Rum followed the sound but the church bell stopped ringing by time he arrived. It was quiet when he arrived and stood below the church door at the bottom of the church steps. The silence became worse when he mounted the steps and opened the door. It was a deadening quiet inside. No movement. No life.

As he walked the aisle between pews he considered his long driven fear of churches. That was wrong. He didn't fear the churches. He feared the silence within church walls. It was the sound of presence, the constant presence which watched in eternal muteness. The sound of a church.

Nobody came to greet him so he entered the confessional of his own accord. He sat there waiting in deeper silence, until footfalls began tapping this way. The door opposite opened and a shadowed figure entered into a blessing. When the blessing ended the silence returned.

"Have you something to confess?" the shapeless form asked.

"I ... I'm not too sure how to go about this."

"You don't need to recite anything."

"I know. I'm just not used to it."

"You could tell me your name."

"No."

"Then how long has been since your last confession?"

"Not since I was a kid. Never cared for it."

"Then why have you come here?"

"On a hunch. I want to tell a story but I'm not sure how I should start."

"Forgive me father for I have sinned, is usually a good starting point."

"I'll think of something better."

"Of course you will."

"Before I begin with my story I need you to know a few things. I'm a bum. I wasn't always a bum but I'm a bum now."

"The good lord doesn't care for titles."

"Figured you'd say that. How old are you father? You sound young."

"I guess I am young. I'm twenty five."

"Sounds about right."

"Pardon?"

"I'll continue. I've been a bum for quite a while ten years nearly. Ten years ... Never thought about the time much, but it is a long time now that I think of it. I want you to know how I got this way, so I need to tell you something of a story first. It's not that I want to waste your time by rambling about my woes, but if I'm to ask for your forgiveness I'd at least like to tell the truth once. I've been telling people lies and half truths for so long, I'd like to speak honestly before I ask for anything more."

"Then tell me about yourself."

"I wasn't always a bum, of course. Time was I had a lot of change to spare. I wasn't completely loaded, just well-sorted, more so than most men. But I never knew how to spend it. I used to gamble it away at the track all day. No not just the track. Anywhere they played I went looking for an easy win. Suppose at this point you'd like me to say I spent heavy and lost big, and that's how I became this miserable wreck sitting here now? That would be too easy."

"It's not my place to judge."

"Gambling became a rush for me. I became so arrogant that I actually grabbed our life savings and bet it all on one big race. My wife ... she found out and hurried straight to the track to stop me. She even brought the kid along too, just to rub the guilt in my face not that it changed anything. But the bet was already through. For the next hour my wife roared in my face non-stop, breaking between panic stricken fits and back to yelling. Then the bell rang and the intercom buzzed with our results. We won. Quadrupled our money. Suddenly she wasn't so mad no more."

"She forgave you?"

"Never. But with all that extra money who's going to complain, right? Thing is, this other guy there wasn't so lucky. He started running his mouth about how we must have cheated, and how he deserved the money. Things started to get ugly."

"He hurt your wife? Your child?"

"No. He didn't hurt the kid or my wife. He boxed me in the face, ploughed me straight to the floor then took off."

"Ruined the moment did it?"

"No. It felt amazing, actually. I'd never been hit harder yet it really did feel amazing. I didn't care about being hit, that's why it felt so great. With the money I made, I never needed to care ever again. That's what the punch made me realise."

"You became euphoric in your joy. Anyone would. If you really did gamble so much I'm sure you felt the opposite effect more than once before."

"You're a priest not a shrink."

"Sorry. I used to council gambling addicts - old habits."

"I kept smiling even as my wife drove us home. The money made me feel ... powerful a little click in my mind that made me feel a little closer to invincible. I don't know ... it was a little dreamer's click at the back of my mind which only served to enhance the big win. No. That little click, it became the purpose behind the win. The new, better high. It changed everything. I wouldn't understand until I went back to the track with half my winnings."

"Surely you didn't?"

