Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
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.
Peter looked up at him with worry in his emerald eyes. “James, must we live here?”
James frantically tried to think of a way out of their situation. His gut twisted when no alternative solution came.
This was not a happy place. Saint Mercy’s Home for Orphaned Boys carried an air of cruelty that bit into the bones like a freezing wind, invisible but life-threatening. Their souls would see no nourishment here.
Sister Nagina looked the type to devour small creatures slowly over time. She’d silently stalk their every move like a crocodile wading at the water’s edge, creating a false sense of safety that brought their guard down. Then, at the first sign of weakness, she’d snap.
James had seen her type before, calculating and patient, hungry and vicious. Torment was a game to them.
Sergeant Barrie approached the wall where they were seated and crouched low. “You boys are going to be okay.”
James wondered if the lie sounded as unconvincing to the officer as it did to him.
“What about Mommy?” Peter asked, wiping away another tear.
“I’m sure she’ll call when she can,” Sergeant Barrie promised. Another lie. “I’ll make sure she knows how to contact you.”
Peter sniffled and leaned into James’ shoulder, hugging his arm.
“You’re doing God’s work, Sergeant Barrie,” Sister Nagina said as she glided in like an ominous fog. “Now, you must let us do the same.”
The sergeant reluctantly stood and nodded goodbye. “You have my number if anything changes.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
They watched silently as the sound of his booted footsteps faded down the dim corridor. Hinges creaked as a cold draft swept through the hall when the officer pulled open the heavy door. The wood moaned, and James flinched when it slammed shut as if the snapping jaws of this place were already dragging them under, far into the depths of the unknown.
“Stand up.” Sister Nagina shattered the silence with a hissed command. “Stop that crying,” she snapped at Peter.
James scowled and rose to his full height beside his brother, placing a protective hand on his shoulder. Peter wiped his eyes and clung to James, using his body as a shield from the scary nun.
“I want my mommy,” Peter whimpered.
Like a shadow stretching over the dark waters of a swamp, still and quiet, she crossed the distance and—SNAP—her hand lashed out with the brutal swiftness slapping Peter’s face.
“Are you crazy—”
Her hand whipped across James’ cheek with equally brutal force, leaving his gaze on the floor and his question clipped. He tasted blood.
“You will not question me. Ever. Is that clear?”
He glared at her through a slow, boiling rage. It was a wonder how anything so ancient could move so quickly. Everything in him wanted to sever that hand from the bone so she could never strike another person again.
“Things will be different here. Eyes on the floor. Now.”
They stared at the gloomy linoleum tile, the ripples of her gown fanning his periphery like the black banks of a swamp.
“Follow me.” She glided down the hall, flowing black fabric waving in her wake as she educated them about the rules of their new home, which felt more like a prison with every passing minute. “You will not speak unless spoken to. Silence is enforced at all times, except for the whispering hour each day at two when you walk the yard—rain or shine. Dawdling will be punished, as will disrespect or possession of contraband. You are expected to be washed up with your beds made each morning before dawn. Breakfast is served at seven, lunch at noon, and supper at six. Food is never to leave the servery.”