Chiming bells clanged and the pine smell of rosemary incense danced its way through the great hall, cascading off the tall walls before washing over the wooden pews like a calm wave.

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

Words muttered without a semblance of remorse or regret. Silence followed before, finally, the wooden separator of the confessional box slammed shut. Unfulfilled, the confessor rose from her stool and stepped out into the great hall, pausing momentarily to look back as the last of her hope petered away.

With each footstep her high heels clinked, echoing through the hollow room and leaving behind a droplet of blood where she stepped.

From beneath the crack in the bottom of the confessional box a small puddle of blood began pooling, shimmering scarlet. Inside, Father James was a slumped heap on the floor, gripping tightly his rosary beads; praying for vengeance. Eventually, his spirit escaped his body, carried within his final breath.

Finally, she blew out the candle lit before confession. Rosemary had struck again, and her search for God was unfinished. Where was the man whose final breath would offer forgiveness to his killer?