“There are no bad men there, Peter. Just boys.”
The squad car slowed, and gravel crunched under the tires as they turned onto a long drive barricaded by tall, privet hedges and a towering iron gate.
The officer rolled down the window and pressed a button on a small box. “Sergeant Barrie here to drop off the Hook boys.”
A buzz sounded, and the gate slowly creaked open. A giant stone fortress loomed like an impenetrable castle in the distance. Lifeless stone and cold metal bars created baricades of colorless grey behind leafless trees over the bleak and dreary sky. James tried to imagine how lovely it might look in the summers when the gardens were in bloom, but on this cold winter day, such an image was hard to conceive.
The car slowed, and Sergeant Barrie shut off the engine. “Here we are, boys.”
Once escorted inside the mammoth stone building, they were instructed to wait on two cold wooden chairs lined up against the wall of a long, silent corridor.
James’ heart beat like a slow, ticking clock keeping time, each steady thump echoing like a drop falling into whatever shallow water lined his empty stomach. Peter’s feet dangled as he anxiously craned his neck to see into the room where the officer had disappeared.
“Tragic, just tragic,” an aged female voice said. “Such innocent… Tarnished. It’s a shame how some suffer—and the one at such a young age.”
The voices grew nearer, and James sat up straight, ignoring the soreness of his spine and the way his skin pulled at the burns that had yet to fully heal. Placing a warning hand on Peter’s leg, he silently urged him to stop fidgeting.
“We should have no problem placing the younger brother. The older ones are a bit more challenging.”
James’s hand tightened around his brother’s as he focused on the whispered discussion about their future. He would not let them separate him from Peter.
“Parents often fear the older children have seen too many monstrosities. They worry how such past negative experiences might impact their future, especially if other children are already living in the home.”
“They’ve suffered a lot, Sister,” came the deep, caring voice of Sergeant Barrie. “It would be nice if they could stay together. Brothers need each other.”
“Of course.” Her tall, thick figure glided from the shadows of the doorway. Cloaked in layers of black, her robes hung like shingles of armor, absorbing any sound of movement as she neared. The only audible tell of her approach came from the heavy rosary beads hanging from her hip, clinking softly like clacking bones.
James sucked in a breath when she glanced over her shoulder and grinned at him. Instead of a smile, he glimpsed a slow, deliberate baring of teeth, yellowed and sharp enough to tear through flesh. She glided like a predator, patient and calm as if biding her time before breaking the illusion of safety.
“We will have them cleaned up and situated in no time. Prayer and a good night’s sleep is just what the angels ordered.”
Sergeant Barrie glanced back at the boys, his brow creasing with concern. “Perhaps dinner first.”
“Of course,” the nun nodded.
Her hair was hidden beneath a habit, making her dry, scaley skin all the more noticeable. It looked rigid and rough, like the hide of something that had lived in the dark far too long.
Her beady black eyes were chips of onyx and cold like stone. She took his and Peter’s measure quickly, contrasting his value against his younger brother’s as if they were a form of currency, and she was a swindler preparing to make a trade.
Didn’t Sergeant Barrie see the monster before him? James got the same sick feeling he often felt when his mother brought home dangerous friends.
The reptilian way she appraised him and Peter twisted his stomach in knots. Beneath the black folds of her thick, draped clothing, she could have hidden a hundred weapons. He was certain those gnarled hands that folded as if in prayer hid razor-sharp claws.
She wore no labels or epaulets, only the crucifixion of a dying man. To him, the pendant did not symbolize sacrifice or devotion, only a sign of torment and suffering.
Sergeant Barrie couldn’t leave them there. Her authority was apparent, but that did not make her just. James could sense her evil as if the air carried it heavily along the draft, this unrefined lust she concealed for power. She would command impeccable discipline and settle for nothing less.
James swallowed, wondering if he should stand or say something. Perhaps he should take Peter’s hand and run. How far would they get? Where would they go? How would they survive?
“We thank you for your time, Officer.”
“Sergeant,” Sergeant Barrie corrected.
“Sergeant.” As she reached out to shake his hand, James glimpsed something else hanging from her belt, tucked deep within the ripples of her black gown. It was thick and leathery, no wider than a ruler.
A chill raced down James' spine as the officer shook her gnarled hand. It was as if he’d just sealed a deal with the devil. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Sister Nagina.” The name slithered through her slanted teeth.
