text: He was a frail, dying man, lying in a hospital bed in a hospice. He was half the man he used to be, his body was withering and shrinking. Cancer had ravaged him. He has been in the hospice for two days. He checked himself in wearing only silk pajamas and carrying a briefcase. Never speaking, except to ask the nurse not to speak to him. Nobody comes to see him nor does anyone call to check on him. On day three as the nurse comes in to check on him, he finally speaks, two words, “a priest.” The nurse, knowingly nods, finishes her business in the room, and leaves. She tells the head nurse the patient has requested a priest. Without a word the head nurse calls and requests a priest to visit the patient. The priest arrives at the hospice. He is young and it’s obvious he is inexperienced and nervous. The head nurse greets him and explains that the man is dying and during his three days at the hospice has not spoken a word, other than requesting a priest. The priest enters the man’s room. The man is lying in bed, a glazed look in his eyes, clutching a pillow to his chest. “Good afternoon sir, my name is Father William. I understand that you called for a priest. How can I help you?” Father William asked in the most soothing tone he can muster. “Father William, I called you here, because I must confess my sins and try to right at least one of my wrongs.” The dying man stated.” Father William pulled up a chair, sat down, and pulled out his bible. “Please my son, tell me your confession.” Father William said. “Father forgive me for I have sinned. I do not have much time left on this earth and even less strength to tell you my sins. I ask that you leave me uninterrupted, so that I may get them all out, while I am still alive to do so.” The man requested in a weak and raspy voice. Father William gave the man a nod. “Father I have broken the ten commandments. I have lied, I have stolen, I have killed. When I was a younger man, full of rage from my tortuous upbringing, I fell in with the wrong crowd. I began robbing shops, then people, then using guns to help in my thieving ways. I met a man who took me under his wing. He did not go by his birthname, instead choosing to be known only by his professional handle of “mort noire”. I called him M for short. He taught me various foreign languages, how to protect myself, how to use weapons, and how to kill. It wasn’t until after I learned French that I realized his name was Black Death.” “M told me that he was a professional assassin. He is the man that killed Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Janice Joplin, and quite a few others. M was trained by the man who had killed Hank Williams, Vernon Isley, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, The Big Bopper, Eddie Cochran, Dorothy Dandridge, and Jayne Mansfield, to name a few. He was paid extra for Mansfield as she was also a movie star. He was trained, and so trained me, to kill, but to make it look like an accident. A car accident, a plane crash, accidental drowning, suicide, a drug overdose, alcohol poisoning, you name it, we did it. Nothing and no one were sacred to us. I myself am responsible for the deaths of many rock stars. When M retired in the mid-seventies, it was my turn to take the helm.” “My first kill had to be big to ensure I would get future contracts. I didn’t want to kill him, but I had to or the contract would have gone to someone else and I would never work again. I killed Elvis. My first kill, but not necessarily my worst. After Elvis, I killed Marc Bolan, caused the plane crash that took the lives of Ronnie Van Zant, Steve Gaines, and Cassie Gaines of Lynyrd Skynyrd. I was gaining a lot of notoriety in my field and the contracts kept coming. I killed Keith Moon, and I finished off the seventies with Sid Vicious.” “Father, I have killed many, I remember all the names and how I did each one. I know this is long, but I feel for true forgiveness and to truly repent, I must name each and every one, they deserve that much at least. Nineteen Eighty would be just another decade of work for me. I took the lives of Bon Scott, Ian Curtis, Malcolm Owens, and John Bonham in 1980 alone. John Lennon, however, was not supposed to die. That damn Mark David Chapman just wanted to make a name for himself. He was being trained by our group and went rogue. Our group only kills by means that look accidental, we never use guns on rock stars. While we do take in contracts to kill this crime boss or that head of state, we always make sure that the deaths of rock stars are handled inconspicuously.” “I murdered Harry Chapin, Randy Rhodes, James Honeyman Scott, Dennis Wilson, Candy Givens, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and Steve Clark. He was a courtesy kill. I have only failed once in my attempts, once. In 1984 I was hired to kill Rick Allen. He is the drummer of Def Leppard. I taunted him on the road with my vehicle. He became enraged and tried to pass me. I very