Helios

By Che Parker

Helios is a collection of short stories by author Che Parker that skillfully sheds light on the writer's many varied interests, including a fantastical tale of a single mother with a daughter dying from cancer, a future tense telling of revenge and murder, several humor pieces and an essay reliving a poignant moment from the writer's childhood. Helios, the Titan god of the sun, illuminates Parker's proficiency at compelling story telling across multiple genres.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Che Parker
• Release date: Apr 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476016078

Che Parker

Che Parker is the author of two novels (The Tragic Flaw and The Precious Life, Strebor Books/Simon & Schuster). He works in public relations and lives in Alexandria, VA.

Book preview

Everlasting

St. Vincent's is a church on the corner of Fifth Street and Lydia Avenue. In the fall this will become my church, after my mother's sudden stroke. I will move in with my father. I will attend a new school. They will say it's for the best. My father will say St. Augustine's, my current church, is too far away. He won’t make the drive. I will be in the seventh grade. It will be hard to make friends. St. Vincent's will become my church, my place of worship. It will also be a place of murder.

The church is enormous. All stone. Decorated on all sides by stained-glass windows. Light passes through them, through vibrant blues and vivid shades of red. Today, snow lightly powders the front stairs as the parish priest works hard to sweep it away. Soon a young assistant pastor, one still learning the way, will come out and lay down some salt. He will approach his duties with diligence. He will show others the way.

An enormous mosaic of St. Vincent de Paul, patron saint of the needy, hovers above three tremendous archways and seems to guard the church. The cathedral marks not only a place of worship, but also the edge of the neighborhood where my father grew up, and where I will come to live: Kansas City’s Piccola Italia—Little Italy.

Thirty years from now a man will enter St. Vincent's Church late at night. It will be freezing cold outside, dark and windy. It will be two days before Halloween and black as midnight. Candles will light up the church. A few steadfast believers will sit in the first two pews praying and sliding their wrinkled fingers over black rosary beads. Fallen leaves of orange and yellow will sneak into the vestibule.

This man, his face haggard, will walk into the confessional and quietly close the door behind him. He will be tired, his clothes wrinkled. Several minutes will pass until that assistant pastor, now a middle-aged priest, balding and thin, will enter the adjoining room on the other side of the black iron screen, likewise quietly closing the door behind him.

The man will fidget a little. He will clear his throat several times. He will quietly rub his hands together. He will think. When he finally catches his breath and calms down, he will whisper, Bless me, father, for I have sinned. His voice will be deep. He will taste bitterness in his mouth. He will feel a chill on his neck. He will hold his hands tightly together, staring at a nasty scar on his left hand. The scar will be old and puffy. Then slowly, the man will stop fidgeting.

The priest, having done this many times, will ask the man, How long has it been since your last confession? The man will say it has been twenty-three years, and the priest, listening carefully, will look down at the hardwood floor and then ask, What sins would you like to confess today, my son?

Just one, father. I have held onto this sin for many years. The man’s forehead will bunch. His cheek will quiver slightly, like a fly landed on it. Silence will fill the confessional. The chilly air outside will blow in hard, then soft, then hard again. Dust motes will float throughout the vast sanctuary, landing on bibles and hymnals filled with songs of praise. The priest will be patient. He will think about his life's work, the promise he took before God. He will exhale, content. After some time, more leaves will blow outside near the church doors. It will look like they’re dancing. The priest will exhale. Having waited long enough, he will eventually say, My son? Then the man, having paused, thought, and finally gathered his courage, will say, For many years, Father, and even tonight, Father, I have wished to kill you.

The priest will be stunned, then afraid. He will look up at the screen's small black swirls. His eyes will be large orbs. He will not see the man's face; the night's shadows will hide him, so the priest will slowly look down again, frightened. He will gather his own courage.

My son, why… why do you say this? I am a servant of God.

The man will sit there; his fingers woven, as if forming a cup to drink from. Small hairs will poke out from his knuckles. He will think about many things. He will smell the incense burning earlier, sweet soot. Things he fought for many years to forget, but was reminded of by his own father's death.

Son, come closer, his father had said, coughing in his bed earlier that day. Closer. Son, I hope… I tried to be a good father. To teach you what a man is, how he conducts his business. I hope I've done that.

Tears will well in the man's eyes and one will wet the confessional floor. He will remember things done to him years ago. He will remember things his father said, how to handle dilemmas and tribulations. He will take a deep breath, then exhale, slowly. He will unweave his basket to wipe the tears from his face.

Why do I wish to kill you, Father Michael? Because of what you did to me, Father. Because you touched me, Father. Because you took things from me, Father. Because you stole my innocence, Father.

The priest will become very afraid. He will tremble.

"My son, I, I… I am afraid you are mistaken. I