The Dark Room
by Jack Berg
The darkness on his soul spread like the bloodstain forming on the white cotton tee shirt he had given his victim as a gift. Mark was fascinated by the pattern of dark and light that formed by the blood wicking up the simple white shirt he gave as a gift to each of his girls.
Mark confessed to Father Catalino that it was the light of the moon transformed -- the bright, pristine bolt of white light that forced him to tie his victims in the light tight room, the sound proof room which was his former darkroom. He claimed the light seeped deep into his brain like white-hot molten metal dissolving any residual goodness. Father Catalino struggled with his own sense of darkness as he drew another glass of sacramental wine and thought of the dilemma presented to him by Mark's deeds. The good Father was bound by the sanctity of the confessional to say nothing to the authorities.
In his darkroom, Mark considered the stained tee shirts that hung in a row where pictures used to dry. He studied the new one as the last ooze of blood trickled from her neck.
"This shirt is about finished." He said aloud.
He wondered where he would display this one -- perhaps between Brigit's and Laura's shirts. With the last ounce of excitement from his hobby spent, Father Mark Catalino came out of his darkroom. It was almost time for him to direct the girl's choir.