Suicide Serial by Matthew Boyd

the home to discover more of his handiwork. He smiled as he once again visualized Marci placing the gun under her chin and blowing her brains out.
     
    Henry ceased his run and began to walk briskly once he reached the church parking lot. He didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention to himself here, yet. He began to casually walk up the long sidewalk to the huge, ancient-looking wooden doors located at the front of the church. A quick tug, and he opened one of the doors and walked inside the peaceful, quiet chapel.
     
    Lit candles lined the aisle all the way up to the altar. There was one tall brass candle holder standing beside each row of polished wooden pews. The pews held large, flat, dark red cushions that were starting to become worn with age and use. Across the walls on both sides were enormous stained-glass windows, each displaying a different Saint in multi-colored and beautiful scenes. Above the altar was the largest window, with an image of Saint Paul. He was wearing purple robes and had a bright green halo surrounding his head. In one hand he held a large sword and in the other, a book.
     
    Reaching into the velvet bag, Henry withdrew the bishop chess piece. He placed it carefully on the small lectern that was used to record the names of church visitors. As the door behind him creaked to a close, he moved silently and with purpose down the carpeted aisle way.
     
    Henry shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the handle of his revolver resting in one and a cell phone in the other. He lowered his head a bit, passing by an old man who was sitting in one of the front pews. The man never even raised his eyes and appeared to be praying, holding open a thick bible containing a bright yellow silk bookmark.
     
    Henry eyed his target ahead, to the right of the altar. It was a sturdy-looking and small confession booth. It gave the appearance of a miniature church, with rising steeples and crosses adorning the top. Carvings of angels and other religious figures stood out prominently on all sides. Henry reached forward, pulled open the solid wooden door and stepped inside.
     
    The inside of the confessional was cool and dark. Henry could just make out the silhouette of the priest, who was sitting silently on the other side, separated by a modest screen. Henry eased himself into the padded stool, formed the sign of the cross with his fingers, and began to speak.
     
    “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I have never confessed before today.”
     
    “Go on, my son,” The priest calmly spoke.
     
    “I have done things that God will never forgive me for, Father, and I’m not done yet.”
     
    The priest seemed taken aback, and stammered, “This might not be so…confess your sins to me. Perhaps I can help you find your way.”
     
    “Perhaps you can, Father.” Henry pulled out the cell phone and swiftly dialed a number. A loud beep was audible, coming from the priest’s side of the confessional.
     
    “What was that?” asked the priest, looking around, bewildered.
     
    “I would advise you to hold still, Father. That sound was an explosive device I took the liberty of installing under your seat. It’s set on a timer to explode in ten minutes.”
     
    “What?” the priest shouted out, making the old man sitting in the pews look up curiously for a moment before return to his prayer. “What have you done? Why?”
     
    Henry looked through the screen that separated them, barely making out the shocked expression on the priest’s face. The man looked absolutely petrified.
     
    Henry said, “Hold still, Father. If you get up off that seat, the bomb will send a signal to another, much larger bomb located in the gymnasium of Lee Arthur Miller Elementary School. I’d hate for you to be responsible for the deaths of over two hundred children. If memory serves, they’re having a science fair today. Gee, what bad timing, huh?” Henry just smirked to himself, watching the priest weigh his decision through the