gently tapped his car in a pit maneuver. If it hadn’t been for that nurse that showed up, he would have died. He is one lucky fellow. As a result, I still owed the holder of the contract a kill. I bided my time and when I felt it was time, Mr. Clark’s life was mine.” Father William, color drained from his face, palms sweaty, was unable to wrap his head around what he was hearing. He continued to listen quietly, all the while praying to God, could there be any forgiveness for this man? The dying man continued his list. “I had the contract to kill Kurt Cobain, but unfortunately, someone close to him, got the job done first. After that, I waited for the next contract and murdered John Denver, Johan Holzel a/k/a Falco, Aaliyah, Layne Staley, Lisa Lopes, Dee Dee Ramone, Robbin Crosby, Paul Hester, Michael Jackson, Paul Gray, Mike Starr, Amy Winehouse, Jani Lane, Whitney Houston, Chris Kelly, Wayne Static, Scott Weiland, and Prince. Maybe it’s because I, myself, am so close to death that I finally understand the precious gift that life is. The more I feel it slipping away, the more anguish I feel over the choices and deeds in my life. I took the lives of all of these people and not for some greater good, but for money. I robbed families of their loved ones and I robbed the world of the music they had yet to make.” With tears creeping down his cheeks, he continued “Why you may ask, did I kill all these people? Why were there contracts out on rock stars? Who put out these contracts? I’ll tell you. It was the greedy corporate record company executives. Some of my targets were ordered killed, because my client or clients, depending on the target, believed record sales would skyrocket upon that target’s death. Others were killed because the record company executives had life insurance policies out on that target and they were eager to collect. I was making exorbitant fees on each kill. While I might have had objections, regarding certain targets I did not wish to see dead, the money was too good to turn down.” “Is it too late? Can I be forgiven for all these deaths? Can the blood on my hands ever be cleansed? Is it too late to repent? I do not know. I will face whatever punishment the lord has for me and will not deny my misdeeds, my crimes, my grievous sins. The only thing I can do is try to prevent my last kill.” “In retrospect, I see now that I had been ill for the bulk of the last year. I told myself it was just age and continued to ignore all of my symptoms. Last week I received what would be the final contract of my career, although I did not know that at the time. My new target is a young, beautiful, up and coming super star. Her first album is set to release next week. She is not your typical musician. She is intelligent, modest, and very religious. She does not drink, do drugs, or even smoke. She is also a health nut. She takes care of her body and is careful of what she puts into it. She exercises and works out just about every day. She is only twenty years old, yet she has a plan for her future, is sure in who she is, and cannot be tempted. The studio execs cannot control her and this is the problem.” “They, the execs, prefer their clients to be easy to sway, control, and use. This young lady is none of those. She refuses to dress sexy in skimpy outfits. She refuses to use sex to sell her voice. In fact, she believes the strength of her voice is all she needs to promote her music. Her lifestyle and moral character make it impossible to make her death look like a drug overdose. However, I decided that since she does work out so much and takes so many vitamins, the only way to kill her that would look plausible, would be to drug her vitamins with a chemical that would cause her to have a heart attack and would be untraceable in autopsy.” “Last week I covertly broke into her house and replaced her new bottle of vitamins with a bottle laced with this chemical. Tomorrow she will open that new bottle having used up her last bottle and she will take one and die. My plan in place I sat back ready to see my target die. I was taken out of my self-boasting by a deep cough. I coughed so hard there was blood all over my hands. I knew this was bad and went to the doctor the following day. The news, of course, was cancer, stage four. It has spread to all my major organs and it was too late to treat. I was given one week to live. I wish the doctor was being over pessimistic, but each day since that diagnosis, I have been going downhill at an exceedingly fast pace. Which is why I checked into the hospice on Monday. My body is telling me that by Friday morning I will be gone.” The man’s hands started shaking as he dropped his head into them. “With my life quickly coming to end I realized the value of life, all life. I knew I could not leave this world knowing I had taken yet another life. Father, I am too weak to stop this myself. This young lady cannot die! She has too much music in her to be silenced before