A Beautiful Sin Page 2

  “Goddammit, you can’t even do one thing right, can you?”

  My aunt cried out. He probably hit her. We were both used as his punching bags. I hurried around the back and slowly opened the door. I’d learned the trick of how to do that so it wouldn’t squeak. As I was closing it, I thought I was in the clear until his voice boomed across the kitchen.

  “Where the hell have you been? Are you sneaking around seeing boys already?”

  His question caught me off guard. Boys? What boys? He never let me do anything, other than go to school. It was dumb of him to think otherwise.

  The only boy I thought wasn’t gross was the boy who’d sent me back to this hellhole. And he was older than me. No way he thought my twelve-year-old self was even alive. I’d seen it in his blank expression not ten minutes ago. And our Catholic school was pretty small and strict. There wasn’t much time to be chasing around boys anyway.

  “Answer me when I ask you a question, goddammit!”

  Crap! I need to pay attention to him when he speaks. “No, sir. I haven’t been sneaking around seeing boys.” My voice shook as I answered.

  “Then where were you?”

  “Church.”

  His beady eyes darkened and nailed me to the floor. “Church? You expect me to believe that?”

  “Y-yes, sir,” I stuttered.

  His lips clamped together and that muscle in his jaw twitched. I knew I was in for it. “Why’d you go to church? You went last night with your aunt.”

  A trapdoor opened in my gut as I recoiled in dread. He believed I was lying, and I had no answer. I didn’t know what made me do it, but I turned and tried to run out the door. I never made it two steps. He snatched a handful of my hair and yanked me backward. I flew right into the brick wall of his chest. My uncle was huge compared to me and I was no match for what was about to happen.

  To my horror, he opened the basement door and practically threw me down the steps. My hand grabbed the railing, saving me. Still, I landed in a heap at the bottom. Wincing, I collected myself and struggled to my feet. He’d never done this before, but my instincts told me it was going to be bad.

  “When you came to live here, I told you never to lie to me. You’re a slow learner, Haven. Maybe this time, you won’t be so quick to forget that rule of mine.”

  I didn’t bother to plead or beg. It wouldn’t help and sometimes made it worse. He unbuckled his belt and watched me as he took his sweet time taking it off. That was what he wanted. He hated me so much that he loved to see my fear. His eyes glowed with the anticipation of it. And then he smiled when he knew he held me in the grips of terror.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked snidely.

  Air moved in and out of me so fast, my vision became spotty. I was still sore from his beating last night and hadn’t had time to heal. This one would surely put me in the hospital.

  “Please, Uncle Kent,” the words slipped out, though I hadn’t meant for them to.

  His crooked teeth gleamed in the dim light of the dank basement. “You trying to piss me off even more, Haven?” he taunted. “Get that dress off, or I’ll yank it off of you.”

  I had precious few things to wear as it was, so I couldn’t afford for it to be ruined if he tore it. It was one of the only nice ones I had. I reached behind me, wincing, to unzip it.

  “Hurry it up. I haven’t got all damn day,” he sneered.

  His tone had changed and I understood what that meant. I made quick work of undressing. I stood in my undergarments, rigid as a rock. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to keep from shivering in the cool basement. In that moment, I hated him with every teeny bit of me. If I had the means, I would’ve killed him, right there.

  My throat was so dry; I tried to swallow but couldn’t. I went to lick my lips, but all my spit was gone.

  “Turn around.”

  When I did, stupidly I tried to make another break for it. I never gave it a thought. My feet just took off. I heard a growl, followed by a bellow. Then I found myself pushed to the floor. No time to watch the stars dancing in front of my eyes with the cold floor embracing me. Blows rained down, tearing into my flesh. At first I screamed, but my throat became so raw that after a while, they were nothing but hoarse whimpers. I retreated into that place where nothing could touch me…that place where numbness ruled. A land where Mom waited for me and soothed me in her warm embrace.

