Last Rites

Mr. Hannibal Malums laid in his private hospital room. Everything was impeccably sterilized and had not been touched by anyone besides the occasional nurse since he had arrived in the hospital almost 6 days ago. The sun was descending past the horizon, however there was not a flurry of beauty. The sun melted into a pool of grays and browns. Mr. Malums was being held in the best cardiac hospital, after a heart attack sent him into a panicked frenzy while working on Wall Street. Being a multi-millionaire stockbroker he had everything that he could want or need. But his children wanted nothing to do with Mr. Malums. His money had already been evenly divided in his will. And his wife? She died under mysterious circumstances almost eighteen months prior to Mr. Malums’ heart attack. And Mr. Hannibal himself? He was as aware as he could be, cherishing the days that were his mandatory vacation.

Days continued to pass as they blurred with each other so much that Mr. Malums could not distinguish them. 12 days after his heart attack, Mr. Malums’ condition was deteriorating rapidly. The doctor thought it best to call Father Gabriel, the chaplain to the hospital, because Mr. Malums’ family claimed he was Roman Catholic.

Father Gabriel arrived with all the supplies necessary for the Sacrament of Last Rites: holy chrism, the Eucharist, a prayer book and a rosary. Father Gabriel always left a rosary with the recipients of Last Rites as a comforting item. Mr. Hannibal Malums was not aware when Father Gabriel entered the room or when he sat bedside, but Malums was aware when Father began the rite.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” The words struck Mr. Malums like a lightening bolt.

“Can you give us one second as I listen to Hannibal’s confession, please Doctor?” The doctor slipped out quietly as Mr. Malums began.

He weakly croaked out, “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, it has been years since my last Penance.”

“What are your sins?” Father inquired.

Mr. Malums thought deeply and only one memory came to mind.

It was July 7th 2007. His children were not home, but his wife was. She had not been particularly vexing to Mr. Malums that day. He had come home and began gardening with a small rake. Without remorse or hate or any passion at all, Mr. Malums took the rake and went to find his wife. He found her washing dishes. She had her hair tied in a short ponytail; the sunset was reflecting a beautiful array of colors through the window and onto her gentle face. Water in a stainless steel pot was boiling on the stove in preparation for dinner. Mr. Malums became fully engaged to his despicable thoughts and poured the scalding hot water onto his wife. She screamed like a banshee as she was burned from her scalp to her feet. He then hit her on the side of her head with the pot. She stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Mr. Malums slashed at her face with the rake and left deep gashes. At the first sight of blood, Mr. Malums did not ever want to stop. He continued slashing and cutting deep into her until she was no longer screaming, until she had passed out from blood loss. He dragged her unconscious body into the bathtub and left her there, knowing if she regained consciousness she would not be able to move. He cleaned the blood and water from the floor while it was still fresh. He went into the cupboard to retrieve two spices of significance, and then he heard her moaning in pain. He returned to the bathroom and dumped the salt and lemon juice all over her body. She screamed as if she was the one possessed. He then took the bathroom’s supply of bleach and poured it on her, slowly and deliberately. Mr. Malums took a deep emotional pleasure in watching her die. He scooped her body into a trash bag and brought her outside and disposed of her into his garden bed. He noted not to plant there the next growing season. His children knew better than to ask where their mother was when they returned home, for fear that they would be next.

“No Father, I can’t think of any sins right now, my mind is too muddled.” croaked Mr. Malums.

“Very well. I will now anoint you with oil then give you the viaticum.”

When Father Gabriel anointed Mr. Malum with the sacred chrism, Mr. Hannibal Malums’ heart completely stopped. He was severely hemorrhaged on his forehead in the shape of cross and had a circular burn mark on his tongue when Father departed from Hannibal Malum.