she has even started. As I’ve told you, she is deeply religious. I believe that you can enter her house under the guise of wishing to discuss spiritual needs. Once in her home, ask for a glass of water, follow her to the kitchen, and once she hands you the glass of water, drop it. Let the glass shatter, profusely apologize as you attempt to pick up the shattered pieces. Cut your finger on one of the shards and ask for a band-aid. While she is in the bathroom getting your band-aid, you will have your opportunity to switch the vitamin bottles out. If you would please hand me my briefcase from the floor there.” The man asked while pointing at the briefcase. Father William obliged and picked up the briefcase and handed it to the man. “Thank you” the man said as he opened the case. From the case the man pulled out a new bottle of vitamins and a slip of paper. “Father, this is the bottle I stole from her home and this is her address.” He said as he handed both the priest. “She keeps her vitamins on the counter next to the refrigerator. While she is in the bathroom, just grab the poisoned bottle and put it in your pocket and place her bottle back on the counter. When she returns with the band-aid, let her help you put it on, and then help her clean up the floor. Stay and speak with her as only a priest can. Take solace in the knowledge that you will have saved this young lady’s life.” “Will you do this Father? I have no one else to ask. The life of an assassin is a lonely one. The only people I know are also assassins and it is not in their nature to save a life.” The priest sat quietly contemplating the bottle of vitamins. As a priest, he has been taught to forgive and forget, nonetheless, he finds himself on one hand hating this man for killing so many talented musicians, while on the other hand feels for the man. The man is dying and in doing so has realized the sacred gift that life is. He is trying to rectify what he has done. Will God forgive this man? He doesn’t know. He feels a rage growing inside him. The priest is a music lover. This man has killed many of the musicians the priest loves. He loves Elvis’ music, especially his gospel songs. He is also very fond of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s music. He truly appreciated the guitar prowess of Randy Rhodes, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and Steve Clark. In truth, Steve Clark was his favorite guitar player. He could feel so many emotions when he listened to Steve Clark play. Emotions that would draw him into another world, one where only music existed. This man’s deeds had curtailed the future music he would have loved to hear from a great many bands and musicians. He thought of God and Jesus. He felt in his heart that they would forgive him and above all would want the priest to save this young lady. “Yes, I will do it, my son. I will go right now. I will come back tomorrow to visit you again to let you know how I did and to give you your last rites.” The priest said as he gently held his hand on the dying man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Father William, you are saving the life of a truly beautiful person.” The man said as the priest got up to leave. The priest left the room and stopped at the nurse’s station. “I will be back to see him tomorrow.” The priest informed the nurse, who was seated behind the desk. He nodded his head at the nurse and left. He put the address listed on the piece of paper he was given into the GPS in his phone. When the directions came up, he hit the road off to do what priests are supposed to do, save lives and save souls. He put in a Def Leppard CD and clicked through the songs until he reached Switch 625 and listened to the instrumental as he headed to the young lady’s home. As he arrived at his destination, the priest inhaled a long, deep breath. He could feel a knot develop in the pit on his stomach as he approached the front door. He reminded himself that he is trying to save her life and found the nerve to push the doorbell. As he waited for the door to open, he reflected on his love of music. He chuckled to himself when he thought about the circumstances that led him to become a priest instead of a musician. He had no talent, only a profound love of God. The door opened and a beautiful, young blonde, with mesmerizing blue eyes said “Can I help you Father?” For a moment, he was so nervous, he forgot what he should say. He gathered himself and said “Good afternoon young lady, I have been going door to door throughout the neighborhood to discuss any spiritual needs people may have. May I come in and speak with you?” He asked. “Oh, do come in Father and get out of the heat. Can I get you something to drink?” She asked. “Yes, please, I would love a glass of water, if it’s not too much.” He replied. “Not at all.” She quipped. The priest followed her to the kitchen and quietly watched as she filled a glass with water for him. “You don’t mind tap