that will cause a major rift between us."

As he sat there wavering, he suddenly came up with another solution. All he had to do was to call Megan. If she confirmed that Colleen was coming for a visit, he could relax, knowing that this had all been what he devoutly hoped: a bout of paranoia inflamed by his animosity toward Harrison.

But as he started to call his sister-in-law, he hesitated once again. "If I ask if she invited Colleen to come for a visit, Megan will know something's wrong and tell Colleen I've been checking up on her. I don't want to start trouble if everything is okay." Then another ugly thought struck him. "What if Megan knows and is providing cover for her?" Again he set his phone down, but his anxiety was raging out of control. Finally he realized he had to do something or go mad. In desperation he came up with a flimsy excuse for calling and then punched his sister-in-law's number into the phone.

Megan picked up the phone almost immediately, and the display must have told her who was calling. "Hi, Mac," she answered pleasantly, "long time no talk." Then a note of apprehension came to her voice. "You're not calling about Colleen, are you? She's okay, isn't she?"

"No, no, she's fine, Megan" Mac said hastily, ashamed that he had unnecessarily alarmed her. He hurried on, "It's just that you haven't been down to see us in a long time. I wish you'd plan a visit."

She audibly relaxed. "I know you're right, Mac. I've been so busy lately that it's been hard to get away. In fact I'm leaving for New York in an hour and won't be back for a week. But things ought to slow down next month, so maybe I can get down there to see you two then. I'd love to catch up with you and Colleen. Hey, is she around? I'd love to chat with her for a few minutes."

Megan's response squeezed Mac's chest like an angina attack. Leaving in an hour? Gone for a week? As the import of her words sank in, Mac felt paralyzed, unable to talk.

After a moment, Megan said, "Mac, Mac, are you still there?"

"Sorry, Megan, I, uh, dropped the phone. Listen, Colleen is out right now. I'll tell her to call you when she gets back."

"That would be great, Mac. And ask her to check her calendar and see what next month looks like."

The two exchanged farewells. Once he had hung up, Mac could only sit there in shock. Colleen had lied to him! She couldn't be spending the weekend with her sister because her sister was leaving town. Carter Harrison's mocking confession came back to him, and Mac now felt certain he knew where his wife was really headed.

In that moment Mac experienced the same agony he'd felt the day he helplessly watched Rico lying in the street waiting to die. Once again the most important person in his world was being taken from him. "I can't stand it!" he cried in anguish.

It wasn't just Colleen's love that he was losing, he realized despairingly, but also her strength. When he'd returned Stateside after the war, he'd felt completely lost. Then Colleen had come into his life and become his rock. She'd lent him her strength so he could begin to heal, and she'd continued to be strong for him throughout their marriage. Now all that was gone. His pain was unbearable.

After a while, his grief and pain began to change to anger. "How could she do this to me?" he thought bitterly. "I tried to be a good husband. What did she want from me? She always said she loved me, loved being married to me. How could she turn around and betray me like this?"

His thoughts turned to Carter Harrison's so-called "confessions" and his anger turned to rage. "That little bastard has been using Colleen to humiliate me! He wanted me to know what he was doing yet be helpless to say anything! Why does he hate me so much? What did I ever do to him?"

But then he realized that Harrison couldn't have done anything without Colleen. "How did he get to her? Did he seduce her or drug her? Could he have blackmailed her somehow?" Then a truly sickening thought hit him. "Was she the one who started the affair? Did she come on to him?" At that his stomach lurched and he barely made it to the bathroom before he was violently ill.

Strangely, losing his breakfast had the result of helping Mac think more clearly. First, regardless of how it had happened, it now seemed clear that Colleen had betrayed him. Not only was she cheating on him this weekend, but if Harrison's confessions had any truth in them, this was actually the third time she had had done so. When Mac recalled his wife's behavior during the last couple of weeks, he was inclined to believe that was true.

Second, he now saw that whatever motivated Carter Harrison to cuckold him went way beyond lust. If the little man had merely wanted to commit adultery with Colleen, he would not have "confessed" it. For whatever reason, Harrison seemed to have declared war on Mac.

What was worse, by "confessing" his sins, Harrison had put Mac at a strategic disadvantage. Colleen's behavior was suspicious, but the fact that she'd lied about visiting her sister wasn't proof that she was cheating. It had only been Harrison's confessions that led him to that conclusion. But he was loath to reveal what Harrison had told him to anyone else. "The 'confession' may have been a joke to Carter, but it was real to me. If I tell someone I'm breaking my oath to God."

"But it wasn't a true confession," he thought. "Harrison felt no remorse, he wasn't seeking absolution. Why should I have to keep silent?" Still, the thought of breaching the shield of the confessional deeply troubled him. "Do I have the right to decide whether a confession is valid or not? Does motive make a difference? Or am I rationalizing simply because I don't like what he told me? Other priests have kept confessions of terrible crimes confidential; how can I justify breaking my vow just because his confession involves my wife?"