"I would have. I'd have tossed it back right then and there, when something caught my eye. The business section of the local paper had been left open on the betting shelf. Nobody came to serve me so I took the paper and sat down to wait."

"I'm to imagine this was an unusual action for you to take."

"There were all kinds of deals going on. Suffice to say, I realised the market in this city had fallen to something of a state. Local businesses were literally begging for investors and unfinished housing estates needed funding. And there was me with all that money."

"You decided to help fix the city?"

"In a way," Rum laughed. "It occurred to me then that if I gambled the money here and now I'd be risking it for what had become buttons to me. Sure, if I won the bet, money would be great. But it wouldn't be the same as that first win. That day I had come to the track for another satisfying rush. I wasn't going home without one. Funny, the things that went through my head at that time. By the end of the day I hired a guy and set about my investments."

"It does sound a bit more honest than gambling. I'm sure your wife appreciated it."

"My wife saw it as nothing but another crock. Sure I'd quit gambling but all she saw was a new way for me to catch another risk based high."

"It wasn't?"

"It was. Of course it was. Whether gambling or investing, my mind was always centred on the rush. Difference was, only one of them could cure that little click that had been biting into me since that guy punched me. I began investing just to feel it again. No. More like I threw money into it. And that's probably why my wife left me. Hell, I know that's the reason. When I decided to invest all that money she went through the same motions as that night back at the track. She screamed. She panicked. Except this time when the good news came in she'd already packed her bags. Didn't matter that I made profit, she took off with the kid without little much else to say to me."

"So you regret choosing power and money over your family. Time isn't so forgiving but God will forgive so long as you are truly sorry."

"It's fine. I didn't give a crap about them."

"So ... that isn't why you came here?"

"No. It never really fazed me."

"Didn't you love them?"

"Things had always been shaky with that wife of mine. My little summary didn't show much of it, but she was a gold digging bitch, truth be told. She only ever worried when she stood a chance of losing big."

"But if she only wanted you for money then why would she leave you in the end?"

"Because I'm a loose cannon. I was a gambling addict, no denying it. She couldn't handle the stress that I might eventually take a gamble and turn up short. She was happy with my money. Of course she was also happier with more money but never at the risk of losing everything she had. She decided to throw in the towel and take everything she could before I wound up pissing it down the tube. She took half my money and fled into the sunset with some Spanish banker or something. That was the worst of it all."

"Losing the money was really worse than losing your child?"

"Hey now, I didn't say the kid was mine. The woman already had that kid before I even met her. He was a spoiled little brat too, I hardly knew him. He was worse than his mother."

"Surely she loved you, and at some point, you her?"

"Reverse it, father. I loved her to bits when we first married - I was a fool to trust her. Sure I loved her, but at some point I had to grow out of being a fool. Frankly, it felt good to be rid of her. The separation opened doorways. I could do what I wanted without that greedy little nagging voice over my shoulder."

"So you tossed your wife and decided to invest in land instead. I have to wonder what business a man like the one you speak has coming to my church."

"She tossed me. I couldn't do much else so investing's what I did. Of course, time came when it bored me too. I decided to stop investing in other people's companies and set about starting my own. That is to say I threw other people out of there's. They were going under any way so I thought of it as a favour."

"You really did, did you?"

"Not very reassuring of you there, father."

"I'm a priest not a shrink."

"I couldn't think the way I used to. I became proud. I became arrogant. Remember that little click at the back of my mind I mentioned? Well it burrowed right into my skull and stayed with me 24/7 the constant high. The only method of matching a buyout was planning the buyout. I had these schemes, see. I used to take the best employees from my rivals. That way their quality of service tended to decline. Add a few paid rumours and bribed technicians and it'd be enough for them to sell out at the first offer. It was like a giant board game and I was the only one who realised the game started."

"It did used to be a relatively sleepy city, at least, as I remember it from my childhood."

"And that's who I am - the character of our story. I know it's not the best character introduction but I hope it gives you some insight ... or knowledge into the kind of guy I was. I need you to know these things so it's easier for you to hear me out, and hopefully forgive me."

