Bless Me Father

The car pulled into the church parking lot and stopped. It sat there with the engine idling while the woman inside scanned the neighborhood suspiciously, upon deciding that nothing looked out of place she pulled into a parking space, killed the engine and got out.

She was a slightly built woman in her thirties. Her blond hair was pinned up and she wore a black knee length dress. Instead of pumps she wore flat heeled rubber soled dress shoes apparently forgoing fashion for speed and agility. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. A casual observer might deduce that she had just been to a funeral. The fact is that Chloe O'Brian had been to far too many funerals.

Chloe quickly snatched the laptop off the seat and locked the doors. She squinted in the bright sunlight at the church and hurried over. As she approached the church the doors opened releasing the parishioners from the Saturday evening service. Chloe got out of their way and pressed her back against the brick wall by the door.

The bricks were hot from the late afternoon sun and the heat soaking through the back of her dress felt good. What didn't feel good was the weight of the 9mm automatic pistol she wore in a shoulder holster under the dress. Chloe didn't like guns and usually didn't wear one but since the attacks on her life last week her paranoia overcame her misgivings. For someone like Jack strapping on a pistol was as natural as putting on his socks but Chloe would never get used to it. She felt especially awkward bringing one into a church. 'Sure hope God doesn't find out,' she thought.

As the people walked past her chattering to each other she felt another panic attack coming. Her heart started racing as the blood rushed in her ears, it suddenly became very hard to breath. 'Not now,' she thought squeezing her eyes shut. 'Deep slow breaths, I can get over this!'

Eventually the roaring stopped and Chloe opened her eyes. The crowd thinned out so she slipped into the cool darkness of the church. Her hand immediately dipped into the holy water and she blessed herself. The O'Brian family had always been Irish Catholic but no one would ever accuse them of being very devout. Chloe's own attendance was sporadic at best and nonexistent at worst but this time was different. She needed to connect with somebody.

She pressed herself into the corner and stared at the bald bearded priest still shaking hands with the few stragglers leaving the church. As she waited Chloe mentally reviewed his file. She had run background checks on seventeen priests before selecting this one.

Father Michael Stanley Petrowsky. Age 71. Born February 6, Bakersfield California. Both parents dead. Two younger sisters, both married and living out of state. Ordained 46 years, Society of Jesus. 23 years in the U.S. Navy Chaplain Corps. 3 tours in Vietnam. Retired with the rank of Commander. Honorable Discharge. No connections with any radical groups. No arrests. One speeding ticket 6 years ago.

Father Petrowsky noticed the woman when she slipped in. He didn't recognize her and she stood quietly in the corner clutching the laptop to her chest. There seemed to be something odd about her. It wasn't until he looked into her eyes that he sensed it. He had seen it with the marines in Vietnam and at Balboa Naval Hospital. Shell shock, battle fatigue, post traumatic stress, the thousand mile stare, bad things happened to this woman, very bad things.

When the last parishioner left she pushed away from the wall and approached him.

"Hello Miss, I'm Father Mike, how can I help you?"

"I'm not 'Miss', my name's Chloe and I want to go to confession. No little dark booths either, face to face, eye to eye."