Rectory Reckoning
February 23, 2018–4:42pm:
It was the biggest dump I’d ever seen. Part on the seat and the rest smeared down the side of the toilet. Are those brown chunks of lettuce floating in the slippery, brown puddle on the floor? Trace fragments of cottage cheese are evident.
I got the call on the way to another scene. “We need you here right away.” Says the trembling voice on the other end of the line. “We don’t know what happened. The toilet paper roll is spattered with diarrhea and there are multiple sizable logs. The toilet is clogged…”
I interrupt, already aware of what he’s going to say. “Driver, take a left. There’s been a change of plans.”
I can’t bear the thought of divulging to my wife that I need to cancel our dinner plans. Again. “It’s the busy season.” I keep telling her. “It’s the busy season.” I keep telling myself.
The preacher is on the steps when we pull up to the church. He looks shaken.
“Get some rest.” I tell my driver. “I might be a while.”
The scene is disturbing, to say the least. “This is worse than you described, Reverend.”
“I didn’t know how to put it into words.” He looked to the sky in bewilderment.
“Where’s the rest of the clergy?” I inquire without looking away from the drop of mucus seeping from the largest turd.
“Some of them went home to wash up. The toilet overflowed, so it was a colossal shit storm.” The pain in his eyes shifted to anger. “The choir boy had to sop up globs of diarrhea with his cloak. Everyone was chipping in to keep the blast from flowing into the pews.”
If people can be so good, how can a toilet be desecrated like this? I ponder as I glance towards the cross above the door.
“God bless you.” The choir boy says softly. He looks unsure whether he should speak. “God bless us, one and all.” He‘s hesitant, but continues. “It felt like a hurricane of defecation when I went in to change into my robe.”
“What time did you go into the bathroom, Timmy?” I searched his eyes for clues.
“It was right before tithing, around 11:00.” He estimated.
The diarrhea on Timmy’s cloak had dried. I could see traces of fecal matter under his nails.
I had all the information I needed. “Is this your Instagram post?” I held my phone towards the Reverend to make sure he got a good look.
I continued without waiting for a response. “This was posted from your account at 10:48am. Your tie matches the bathroom wall paper divinely.” I can see he knows where I’m going.
“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about taking a selfie when your bowels are about to explode.” I place the phone back in my pocket. He doesn’t need a closer look.
The Reverend exhales and momentarily seems at a loss for words. He takes off his hat and slowly brings it to his chest. “There’s no judgement I fear more, than that of the almighty lord. Hallowed be thy almighty savior.” He somberly bows his head.
With an unnerving calmness, he wipes the sweat from his brow and kneels to the bathroom floor. He seems unaware of the brown puddle seeping into his knickers.
“Reverend, only the Lord can judge you. But you should know that there is diarrhea on your handkerchief.” I let the bathroom door close behind me.
“Allow him a few moments of reflection.” I signal for the clergy to bow their heads. I walk towards the shrine at the front of the church for some solitude.
The air in the cathedral is thick and stagnant. I clasped my hands in front of my face and ignore the pain of the dense marble on my tender knees.
Dear God. I pause, unsure whether anyone is listening. Thou hast made ye mere mortals so perfect. Yet we cannot control the diarrhea that hast been beset upon us.
I’m still waiting for an answer.
Dave Alexander is Chief Investigator and Lead Detective at www.ShitterSleuth.com.
