"Forgive me father, for
I have sinned."
"Confess your
sins, my child, and be free of them."
"Father I have
been a philanderer."
"It cannot be
so bad, my child. How often?"
"A lot
father," the voice broke into sobs.
"Don't cry
child. God knows you repent your
actions. He shall forgive you. Say one hail Mary for every person and your
sins will be forgiven."
"Thank you
father."
"Go my
child." Silence followed when the
confessional emptied. On the other side
Father Jordan sat, his mind on long-passed times.
Chapter 1: "Gracie what's wrong?" Taylor
asked, finding her alone in the park.
She was sitting under the tree. The
tree, the tree where she and Taylor first met, first kissed,
first....their tree,
where happiness and hope frolicked about, hand-in-hand, where sadness was blocked
off by a barrier of love. She sat
there, crying. Taylor sat next to her,
his arms pulling her to him. Grace laid
her head on his shoulder, her tears slowly fading away as Taylor made gentle
soothing noises. "Grace, love,
what's wrong?" he asked totally trusting and completely unprepared.
"I love
you," Grace sobbed. Taylor lifted
her chin, their eyes meeting. Taylor's
blue eyes seeming to peer at Grace in a superior way, as if he already knew. Like he somehow already knew what she was
going to tell him, what she hadn't told anyone, well almost anyone. Grace looked down, her guilty conscience not
allowing her to look at Taylor, whose heart was open and his conscience free.
"Taylor I'm
leaving," Grace said, forcing herself to look at him, to watch as she
ripped his heart out, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it three or four
hundred times. Taylor looked at her
confused. Not registering what she was
telling him. She inhaled deeply and
held the breath for a long time.
"Listen to me," she began with a new breath. "I'm leaving you, Tay." Grace stood up and started to walk away.
"I don't
understand," Taylor said, still staring at the spot where Grace had
been. Stopped in her tracks Grace
turned. "Why Gracie? Why?
You said you love me! Why, then
are you leaving me? Did I do something
wrong? Because I'll never do it
again. Did I say the wrong thing? I'll never speak again. Do I have some annoying habit? I'll change. Just tell me what it is.
Whatever it is, I'll stop. I
promise."
"You're
perfect Tay. I love everything about
you. It's me," Grace said,
kneeling before him. Taylor looked at
her, a look of despair and pain in his eyes that wasn't there five minutes
before. It didn't belong there and it
killed Grace to know she was the cause of it.
She was the source of his misery.
"Grace how
could it be you? You're perfect, not
me. You could never do anything wrong
in my eyes. I love you, Grace. I've never said that to anyone unrelated to
me, and I never will again. You're the
only one for me," Taylor said, handing her a tiny violet he picked from
the ground.
"Taylor I'm
pregnant, and it's not yours."
Taylor sat, stunned, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. "The father is a guy I used to date, in
high school. We went out for a couple
of years. We did everything
together. I saw him the night we were
supposed to get together."
"Three weeks
ago, when I had to practice?" Taylor asked, his hands unconsciously
clawing at the dirt. Grace nodded,
tears gleaming in her eyes. "Are
you dumping me for him?" Grace nodded again, the moons rays reflecting off
the tears.
"I'm
sorry," she whispered, the only thing she could say.
"Why? Why'd you do it? Aren't I enough for you?"
"I don't
know," Grace cried, her resolve broken.
"We were drunk and I was upset because you'd canceled. It just happened."
"Things like
that don't just
happen! You're not
who I thought you were. You're not the
little Gracie I met here. You're
someone else," Taylor said. He
stood up and looked down at Grace, as if in judgment of her. With no reason to stay he turned and fled,
leaving Grace by the tree in tears.
With his sleeve Taylor wiped his teary eyes and jumped in his car. He started the engine and, with tires squealing,
left. Down the back road he was doing
more than 70 mph in a 15 mph speed limit.
"No!" he
screamed, his foot pressed on the brake as hard as he could. He turned the wheel, the car swerved, not in
time, and came to a stop. The night was
silent. The stillness of the air too
calm. "Oh God! No!" Taylor sobbed, running out of the
car. In the middle of the road was the
body of a woman, mid-twenties, blood covering her lavender dress and collecting
in her brown hair. Taylor knelt by her
side, holding her hand, putting pressure on her most serious wounds.
