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Summary
The first time, Hannibal had been woefully underprepared. He’d had over-sharers before, usually lonely men and women for whom confession was their only chance to talk and know someone was really listening. None of them matched the man.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 16 years since my last confession.”
“May the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sins with true sorrow.”
“Wouldn’t He know if I were lying then?” the man asked, and Hannibal had to pause a moment to orient himself again. “That I wasn’t sorrowful in my confessions,” he clarified. Hannibal swallowed.
“He will see your contrition, however it may present itself.”
“Well, shit, I’m not contrite either,” came the amused answer.