The Confessional

By Lacey Reah

Every Saturday at the same time, a young lady visits the same priest in the same confessional and divulges her darkest sins and desires. Then, she stops coming altogether and a woman's body is found in the neighborhood. Convinced that she was murdered by her sadistic lover, the priest sets out on a dark journey to find the truth; only to uncover a tangled web of secrets and scandals. But is it his own lust or his devotion to saving her soul that takes him on this journey? As the truth unfolds, the priest learns more about his own suppressed secrets and how they are somehow linked to this mysterious woman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lacey Reah
• Release date: Sep 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310330179

Lacey Reah

Lacey Reah has worked as a teacher, a fitness and yoga guru, a healer, an actress and a writer. She has traveled the globe, living in major cities such as Manilla, Sydney, Los Angeles and New York; working odd- ended jobs such as retail sales and being a paid psychic. Wherever she went, she has taken the opportunity to track every key point of her life and document it. So much has happened in her life and with heavy bouts of sleep paralysis that it is difficult to discern the reality from the fantasy. She is on a lifetime search for truth.

Book preview

The Confessional

Copyright © 2014 Lacey Reah

Smashwords Edition

They found the dead body. It was in two bags. They discovered it while uprooting some trees in the park to make room for a new baseball diamond. Somebody had buried her there. One half of her chopped-up remains was in one bag, the other half in another. She had been rotting there for a while from what I heard. Perhaps it is my faith in God that tells me it is her. I know deep inside that it is… her.

She came to the confessional every Saturday. She never missed a day. It was always at 8:00 AM sharp, my first confessor. They say the best way to be close to God is to love many things. She loved everything. Even her sorrows held a special place in her heart, and she was thankful for them. I never saw her face, but her voice was more soothing than a lark’s. With every emotion, it would take on a different pitch, and I cherished every one of them. She would start off shy, timidly saying her prayer, slowly naming off some white lies or disturbing thoughts. Then she would warm up to me. She wouldn’t become comfortable until she started talking about that one sin, the one that kept her coming back. Sometimes she was fevered by guilt and confusion. Other times, she acted like it was nothing at all.

It has been a month since I last heard her voice. She said that she had gained some insight into this man whose last name she didn’t even know. She had known him for at least two years. At times she would say she knew him well. At others she admitted to knowing nothing. All she knew was that he was kind to her when she needed a friend, and that she couldn’t say no to him as soon as he put his hands on her. And after he touched her, she could never forget it. 

I realized that his world must be a prison, she