"My son,"
she whispered, her brown eyes glazed over.
Taylor watched her chest fall and not rise again. Slowly he backed away, unable to look at her
eyes, her accusing eyes. He killed
her. He, a 21-year-old with his life
ahead of him had killed her, another 20-something-year-old with
her life ahead.
"No!"
Taylor howled, looking up at the sky.
"Please God, no! Don't let
this be happening! I'm only 21, this can't
happen to me! I'm not a murderer!"
"Father
Jordan?" a small voice asked, knocking on the confessional door. "Are you all right?" Father Jordan
stepped out of the small box-like room he was in and saw John, a small boy with
brown hair and big brown eyes, filled with concern, waiting for him.
"Father, you
don't look so well. Are you ill?"
John asked. Father Jordan nodded.
"Yes,
John. Just feeling tired. I think I'll go to my room and rest."
Chapter 2: "Taylor! Honey, are you all right?" Diana asked, hugging her
son. She was only allowed to see him
for a short time and there was so much that needed to be asked. There was so much that she didn't know.
"Mommy,"
Taylor cried on his mother's shoulder.
It felt wonderful to be able to hold her close, although he wished it
were Grace who was there and not his mother.
For the first time in 15 years he had called Diana 'Mommy,' and he felt like a
6-year-old, sobbing on his mother's shoulder as she held him in her soothing
arms.
"Taylor what
happened?" Diana asked, smoothing his hair. Taylor bit his lip.
Memories he didn't want, coming back to him.
"Gracie dumped
me and I was speeding . I didn't see
them. Not until it was too late,"
Taylor's voice cracked. "I tried
to stop, to swerve, anything."
"I know, I
know," Diana soothed in a gentle voice.
"We're going to get you the best lawyer there is. No matter what the cost. We aren't going to let you go to jail. Your father is out right now finding the
best."
"I'm not a
murderer!" Taylor yelled, pushing away form Diana. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!"
"I'm not, I'm
not, I'm...." Father Jordan sat up
in bed, sweating and breathing heavily.
His short blond hair soaked and sticking to his head. The church above him was silent, only he was
awake. In the dark, he dressed and went
up the stairs, to the church. The damp
grass greeted his bare feet out in the dark, cloudy night. Father Jordan wandered around in the church
yard, ending up before a frequently visited headstone. A large piece of granite placed upright in
the ground with the names of three people; Andrew P. Brinkman, Sarah M., and
Timothy J. carved into it. Two of the
names, Sarah and Timothy were complete, birth and death dates filled in. The third, Andrew, only had a birth. He was alone in the world without the two
people he loved the most.
Father Jordan knelt
before the piece of stone, crossed himself, and offered up a prayer on Sarah
and Timothy's behalf. He remained in
the same position so long that any on-looker would have easily thought he was
sleeping. He stood, his knees wet, and
looked at the grave, fresh flowers in the vase at the base. With a sigh he went back into the looming
church. Not conscious of where he was
heading, Father Jordan ended up at the alter, a massive crucifix hanging on the
wall, burning candles below. Before the
accusing eyes of Christ he went, his head bowed.
Chapter 3: "It's not
fair. Why couldn't it have been me out
there instead of them? Why'd I let them
go? Why? Why? Why? Why God?
What did we do wrong? Why are
you punishing me?" a man cried, his voice sounding hoarse. Tears were on his face, his eyes read and
puffy, and people sat around him, their arms encircling him in support.
"Andy, you
can't blame yourself. You had nothing
to do with the accident," an elderly woman with greying brown hair
said. She took her glasses off and wiped
her watering eyes. Andy looked at her,
then the two coffins, one white and lleek, the lid closed because of the
mangled form within, a picture of Sarah on top, the other, smaller with the lid
open, was a warm red color.
"An
accident? It was not
an accident!" Andy said, his voice full of
hatred. "An accident is not going
70 mph in a 15 mph zone. It was a
reckless, uncaring, selfish act. Some punk
kid showing off or something."
"Andy,"
the woman said, unable to console him.
Andy looked around at the people.