Unable to solve the dilemma, Mac decided to do some detective work. There was no way he could hire a real detective on a priest's salary, but there was one other way he could try to check on Colleen. He had little doubt about what he would find, but he felt he owed it to his wife to try. He went on the Internet and quickly found a listing of resort hotels at the beach. There was quite a number, but, on a hunch, Mac searched on the basis of room rates and then called the most expensive.

When the operator at the Royal Sands answered, Mac asked if Mr. and Mrs. Carter Harrison had checked in yet. After a moment, the operator confirmed that they had indeed arrived and asked if Mac wanted to ring their room. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should ask for Colleen and try to talk her into coming home. But even if she agreed to do so, he realized that the fact she was there meant it was too late. "No," he said in a defeated voice, "there's no need."

He slumped back in his chair, his last hope gone. As he sat there heartbroken, a new source of shame hit him. "I've forgotten to ask God for help," he realized with dismay. Quickly he bowed his head and tried to pray, asking for divine guidance or at least consolation. In the past his faith had provided meaning and direction to his life, but this time he found no help. The prayers he'd relied on so often now felt empty and meaningless. The tenets of the church seemed hollow and pointless. When he tried to recall some words of the Bible, the only text he could think of was the 22nd Psalm: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

The failure seemed like the final blow to him. "What kind of priest am I if God has abandoned him?" he asked himself in despair. "I've truly lost everything: my wife, my marriage and now my faith."

In the depths of his sorrow, Mac's thoughts turned back to what happened after Rico died.

After Rico's killing, Mac withdrew from everyone, and his other friends in the squad were deeply concerned about him. He began to spend every minute of his spare time on the riddle of how the enemy sniper had been able to kill so effectively without ever being spotted or heard. Allied Intelligence believed the man was mobile, firing from a new spot every time, but Mac wasn't so sure. He knew that every time a sniper moves he increases the likelihood of being spotted, yet no one had gotten so much as a glimpse of the shooter.

Mac obtained a map of the city and plotted the location of every casualty. Then he dressed in a robe and keffiyeh and walked those neighborhoods, looking for likely vantage points. It took him two weeks before he realized that there was only one location that provided perfect firing lines and excellent cover: the minaret that rose above one of the main mosques in the city.

Mosques were off-limits to the Allies: command didn't want to create a provocation. So Mac had to prepare his ambush in secret. He also had to decide how best to draw out his opponent. The answer he came up with was simple: use himself as bait. He set up in the same position where he'd been stationed when Rico had been shot. Then he set up a second position nearby, this one with a clear firing line to the minaret.

On the afternoon Mac was finally ready, he brought along his other sniper rifle, the M40, plus a spare uniform and helmet. He had stuffed the uniform with old newspaper and lashed the helmet and rifle to it. Then he ran a line to his new position in such a way that he could pull the decoy to draw it out from cover. Then he grimly took his own position a few feet away and hunkered down to wait.

When his watch told him it was almost time for afternoon prayers, he slowly tugged on the line to his decoy until it was just barely visible around the chimney where it was "hiding." Then he sighted carefully at the gallery of the minaret where he expected to find the Iraqi sniper.

As the recorded sound of the call to prayer began to play, Mac's Leupold sight picked up the barrel of a sniper rifle protruding through the arch in the gallery at the top of the minaret. The shooter never revealed himself, but Mac didn't care. He adjusted his aim to the spot on the masonry wall where he knew the sniper's head had to be and pulled the trigger. The Barrett bucked against his shoulder, and a moment later he saw an explosion of brick and mortar as the huge .50 caliber slug smashed through the wall. As Mac watched, the rifle slipped over the edge of the parapet and tumbled to the ground.

"Better make sure," Mac said to no one and fired again. He continued to fire at every part of the gallery until he'd expended the entire ten-round clip. Then he pulled out another clip and began methodically firing again. He was on his third clip when one of his squad mates reached him and took the rifle away. When they went to check the mosque, the entire parapet on the minaret had been destroyed. They found the sniper's body in pieces.

Command had not been happy with him, but there was no denying that Mac had eliminated a major threat. In a compromise, they sent him home due to post-traumatic stress disorder but gave him an honorable discharge. In one of those ironies that the military is so good at, they also awarded him the Expert Rifleman Medal.

As he sat there lost in the memory, a surge of adrenaline went through him. "I dealt with the problem then; I can do it again. I may not be a good husband, and I know I'm not a good priest, but I do know how to handle my enemies," he thought to himself. "That's enough for now."

Energized, Mac went up into the attic and uncovered the black nylon carrying case long stowed away. He brought it downstairs and pulled out the Barrett with the Leupold scope. He wasn't supposed to have it, of course, but he'd managed to smuggle it out of Iraq in the chaos of the conflict. Mac hadn't fired it since Baghdad, but now as he hefted the heavy weapon it felt like he was reunited with an old friend. Carefully he cleaned and oiled the weapon, then put it back in the carrying case and left it in the bedroom where he could get it quickly.