water, do you?” She asked. “Not at all, thank you so much.” He replied as she handed him the glass. He very lightly took the glass and let it slip from his fingers crashing to the floor. “I am so sorry my hands are so sweaty from being out in the heat all day.” He stated as he kneeled down to pick up the broken pieces of glass. He made sure to cut a finger on a particularly sharp piece. “Oh my, I believe I’ve cut myself, do you happen to have a band-aid?” He asked. “Yes, let me run to the bathroom and get you one, please, leave the glass, I will clean it up when I return.” She said as she headed to the bathroom. No sooner had she turned the corner out of the kitchen did the priest pull out the bottle of vitamins from his pocket. He placed the bottle on the counter next to the poisoned bottle of vitamins, picked up the poisoned bottle, and slipped it into his pocket. He bent back down to the floor, and carefully this time, picked up the broken shards. As he was grabbing a towel off another counter, the young lady returned to the kitchen. “Let me see that finger.” She said as she opened the packaging of the band-aid. While she applied the bandage, he apologized for making a mess and breaking her glass. “It’s no problem, Father, it happens to everyone.” She soothed as she bent over to finish cleaning the floor. Once finished, she prepared him another glass of water and invited him to sit down in the living room. They spent the better part of an hour discussing God, the bible, and her spirituality. The priest was very impressed with her obvious knowledge of the bible and her love for God. He knew the dying man was right. This woman deserved to live. She was truly one of God’s creatures, as God had imagined them to be. He thanked her for her time and left her with his card should she have need of his services in the future. She thanked him and indicated she would love to see his service this Sunday. They shook hands and he left. When the priest got into his car, he let out a very long sigh of relief. He tapped the bottle in his pocket and thanked God for using him as a tool to save this woman’s life. He turned the music back on and drove back to the church. There were inquiries about why he was gone so long today and he insisted it was for a confession and it was a very long one. He had dinner and turned to his bible for a nice study prior to going to bed. He had a long day, emotionally draining, and spiritually fruitful. In the morning, the priest rolled out of bed, and dressed in his attire. He went to his computer, as he liked to read the news before breakfast, and read the story of the death of a young woman. The article indicated that the young woman had a heart attack. The article stated she was releasing a record album next week, and how terribly sad it was. The priest ran to the bathroom and threw up. As he hugged the toilet bowl, he asked himself “how could this be possible? I switched out the bottles. I put the clean bottle on the right and picked up the poisoned bottle from the left. I put it in my pocket!” He ran to his bedroom and searched through the pockets of his clothes. He found the bottle and opened it. The safety label was intact. There were no holes of any sort whatsoever that he could see. He wracked his brain. Did I switch the bottles right? He was sure he had, but looking at this bottle, he was sure he had not. He had failed. He had to let the man know of his failure. He also had to give the man absolution through his last rites. As he drove to the hospice the scenario played over and over in his head. How had he messed up? Did he try to do it too fast? Did he worry too much about cleaning up the glass and in the process missed the switch and just put the bottle back in his pocket? He prayed, no pleaded with God. He begged for forgiveness for his mistake. He begged God to not hold this death again the dying man, the man who tried to right at least one of his wrongs. He asked God to take care of the young woman. She had a good soul and she deserved entry to Heaven. He was so lost in his thoughts and failure that he almost passed the hospice. He found a parking spot and headed to the dying man’s room. As he threw the door open, the first thing to greet him, was an empty bed. “Oh God, no, the man has died already and without his last rites. Please God forgive him.” He thought to himself. He turned around to go to the nurse’s station to ask the nurse when the man passed only to see the nurse standing behind him. “He got up and left last night. He left his briefcase on the bed with a note on it saying to give it to you. You know, we never even knew his name.” The nurse said as she handed him the briefcase. Confused, the priest wandered over to the nurse’s station and placed the briefcase on the desk and opened it. The priest was shocked by the contents. In the briefcase, the priest saw a huge sum of cash and a note. “Thank you, priest, without your help, my plan would have failed.