Family and friends gathered in supposed grief and mourning. Some were crying, talking, smiling,
laughing, wiping teary eyes. How could
they be so callous? Did they even care
about Sarah? About Timmy? About that spoiled, punk kid who had
cold-heartedly slain them? Taken them
from his life forever without a second thought? Did anyone care? Was he
the only true mourner at this funeral?
Did anyone feel how he felt?
"I need some
air," Andy said, more to himself than to anyone else. He stood up and left the funeral home. The cold autumn air hit him like a slap in
the face. With his hands deep in the
pockets of his black slacks, Andy walked around, half-frozen, unconscious of
where he was.
"Excuse
me," a woman said to Andy, stopping him where he was and bringing him to
reality; to his pain, anguish, to his emptiness. "Can you tell me if this is the Brinkman funeral?" she
asked, another false, fair-weather friend.
"Yes,"
Andy said in a thick voice. The woman
looked at him, waiting for him to say something. Andy didn't care. He
turned and walked away across the hard, frozen ground. The woman watched him go, wondering why he
was so angry.
"Dear
God," Father Jordan sobbed, his eyes fixed on the crucifix, seemingly
hovering before him. He began shaking,
his arms growing goose bumps, his knees pinned to the floor. In a fit of convulsions he fell to the stone
steps leading to the alter, his head slamming against the cold rock again and
again. In the silence that followed,
only the sound of the dripping blood hitting the floor could be heard.
"Father
Jordan?!" John screamed in terror, seeing Father Jordan laying on the
floor. "Father wake up! Are you all right?" he asked, kneeling
at his side, careful not to move the father.
Father Jordan didn't move, his eyes didn't open and his chest barely
moved. "Father Thomas!" John
screamed, running in search of someone to help him.
Chapter 4: "Andy, you have to remain calm," Travis, Andy's
lawyer, told him. "You really
do. If you don't, it could ruin the
entire case. Whatever is said,
do not
over-react."
"Don't
over-react? Like yesterday? Is that what you mean?" Andy asked, his
brown eyes fogged over with a sheer sheet of emotions. "You were here, you heard what they
were saying. They tried to say Sarah
purposely ran out in front of that car."
"I know
Andy. We have to be open-minded. Don't comment," Travis said, sternly
looking at Andrew. "No matter what,
we cannot have another outburst like yesterday. The judge threatened to throw out the case and rule it an
accident."
"All
right. I'll remain calm," Andy
relented. He refused to do anything
that would cause the case to be thrown out.
Sarah and Timmy's killer had to be brought to justice. He took them in the prime of their lives, it
was his turn to pay. Travis nodded and
the two entered the court room. They
took their seats. Andy looked to his
left and saw Him. Taylor. The man who had ruined his life. Changed it forever. In a stupid, impetuous action took two
lives. Two lives that meant more to
Andy than his own. Next to Him was his
lawyer and two people, apparently the parents of the murderer were sitting
behind the barrier.
"All
rise," the bailiff said as the judge entered the courtroom. The judge went to the bench, turned, sat,
and watched as the jury and rest of the courtroom sat. "Case number 7159, is now in session." The bailiff took his leave and the
proceeding began. News people,
photographers, family, friends, people on jury duty, and the public were in
attendance, watching the proceedings, waiting for the verdict. Taylor sat, waiting to see what his future
was to be like. Would he have a
future? Would he spend the rest of his
life behind heavy metal bars, never to see the sky again? Would he ever be able to look in the mirror
again and see the carefree, fun-loving, happy, full-of-life self he used to see
or would he only be able to see the guy who had run into two unsuspecting
innocents?
"It is our
decision that this accident, however terrible it was, was just that; an
accident. We find Jordan Taylor Hanson
innocent of first degree murder on both counts. On the charge of reckless driving and endangerment, we find him
guilty," the jury's spokesperson declared. The brave man who spoke handed the written decisions to the
bailiff to deliver to the judge's hands and sat down.
"I hereby
suspend the driver's license of Jordan Taylor Hanson for two years," the
judge said after careful consideration.
"I also put you on five years probation," she announced, her
steely blue eyes locked on Taylor.
"Case closed!" The
gavel pounded on the oak desk and the on-lookers filtered out of the room.
"What?!?"
