5. From the desk of Andrea Jura
CHAPTER 5
From the desk of Andrea Jura
HANOVER, NEW HAMPSHIRE
Dear Father Savio,
It’s Andrea Jura again. Do you even know who I am? I wrote you a letter before but you might not have received it. I asked my priest to send it to you, but whether he did or didn’t depends on how much of the communion wine he drank that day.
I wish I knew if you received my last letter or if you’ll open this one, but even if you ignore them both, I’ll still write to you.
These letters are becoming a quasi-confession of sorts.
Not that I place the burden of absolution on you. I don’t go to church anymore. I stopped a long time ago, when the hypocrisy of it burned me up inside. Your plight only rammed things home, but I’ve been a Catholic for too long—that guilt never fades.
Today is a good day.
I’ve found my calling.
Is this ardency, I wonder, how it feels when you decide to become a priest?
When you ‘become’ your vocation?
My mother is a doctor so she has one, and my father is a soldier—it’s why my letters always come from different places. Or, used to, I suppose. I’m no longer an army brat—I graduated. I’ve seen vocations in action and I’m certain that is what I’m experiencing now, but mine is unlike my mom or dad’s.
I’m certain you’ll think I’m crazy, but even so, you’re the only person I trust with this information. I think this goes deeper than a ‘calling.’
I’m Nephilim.
The child of a Watcher.
I See what others are blind to. Act when others are stagnant. Fix what others broke.
It’s why, whenever I see your face, it’s as if God’s steered me onto the right path.
I am His hand on Earth. Just as you are.
For my charge, I did something bad again.
There’d be no absolution for this sin anyway because I don’t repent.
I ruined the life of my town’s mayor today. There’s a lightness in my heart because he was the worst type of man. He hurt his daughter. Abused her. Destroyed her. But I stopped that.
I noticed when no one else did.
And I brought about his end.
Men like that… they collect. Don’t they?
So, here’s my confession, Father. You can judge whether or not it IS a sin.
I broke into his house.
I stole his iPad.
I gave it to the police, telling them that I found it at the last town hall meeting.
Diana, my friend and his daughter, gave me his passcode. I switched off the need for one. And I said that while I was looking for an identifier, I came across disturbing images of him abusing his daughter…
It wasn’t a lie.
Now, he’s in prison. :)
Diana’s mom knew what he was doing to their daughter, but she isn’t in jail. I made sure everyone is aware that she was complicit in his abuse—a single post from a burner account on our town hall’s social media page achieved that.
Today was, indeed, a good day.
I hope you’re having a good one too.
I wish I could hold you. I know I’m not supposed to say things like that, but I do. You look like you need a hug. My mom’s hugs could fix global warming if she had long enough arms to embrace the earth. I know the power of a hug.
If you ever need one, I’ll be at this address for the next few years…
I pray this letter finds you a little less broken than the last time I wrote to you,
Andrea Jura