The elderly man with white hair was Mr.
Brown, the retired naval officer Father Anderson had encountered earlier near the church.
Judging by his exhausted face and the endless sorrow in his eyes, Anderson immediately suspected why he had come.
Still, he kept his voice calm and allowed the old man to speak when he was ready.
“Yes, I returned this morning.”
Mr.
Brown forced a weak smile.
“Father, would you listen to me for a while?
I don’t have anyone else I can talk to.”
Anderson clasped his hands in front of him and nodded.
“Of course.
Come inside.”
St.
Michael the Archangel Church contained more than the main chapel used for prayer and Mass.
Near the side of the nave stood several private spaces where parishioners could confess, seek spiritual guidance, or simply speak to someone without being judged.
Anderson led Mr.
Brown to a dim corner separated by a wooden partition.
The screen concealed most of their faces, allowing the person speaking to feel less exposed while still maintaining a human presence.
They sat on opposite sides.
Anderson didn’t immediately ask questions.
A good listener knew when silence was more useful than advice, especially when someone had carried grief for too long.
He already understood most of Mr.
Brown’s situation.
Judith Brown, the woman with whom he had shared nearly his entire life, had spent months in the hospital with little awareness of the world around her.
She had survived through medication, intravenous fluids, and constant medical care, while her husband visited almost every day.
Mr.
Brown’s own health had also declined.
He often joked that he was little more than a decaying corpse stubbornly refusing to lie down.
Anderson closed his eyes and waited.
For several minutes, only their breathing disturbed the silence.
Eventually, Mr.
Brown spoke.
“Father, does Heaven truly exist?”
Anderson opened his eyes.
He knew that Hell existed.
He had encountered demons, possessions, curses, and spirits that should never have remained in the human world.
However, he had never personally seen Heaven.
After everything that had happened in the Perron farmhouse, he had begun believing it was real.
“If you truly believe Heaven exists, then it exists for you,” Anderson said gently.
“Faith gives us the courage to face what we cannot understand.”
He paused before continuing.
“And for what it’s worth, I believe Heaven is real.”
A faint smile touched Mr.
Brown’s lips.
He had never been deeply religious, but for Judith’s sake, he desperately wanted to believe that death wasn’t the end.
Silence returned for a moment.
Then Mr.
Brown lowered his head.
“Judith died today.”
Anderson had already expected those words.
He made the sign of the cross and bowed his head.
“Amen.
May the Lord receive Judith and grant her eternal rest.”
Judith had been a sincere believer and a kind woman.
If Heaven truly existed, Anderson could think of few people more deserving of peace.
Brown blinked repeatedly, trying to hold back his tears.
“I believe someone will guide her there,” he whispered.
“Judith was such a good person.”
His voice trembled as he began recounting the final hours of his wife’s life.
“When I visited yesterday, she seemed more alert than she had been in months.
I thought she was getting better.”
He released a broken laugh.
“I didn’t understand that she was preparing to leave.”
Anderson remained silent.
“She told me the only thing still worrying her was that I wouldn’t take care of myself after she was gone.
Even while lying in that hospital bed, barely able to breathe, she was worried about me.”
Mr.
Brown pressed one hand against his eyes.
“She kept watching me until the end.”
Anderson could imagine the scene clearly.
A dying woman using her final strength to look at the man she had loved for most of her life, while he remained beside her knowing there was nothing he could do.
He didn’t interrupt.
Mr.
Brown gradually drifted into his memories.
He spoke about the day he first met Judith, their early dates, the wedding they could barely afford, and the home they built together after he left active service.
He remembered their arguments as clearly as their happiest moments.
He spoke about vacations, quiet breakfasts, long drives, and ordinary evenings spent sitting together without needing to say anything.
“We were happy,” Mr.
Brown said softly.
“We didn’t have much at first, but we were happy.”
By then, Anderson had become exactly what the old man needed—a silent witness to a life that suddenly felt as though it had ended.
Mr.
Brown continued until the weight on his chest finally seemed lighter.
When he finished, he remained quiet for a long time before raising another subject.
“Father, thank you for listening.
I feel better now.”
“That is why I’m here.”
“May I ask you something else?”
Anderson nodded.
“Go ahead.”
Mr.
Brown looked toward the partition.
“Do you remember those young men who mocked you beneath the underpass?”
Anderson’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The incident hadn’t happened long ago, and he still remembered the buzz-cut teenager shouting insults about God while his friends laughed.
“I remember them.”
Mr.
Brown’s voice remained strangely calm.
“I investigated them.”
Anderson said nothing.
“They belong to a local gang called the Vance Street Crew.
They use drugs, grow marijuana, extort shop owners, and sell narcotics around the neighborhood.”
Mr.
Brown’s hands slowly tightened into fists.
“They’ve assaulted innocent people and threatened families who refused to pay them.
Some of the younger members also recruit children to carry drugs because they believe the police will be more lenient with them.”
He paused.
“Do you believe they’re guilty?”
Anderson considered the question carefully.
He didn’t understand why Mr.
The old officer had specifically told Anderson not to waste his time on them.
“Their actions are unquestionably sinful,” Anderson answered.
“They’ve harmed themselves and others for greed and pleasure.”
His voice remained measured.
“God offers mercy to those who sincerely repent, but forgiveness cannot be used as permission to continue hurting innocent people.
Until they abandon what they’re doing and accept responsibility, their choices remain their own condemnation.”
Behind the partition, Mr.
Brown’s expression hardened.
“I understand.”
He rose from his seat.
“Thank you for keeping an old man company, Father.”
Anderson heard the movement and looked toward the gap beneath the screen.
“You’re welcome.
But Mr.
Brown, why did you investigate those men?”
The old officer stopped.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then his calm voice came from the other side.
“I only wanted to confirm that they were guilty.”
Anderson’s brow furrowed.
By the time he stood and stepped around the partition, Mr.
Brown had already left the room.
Anderson remained there, recalling the exact wording.
Confirm that they were guilty.
Confirmation of guilt usually led to judgment.
The two ideas were inseparable.
“Does he intend to put them on trial himself?”
The thought seemed absurd.
Mr.
Brown was nearly eighty years old.
Even with his military background, his body had deteriorated, while the Vance Street Crew consisted mostly of young men in their physical prime.
An elderly veteran shouldn’t have possessed the strength to confront an entire gang.
The setting sun couldn’t compete with the rising one.
Anderson immediately headed toward the chapel entrance, intending to catch Mr.
Brown before he left the property.
There was clearly something the old man hadn’t told him.
Before Anderson reached the aisle, however, a thick envelope resting on Mr.
Brown’s chair caught his attention.
He stopped.
The envelope was heavy and stuffed tightly enough to suggest that it contained a considerable amount of cash.
Anderson didn’t need to open it to understand what it was.
A final payment.
Or perhaps a donation from someone who didn’t expect to return.
A short message had been written across the front in Mr.
Brown’s unsteady handwriting.
Father, please don’t stop me.
Anderson picked up the envelope and stared at the words.
Judith’s final concern had been that her husband wouldn’t take care of himself after her death.
Mr.
Brown had apparently promised her that he would continue living.
Yet immediately after losing her, he had investigated a violent gang and come to the church to confirm their guilt.
Why?
Anderson tightened his grip on the envelope as several possibilities passed through his mind.
Whatever Mr.
Brown intended to do, he had already made his decision before entering the church.
The confession hadn’t been a request for permission.
It had been a farewell.