Andy yelled, standing up so quickly that his chair fell over backwards behind
him. "This cannot be! How can you say this is justice? Do any of you realize what he did?" he
asked, his accusing finger outstretched toward Taylor. "He killed two people. He's a murderer!"
"Come on
Andy," Travis said, pulling gently on Andy's arm. Andy resisted, pulling his arm free of his
lawyer. He approached Taylor, hatred
plain in his eyes.
"I want you to
know," he said, stopping directly in front of Taylor, "that I will
never forgive you for what you did. You
had no right to be so careless. I will
pray for you, however, so that you may never know the pain of losing someone as
vital to your life as you took from me.
I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
Even you." Taylor watched
as Andy turned and walked away. At the
doors he paused and looked back.
"Have a nice life." He
continued out the door and out of Taylor's life forever.
"No! Come back!
You have to forgive me! Please
forgive me!" Father Jordan screamed,
his eyes squeezed shut tightly. All around
him machines beeped and hummed, but none of it was realized, none of it
mattered.
"Father
Jordan, can you hear me?" John asked, holding on tightly to his arm,
trying to bring him to consciousness.
"Father Thomas and the doctors said you would be all right,"
he told him as if the news would make him realize he was supposed to open his
eyes and wake up.
"Forgive
me!" Father Jordan pleaded, tears leaking out from his tightly lidded
eyes. John held his hand, the only
thing he really could do, and squeezed it reassuringly. "Forgive me! Please forgive me!" he cried, his begging becoming
desperate, as if his entire being, soul and all, depended upon his forgiveness. "Please!" he begged, crying out in
agony and desperation. John held on to
his hand and tried to soothe him.
"Please just forgive me. I
cannot be at peace until you forgive me.
I have asked God to forgive me and He has. Why can't you?"
"Because I'm
not God. I'm a mortal man, the same as
you. If the situation were reversed,
would you be able to forgive me?" Andy taunted him in his dream.
"I need
forgiveness from you and God. Isn't it
enough that I'll never forgive myself?
Please? I know I was wrong and I
am sorry. I have never been more sorry
about anything in my life. I relive
that day in my mind over, and over, and over, at least a hundred times a
day. I think if I had just turned more
to the right, or more to the left, or stopped sooner, or hadn't been going so
fast, but I can't change what happened.
I can't forgive myself either because I was careless and totally at
fault, but God wanted them. He accepted
them into His kingdom with open and loving arms. It was meant to be!"
"No!"
Andy shouted, his face red. "It
was not meant to be!" he said, mocking Taylor. "It was your mistake that the Lord had to fix and make
right. Nowhere was it 'meant' that
anything so horrible and horrendous should happen, but...maybe I should forgive
you. Maybe not," he said, tossing
the idea around in his head.
"Please!"
Father Jordan pleaded. "Please,
forgive me!" he begged, his request sounding pathetic.
"Father
Jordan, I forgive you. Whatever you
did, I know you repent. You are the one
who told me anyone who is truly sorry is forgiven. I know you're forgiven," John told him, baptizing him of his
sins as the original John the Baptist had Jesus.
"Thank
you," Father Jordan whispered, his voice fading away, his face for once at
peace. His lips formed a smile as his
chest stilled and his heart stopped.
"Forgive me father, for
I have sinned."
Confess your sins,
my child, and be free of them."
"Father, I
have lied."
"My child, you
must not lie. Tell the truth from now
on and right that wrong. God does not
like when His children are not truthful."
"I know, but I
honestly thought things would be better this way. Now I can't even tell Tay the truth. He's dead. What do I
do?"
"What did you
do? Tell me everything you would want
this...Tay to know."
"I want to
tell him..." She paused, trying to
find the words she wanted to use.
"Taylor, I love you. I
always have and I always will. I'm
sorry for hurting you and lying about your son. I'm sorry I listened to your parents and told you he wasn't
yours. I'm sorry you didn't get to see
him and that he won't get to see you.
Most of all, I'm sorry for not trusting you to be able to handle a baby
and your career. I wish I could ask you
to forgive me," she trailed off, tears running down her face and landing
on her tightly clasped hands.
"In my eyes, you
could never do anything wrong. I
forgive you." Silence followed and
the smell of violets filled the air.