Father Sin stood. The other priests awakened, but remained seated.
“You’re never going to see them again! Happy! Now go put on the clothes,” Sister Bravo snapped.
“Fuck you! Go to hell,” Samuel yelled back.
SLAP! SLAP!
“The clothes, now!”
SLAP!
“No!”
Sister Bravo snatched Samuel off the couch and shook him violently.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! “Now go put the fucking clothes on, or I’ll turn this over to Father Sin.”
Father Sin smiled, right fist clenched, punching his other hand.
Blood oozed from Samuel’s nose. He let it fall. He wanted to cry out.
The pain was unbearable, but he fought the urge to wince. He snatched up the clothes and stormed off to the tiny bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
“A strong little fucker,” he heard Father Sin say. They all laughed.
Samuel leaned against the small, stainless steel basin, his bravery defeated. Anxiety gripping his stomach. He swallowed hard, the saltiness of his blood and tears gagging him, so he abruptly turned to the toilet, fell to his knees and threw up. Back on his feet, he wiped his eyes and mouth with his shirtsleeve, then ripped the once neat, now blood stained oxford shirt off, sending pearl white buttons ricocheting off the walls.
Foggy lighting couldn’t help soften the frightened boy that stared back from the mirror. Swollen and red, the right side of his face, puffy and bruised, complimented his ear, now half a size larger. He ran cold water and splashed it liberally over his head and face. Samuel slowly stood up straight and stared in the mirror, struggling to conjure up his parents’ faces. His legs weak, he wobbled over to the toilet and plopped down, head in his hands.
“I want to go home,” he whimpered softly, wondering if God could hear him. He gathered himself as best he could, kicked off his shoes, and removed his khaki pants, socks and underwear.
“I’m coming for you,” he heard a familiar voice whisper in his head.
It was his godfather, Uncle Robert.
Yes, Uncle Robert and Aunt Thorne, they’ll come get me. I know they will.
Encouraged, Samuel knelt down and prayed, asking God to help him.
The longer he prayed, the stronger he felt.
“Hurry up in there,” Father Sin’s grizzly voice growled.
Samuel stood. “I’m almost finished,” he said, mustering as much strength as he could, not wanting to appear defeated. He heard Father Sin give a huff and stomp away.
Despite the pain searing his face, he felt better. There were people looking for him, people who loved him, and would die for him. He quickly put on the clothes, dried his hair and face, stopping to gaze at the smile plastered on the now not-so-cute boy looking back. He’d do what he thought his godfather would do. Play it cool. Watch and wait. He’d find a way to help whoever was searching for him, and if he got an opening, he’d run away.
An almost sinister calm fell over him. He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the cabin, where Sister Bravo and Father Sin were standing and waiting as the others slept. Samuel sat down on the couch and picked up his mug.
“Can I please have some more?” he asked, subdued and cool. “And may I have something to eat?”
Sister Bravo walked over and kissed his cheek. “Forgive me for hitting you,” she said, taking his cup.
Samuel smiled. Father Sin didn’t.