Enter the chapel

You slip into the chapel through the main door, careful not to make a sound. You don’t want Sister Mary greeting you outside of the anonymity of the confessional booth and having a face to bring to the police later.

Thump thump thump, your heart beats heavy in your chest as you take quick, but practiced, soft steps towards the confessional booth.

Ugh, you wrinkle your nose at the heavy aroma of the ****-laced incense that is starting to permeate throughout the poorly ventilated building. Reaching into your pockets, you produce two industrial grade nose plugs. The smell in the room isn’t unpleasant, to be sure. The church incense burns with a potpourri fragrance and the destabilizing **** is also a sweet, almost sickly sweet, smell. The smell of rotten mangoes or expired fruit punch.

Inhaling the stuff for a handful of minutes won’t have an impact on a man like you, but there’s no need to take chances. After securing the nose plugs, you grab the incense brazier itself, (you’re wearing gloves of course) setting it down again just outside of the confessional booth and its air holes and wooden slats for ventilation.

Despite your efforts to remain silent, Sister Mary must have heard or sensed you, because you can hear the wooden creaking of the confessional bench in her booth before Sister Mary herself calls out.

"Hello? Is there someone there?"

"Hi- I’m here for confession." In your head you’re far more nervous sounding than you ought to be, but it doesn’t seem to have an effect on the nun.

"Come in, my son. Welcome."

You’re not eager to take any more time, cracking open the door to the sinners' confessional booth, sliding your backpack off of your shoulders, and sitting down on the thinly cushioned hassock.

"Would you like to do face-to-face, or do you prefer –"

"This is fine," you cut Sister Mary off abruptly. Not only can she not see your face, but Erin has requested you don a special mask, which we will get to later.

The creaking of Sister Mary’s rear end on her wooden bench fills the small space, then she lets out a calm breath of air before speaking.

"In the name of the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit. Jesus smiles upon all those who ask for his divine mercy." Her voice is soft, a tad low for a woman’s, but almost sonorous and even a satin quality to the practiced intonation behind the ritual.

"How long it has been since your last confession?"