"So ... have you thought of your first line?"

"I'll start with: it happened in a launderette ten years ago..."

Through the dividing screen the priest's silhouette shuffled up with renewed interest. He remained in such a position listening more keenly than he thought he might.

Back then the man, who would later be known as Rum, had a fancy for suits. He'd buy one from each store, some in doubles if he liked the designs. He preferred suits. It's all he started wearing since regular clothing became something of a drag to him, tattered rags like he wore in the past. He'd become a success and with it he needed to dress the part, which he did with proud avengeance.

It was something of a hindrance, however, that with all his suits which held him in this lifestyle there were few launderettes in this whole city catering for them. Most considered it a risk to clean such expensive fabrice. He had just the one laundrette nearby. It was a nice little place at a nice little intersection which he seemed to always pass wherever his office of the day turned up. It was a prime location for a prime market. Naturally, even as the man relished their honourable service he'd being eying up the land since day one.

So he continued to use their services, returning weekly for pick ups and drop offs. Time would come though, as it so often does for the snake in the grass, when he relinquished his devotion for their services. So he went from saying please and thank you, to angered screams and claims of disappointment.

Rum couldn't remember if there was something valid in his complaints or if he fabricated the whole dispute. With his mindset back then he'd do both and think the latter.

He'd started complaining about damaged suits mostly, which, when seen by enough people couldn't be good for public relations.

On this one occasion when he complained, which was his fourth occasion, the store was empty save one clerk and a female ginger haired customer holding onto her newborn who cried persistently in her arms. Her older son, of perhaps ten years with a head of equally ginger hair, ran around the store playing imaginary aeroplanes. It was clear by the woman's expression that she harboured no sympathy for that man in front of her and his inconsequential nit-picking.

Rum could remember standing on the customer side of the counter, both staring and screaming down the weedy little clerk opposite with little regard for the red haired woman's tried patience.

Rum had an eye for people back then - at least he thought he did. There was a look about this be-speckled clerk. The way he wore that tight buttoned up shirt with those ghastly circular spectacles, the way he shied under his unkempt gelled down hair. Any sod could tell this fool wasn't going to stick up for himself. The way he spoke confirmed it.

"Now ... hold on a second ... you. I-I don't want any trouble here. I keep telling you your suit is exactly as you left it."

Rum waved the bagged suit in anger. "The hell it is! Look at this thing! All these crinkles weren't in it before. What about this rip here? What about the dirt? You have any idea how much this cost me."

"Bbut we didn't do anything. You won't even show it to me."

Rum swung the suit straight to the clerk's face then pulled it back as fast. "There, see the damage?"

"I couldn't see."

"Like I need your opinion."

With child in arms the red haired woman approached the clerk aggressively. "Look, I'm in a hurry here. Can I just get my clothes and go? I need it for a party in two hours." She snapped back to her eldest who whizzed about making rattata sounds for an epic plane battle. "Sit down!"

Rum turned to her. "That's right, shut your eyes and let them rip you off. How many times have they tried this on you? Bet you always let them away with it. Of course that's what you did. You've no other choice. There's not another cleaners for miles."

She looked straight over the man to the clerk. "Please, I need to go now. My friend will be here any minuet to pick me up."

From a backroom behind the counter a rather plump woman wearing a grey dress suit walked out to address the situation. Before speaking she finished tying her long black hair into a ball.

From previous encounters Rum recognised her immediately as the store manager.

"Is there a problem here, Leon?" the manager asked the clerk.

"It's this man again," the clerk replied.

"So I see. Has another suit been damaged on you? This is the third time isn't it?"

"Fourth."

"Leon, help the lady. I'll deal with this gentleman ... again."

"Help me by offering a refund."

"For the suit in your hands? May I see it?"

"No."

"I can't help if you won't let me look at it, sir."

"There's nothing wrong with it," Leon could be heard mumbling as he attended to the red haired lady.