Father Francis gingerly made his way to the prison cell. The damp, cold air fused with the smell of despair and lost hope made him shudder. This was the first time he was taking a confession from someone given a death sentence. He wished he could just turn around and leave. Why was HE called here anyway?
Jack sat curled up in a corner, breathing haltingly. He leapt and fell down in a heap at Francis’ feet the moment he saw him enter his cell. “Father, they won’t listen to me. I want to confess, I didn’t do it!” he said urgently.
“It’s late for confession now, my son. May the Lord accept you in heaven if you are innocent.” Francis replied gently. “However, I do want to ask why you called for me. Do I know you?”
Jack came close and whispered. “Oh yes, you were a boxer before you became a priest, weren’t you? Well, I happen to know that you killed my brother for money, fled and then became a priest. Would you want to confess your crime?”
Before a shocked Francis could get help Jack’s rough hands had gripped his neck tightly, not letting go.
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