  “Kent, stop. Please stop,” my aunt begged. She’d come to save me. “She won’t be able to go to school if you continue.”

  His blows slowed but didn’t subside.

  “Come on, honey. Come upstairs with me. Leave the girl alone and let’s spend some time together. You look tired, and I know how to relax you.”

  Aunt Kathy’s voice lulled me out of my safe space.

  “Oh yeah? And what do you have in mind?” he asked.

  “Whatever you want.”

  I heard them mumbling, but all I cared about was he’d stopped. When their footsteps carried them upstairs, I knew what they were going to do. It was the only thing Aunt Kathy had in her arsenal. They were going to have sex.

  When I’d explained to Macie about the noises that came from their room at night, she told me what they were doing. And that was the only time my uncle was truly nice to my aunt, when she promised to go to their room with him.

  God, why did you take Mom from me and send me to Hell? What did I ever do to deserve this? Was it because I had a crush on that boy? Well, you don’t have to worry. I hate him as much as my uncle. I never want to marry, ever.

  The shouts in my head were louder than my beating heart. I shivered on the damp floor, longing to move but couldn’t. When I tried, pain surged like an eruption of a volcano. My neck, shoulder blades, all the way to the backs of my thighs felt like lava coursing through my body.

  The buckle must have dug into me good this time. Why had I thought Father O’Brien was the answer? The only things I’d gotten from my trouble were welts and more bruises I would have to hide.

  Tears dripped from my cheeks onto the floor. It was sad when you were so weak you didn’t have the strength to sob for the movement would prove worse than the release of emotion.

  It wasn’t what I expected my life would be when I moved in with my aunt and uncle after finding out Mom had died. I’d cried plenty that day. She’d been the best mom in the world. So sweet and pretty; I could remember brushing her long, blond hair.

  I wished I could erase the day I came home and saw Uncle Kent’s car in the driveway. If I’d known then what I knew now, I would’ve kept walking right on past the house. I could’ve slept in the woods, like those fairies you read about in books. Anything would’ve been better than this.

  That day he declared he was the new sheriff in my life. And he’d been right. The horrid man controlled everything from what I wore to who I hung out with. My life under his rule became a literal prison. Only his continuous punishment would eventually shatter me into nothing. And who could I tell? The only living relative I had was my aunt, and she already knew.

  Sometime later, I gathered myself together and pushed up from the floor. A wave of dizziness rose with the pain. If I didn’t get in the shower to rinse the blood off soon, it would dry and then I’d have a mess. It took most of what strength I had, but I made it to the small bathroom, partly on my hands and knees. The shower was as bad as the beating with the water singeing my raw and open wounds. I shivered under the cool water. It hadn’t taken me long to learn that cold was better than hot after one of my uncle’s sessions. The air dried my back and thighs, saving me from rubbing the damp towel over the welts and open sores. I found the mirror and braved a peek at the damage. When I saw what my back looked like, I buried my face in a towel. There were so many places that scars covered me now I would never be normal again. From my shoulders to my waist I looked like latticework.

  The knock startled me. “Haven, are you okay?” It was Aunt Kathy.

  “Yes,” I choked out.

 
“He’s gone. Let me put some salve on for you and get some ice on that.”

  I opened the door so she could come in. When I spun around and allowed her to see, she gasped. “Oh, God, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

  “Did you call him?”

  “What?”

  “Did you call him to tell him I left?”

  “No! I would never do anything like that. I had no idea you were gone. He came home for lunch,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting him.”

  I had to believe her. She was the only tie to my mom, and why would she lie? She was going through some of the same things I was.

  I hissed as her fingers applied the salve. “I hate him, and I don’t know why he does this,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. He’s just like that.” She finished working on my back. “All done, honey. Don’t forget to take some ibuprofen.”

  “He’s not just like that. He’s cruel. And how am I supposed to go to school tomorrow acting like I’m fine?” I didn’t wait for an answer because I knew she had none.