* * * * * * * * * *

More than one parishioner at St. Ann's that Sunday noticed a change in Father Mac's demeanor. Their priest's normally positive visage was stern, even foreboding. When he led the congregation in the general confession, he slowed the recitation for emphasis. "We have done those things that we ought not to have done, and we have left undone those things which we ought to have done, and there is no health in us," he intoned. For his sermon he chose the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the story of how Lot's wife was turned into a pillar of stone. More than one parishioner exchanged questioning glances, surprised at the dark tone from the pulpit.

Usually after the service ended the congregants would stop to chat with Father Mac, but today most hurried on out. His expression and icy demeanor were not inviting, but Preston Charlton approached him anyway. "Is everything okay, Father Mac?" he asked, gripping the priest's arm.

"Everything's fine," Father Mac responded.

"You just don't seem like your usual self," Preston said.

"Thank you for your concern, Preston, but I'm fine," the priest insisted.

"Where's Colleen? We missed her today."

"She . . . she went to visit her sister this weekend," Father Mac said. "I expect her back tomorrow."

"Okay," the banker said, but it was clear to him that everything was not okay. He started to leave but then turned back and said quietly, "If you want to talk about anything, Father Mac, let me know. Just give me a call - any time." Then he moved on, a look of concern on his face.

Father Mac went back inside to change out of his robes, intending to go straight home. But as he passed the reception desk the phone rang, and he instinctively answered. An oddly familiar female voice asked for him. "This is Father Mac. What can I do for you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "This is Marge Terrell, Father, from the United Fund. Is there any chance I could come see you this afternoon?"

The last thing Mac wanted at that point was a visitor, but his sense of duty prevailed and he made arrangements to meet with Marge at 3:00 p.m. The woman wouldn't tell him what she wanted on the phone, but Mac could tell from her voice that she was upset. He really didn't know her very well, but she'd always been friendly when he'd seen her at the United Fund and he felt an obligation to see her.

Father Mac was waiting in front of the church when the gray-haired woman drove up, and he escorted her back to his office. Once inside and comfortably seated, the priest smiled at her encouragingly and asked, "How can I help you, Marge?"

The woman looked as if she were about to cry. "It's my work, Father Mac. Some things have been happening at the United Fund that really bother me. I wanted to talk to Bill Allen, but he's on vacation and I don't know when he'll be back. Then something made me think of you, and that's when I called. Will you look at these and tell me what you think?"

With that she reached down into her oversized purse, pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed them to the priest. "See, this is what I'm talking about," she said, pointing at one of the documents.

* * * * * * * * * *

That afternoon Father Mac made his regular rounds at the local retirement home, visiting with several elderly parishioners. Afterwards, he returned to his office and continued to study the copies he'd made of the documents Marge had brought with her, trying to interpret what he was seeing.

At that moment, his cellphone went off, and when he checked he saw he had a text from Colleen. Having a great time with Megan. Staying over till Monday morning. C U then. Luv U.

It was all Mac could do not to smash his phone against the wall. Angrily he got up and left his office, locking the door to the church behind him. He drove to the office park where the United Fund was located, parked his car, and began to walk along the now quiet streets. Occasionally he stopped and made some notes. Finally he left and returned home.

On Monday morning, Colleen was late getting started on her drive back from the beach. She hadn't gotten to sleep until very late on Sunday night, and now she was going to be late to work. In addition, the drive was uncomfortable because her backside was so sore. "At least I won't fall asleep behind the wheel," she thought as she shifted in her seat again.

When she'd arrived at the hotel on Saturday, Carter had told her to check in as Mrs. Harrison. The desk clerk had a cardkey waiting for her, and Colleen was not surprised when he told her it was for the penthouse suite. "Carter sure likes to travel in style," she thought to herself, and the thought of what might be about to happen sent a twinge between her legs.

When she entered the penthouse, Carter was waiting for her impatiently. No sooner had the door swung closed behind her than he ordered her to strip. As she hurried to do so, she saw an open suitcase filled with bondage gear lying on the bed, and a thrill of fear and excitement surged through her.

From that point on everything had been something of a blur. She remembered being spanked and flogged, there were ropes and straps, and she'd been fucked in every opening of her body. Carter must have taken Cialis, she decided, because his erection seemed to last long past what any normal man could hope for. As the onslaught continued, she had loved every wonderful, submissive, degrading moment of it.

At one point they had been lying in bed together when there was a loud knock on the door. When Carter answered in his boxers, it was the hotel management checking to make sure that "Mrs. Harrison" was alright. Colleen was mortified when Carter forced her to come to the door holding nothing but a towel in front of her to prove her screams did not signify a crime had been committed. She was even more humiliated when Carter dismissed her and she had to walk back into the bedroom, her reddened ass on full display to the assistant manager. The man finally left, but not before admonishing them to "keep it down so you don't frighten our other guests."