  “I wish I could be more helpful to you.” She hung her head. I hated it, but she got her due from him like I did. What I couldn’t understand was why didn’t she leave and take me with her?

  “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to leave. When I turn eighteen, I’m gone from this place.” But that was six years, six awful years, from now. And if he were to keep it up at this rate, there’d be a good chance I wouldn’t make it that long.

  Present Day

  The paper rattled in my trembling hand. After reading the letter for the third time, the words still hadn’t changed. I wanted to believe that somewhere in there was a greater plan, which at first seemed like a bad joke. My initial thought was to ask the bishop, the head of the diocese, who had sent it, if he was intentionally trying to be cruel. But he would have no idea my reasoning for not wanting that assignment.

  It couldn’t be happening. As much as I wanted a parish of my own, going back had never even been a consideration. I stood there as a dark part of me, the one I kept hidden in the furthest reaches of my soul, threatened to escape. The edges of the letter crumpled in my balled hands. Images I kept locked in the recesses of my mind burst through my impenetrable walls and flooded my thoughts like a tidal wave, chilling me to the depths of my bones.

  Closing my eyes and opening them again hadn’t changed the first words of the letter.

  It is with deepest sorrow that I write this to inform you of the sudden passing of Father Thomas O’Brien. My breath hitched. You have been selected as Associate Pastor at the Holy Cross Catholic Church. What should have been joyful news made my skin crawl with what felt like a thousand biting ants. I rubbed the back of my neck, a motion I hadn’t found necessary in years.

  Even in death, the mere mention of the man’s name sent me into a tailspin. Holy Cross was a place I vowed never to return to and hadn’t. I’d made excuses not to come home, forcing my parents to visit me when they felt the need.

  If not for my love and dedication to God, and knowing that everyone in the church hadn’t punished me for my sins, I might not have continued my pursuit of the priesthood. But I needed absolution and what better way than giving my life over to the Lord and somehow making a positive difference in the life of others.

  I scrubbed a hand over my face. What was I supposed to do? One didn’t refuse the bishop’s orders, especially one so young as I. To gain an associate pastorate at the age of twenty-eight was relatively substantial, at least with the Congregation of Holy Cross. I would have a lot of explaining to do if I tried to get out of the appointment.

  “Canaan, you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” my mentor, Father Tony, asked.

  I glanced up and dropped my hands to my sides and tried to find calm I didn’t feel.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Reading me well as always, he asked, “What do you have there that’s rattled you so?”

  I tried to laugh, but it came off more as if something were caught in my throat. “My orders.”

  “Really?” His eyes sparkled as they should. It should have been a joyous occasion.

  I nodded and handed the letter to him, unable to share the news in words, lest he figure me out.

  His eyes flew across the page with a frown then a blossoming grin.

  “Sad news about the father. May his soul rest in peace.”

  May his soul rot in Hell.

  “It’s not the best way to get an assignment, but you’ll do fine.”

  He patted my back to congratulate me. Act happy, Canaan. I pasted an acrylic smile on my face as he rambled on about how great this was. All the time he talked, I could feel the snake twisting inside of my guts. If only he knew the truth.

  “Why so glum? This is your home parish. Were you close to this Father O’Brien?”

  Acid burned my throat, forcing me to clear it.

  “He was there, yes.”

  He studied me and I knew I’d blown it. He would see the stain that would forever mar my soul no matter how much penance I paid for my sins.

  “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

  When his hand lightly touched my arm, I nearly jumped out of my skin. To cover up my reaction, jumbled words left my mouth in haste.

  “It’s going to be strange going back there, to my hometown. I’m a little more than nervous to face family and friends as not the boy, but the priest.”

  “Canaan, you’ll do well there. You’re a great counselor, and your heart is in exactly the right place. Of all the seminarians that have passed through here, you have been the ideal everything. I’m going to selfishly miss you.”

  The sad, forced smile shouldn’t have convinced him of anything.

  “I’ll only be a little over an hour away. I’ll come back to visit or you can come visit me.”

  “True,” Father Tony said as he patted my shoulder, “but I have a feeling you’re going to be so busy, you won’t have time for us back here.”

  “Never. This is my home,” I objected.

  He grinned. “Not anymore. Since this is a death, you’re needed now. You’d better start packing.”

  “It’s a good thing I don’t own much.”

  We both laughed.

  “Canaan, one thing is true—your parents are going to be very excited about this news.”

  “That they will. I better give them a call. And Tony—thanks for everything these past few years. You’ve been the best mentor I could’ve asked for.”

  “It’s been my pleasure.”

  We hugged for a few seconds, and I watched him walk away until he disappeared around the corner.

  I reached for the wall to hold myself up. I couldn’t imagine the fate I was facing. Going back there would be like facing Hell. But it looked as though I had no choice.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I called Mom and Dad. They were shocked. None of us thought I’d end up back home. My mom kept giggling like a schoolgirl, while Dad talked about all the father/son things we could do.

  “Dad, that sounds great, but keep in mind, I’ll have a lot of parish obligations too.”

  “Oh, right, son. Someday you’ll take over the parish and be like Father O’Brien was. He’d just asked about you recently.”

  My blood froze. I barely formed the coherent question not much louder than a whisper.

  “What did he want?”

  “The usual. He’s been asking about you off and on over the years. Wondering how you were faring and if you planned to come back home. He was very fond of you.”

  When I didn’t respond fast enough for fear I would gag on any words I tried to say, Dad called out my name.

  “I’m—I’m here. Do you know what happened to him?”

  “You know, that’s the strange thing. He took a bad fall. He was healthy as could be, but they say he could have had a heart attack. The man took great care of himself, so it’s hard to believe.”

  There was something disquieting about Dad’s thoughts regardi
ng Father O’Brien’s death. Perhaps there was something more to the story. Had my dreams of the pits of Hell opening up and swallowing the man whole come true? And if so, how much penance would I have to do to cleanse myself of the stain of relief from my belief that the world would be a better place without him?

  “Sometimes those things just happen,” I said to fill the silence. “I hate to cut this short, but I need to get my packing started.”

  “Okay, Son. Do you need us to come and help?”

  “No, I’ve got this. I don’t own very much.”

  “Right. But will it all fit in your car?”

  “Dad, I’ll be living in the rectory, so I don’t need furniture. Remember?”

  “That’s right. You let us know if you need us.”

  “I will, and thanks, Dad. I love you both.”

  “Same here.”

  By the time I made it to my quarters, which really only consisted of a bedroom and bathroom, my thoughts had drifted back to my days as an altar server at Holy Cross. Father O’Brien haunted my dreams for years, and I hoped I could be free from those nightmares that were my reality. Only I wasn’t. Immediately, I fell to my knees to beg for God’s forgiveness in being relieved over the demise of the man.

  A few days later, I drove from what had been my home at the Moreau Seminary, located at the University of Notre Dame. That was where I had been educated, ordained into the priesthood, and then served in different capacities on staff. It was going to be a huge transition for me, one I doubted I was prepared for. My soul had been permanently cracked and scarred by the things that had transpired in the bowels of the church. I wasn’t sure what my reaction would be when I entered the place. The day I left, I secretly vowed never to return. Was there another lesson I would be forced to endure upon my return? Or perhaps not a lesson but a test? Whichever the case, I would discover it soon enough.

  It didn’t take long to drive from South Bend, Indiana, to Bloomville, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago. The new pastor, Father William Cernak, would be there when I arrived. He’d known my parents since he had been the associate pastor to Father O’Brien. I didn’t know him, but Mom and Dad had nothing but good things to say about him. I wondered if he had any idea about Father O’Brien’s sacrilegious use of the sacristy and his depraved methods of punishment. Probably not. Father O’Brien would’ve been too smart to let that slip out of the bag.