by Sean Platt
After morning class, Luca and Scott headed to the church for their construction shifts. They weren’t old or skilled enough to be trusted with the hard work, so they spent most of their time prepping work areas and cleaning up for the men who were building the church. Most of the time, they sat back, watching, and talked to one another. Scott was nice and told funny jokes, though not as funny as Jimmy’s had been.
Scott was like a PG-13 version of Jimmy, which was okay, and he might have seemed funnier if Luca were still 8. But his own thoughts felt more grown-up than they used to. Things he once thought were funny he now found silly, even babyish. But his thoughts still didn’t feel as grown up as his outside had become, though he really wasn’t certain what being an adult felt like. Luca felt trapped between child and adult, ping-ponging between the two. As weird as it was to him, he was sure it was weirder for those around him. Paola and Scott were still talking to him like he was a little kid, when they talked to him at all.
Scott was telling one of his corny jokes, something about a llama walking into a bar. Even though he wanted to listen, Luca kept sensing his attention pulled toward the Box of Shame.
The box was wooden and shaped like an outhouse Luca once saw outside the Miller’s house back home a year ago. When he asked his dad what it was, he followed the answer by wondering out loud why construction workers would ever want to poop outside. “Because sometimes you just have to go,” his father exclaimed. Luca started telling his mom that if Anna didn’t get out of the bathroom soon, he was gonna use the Miller’s outhouse across the street. Fortunately, it had never come to that, which was a good thing since his dad said that outhouses smelled like the worst parts of the zoo.
The Box of Shame looked just like an outhouse, except there was a huge wooden bar across the door that kept it from opening. There were two small holes at the top of the front and one larger hole at the bottom where Luca had seen Rebecca’s mom slide some water in and take a bowl from. Luca assumed the bowl was where the girl was forced to use the bathroom, which made the Box of Shame more like an outhouse than by just its appearance.
“You want to join us later?” Scott asked, “We’re going on a store run, me and a couple of the guys. I bet if I ask, they’d let you go, even though you’re still technically a kid.”
“You?” Luca said, not meaning to sound so surprised, but also slightly annoyed that Scott felt it necessary to again point out that Luca wasn’t yet a man, despite his appearances.
“Yeah, why not me?” Scott said.
“Well, isn’t it dangerous?”
“I can handle myself,” Scott said, sounding offended that Luca would think, let alone suggest, otherwise.
“Yeah, but you’re still healing from the other day,” Luca said, trying to delicately point out that Scott would be dead if Luca hadn’t saved him — exchanging years of his youth to do so — and now he was gonna risk his life again? Had Luca’s sacrifice meant nothing to Scott? For all Luca knew, he’d never get those years back.
Scott stared at the church, like he was searching for a change of subject. Luca returned his attention to the box and its occupant, locked away in punishment.
“She’ll be okay,” Scott said, catching what held Luca’s attention. “It’s cool outside and they’ve got guards out all hours, so I doubt the monsters will get to her.”
“How many days is she going to be locked in there?” Luca asked.
“A whole week,” Scott said. “I can’t even imagine being locked in a room that long, let alone a box.”
“Me, either,” Luca said. “I bet she’s scared.”
“I’ll bet she won’t run off with a boy again,” Scott said with a laugh.
Luca looked at him, “What? Are you saying she deserves this?”
Scott matched Luca’s sudden flash of intensity with his own look of nervous fear.
“I’m just saying, well, she knew the rules, right? I mean, if they did it to Paola, that would be one thing. We’re new here. But Rebecca’s a religious girl. She’s been here a while. And she knows what’s expected of her. She made her choice.”
“So, she deserved to be put in a box and have her hair cut off?” Luca asked, surprised at how accepting Scott was of the punishment, even while the rest of their group was clearly distressed.
“I’m not saying that,” Scott said, laughing nervously.
‘Stop looking at me like that, freak.’
Luca heard the thought in Scott’s head, no different than if the teen had said it.
“Is that how you act to someone who saved your life? Call them a freak?” Luca snapped at Scott.
“What?! I didn’t call you ... ” Scott froze as realization crept across his face, bleaching his skin along the way.
‘You heard me?’
Luca turned away, suddenly afraid, not wanting to reveal his new gift and accidentally push himself further from the group. Luca walked away, quickly.
Scott either said or thought, ‘What’s going on?’ as Luca picked up his pace and headed toward the Quiet Spot at the back of the property, behind the hangar, where there were two stone benches and a small garden where the grown-ups liked to sit and talk in whispers and hushes.
As Luca passed the Box of Shame, he heard Rebecca cry.
“Help me,” she said.
Luca couldn’t be sure if she’d spoken the words or thought them. He turned and saw several people, including Scott, watching him. He didn’t dare draw more attention, so he turned back and kept walking, ignoring the girl’s plea. More thoughts flooded his brain from different voices he didn’t recognize, likely coming from the men at the church:
‘What a freak.’
‘I wonder what he’s doing?’
‘Definitely weird. I think the Devil’s inside him.’
As he put the corner of the hangar between himself and the crew working on the church, he broke into a run, racing toward the Quiet Spot, eager to have his head to himself. As he rounded the corner, he saw someone else sitting in the Quiet Spot.
John.
“Hello, Luca,” he said. John was sitting on one of the benches, Brother Rei standing beside him, their conversation severed.
Luca froze.
John was definitely different from how he’d been at the Drury Inn, though Luca couldn’t put his finger on exactly what that difference was. It wasn’t like they’d spent that much time together before John left the Drury after Jimmy’s death. Besides, most people had changed in the past few months, even if Luca’s evolution had been the most evident after he saved Paola and Scott.
Even if everyone was different, John’s difference was the only one that felt so wrong.
While the others seemed wary of Luca, John seemed intrigued and not scared in the least. If anything, John made Luca nervous, as did Brother Rei, who looked like a frightful rat with his beady dark eyes, large nose, and almost non-existent chin. “Hello, Brother John and Brother Rei,” Luca said, his eyes finding interest at his feet.
“Everything okay?” John asked.
“Yeah,” Luca said, less than convincingly.
“Have a seat,” John said, waving his hand at the bench beside him.
Luca sat, unable to meet John’s stare. Even though Luca was closer in height to the adults, he still felt like a child and found it hard to look them in the eyes.
“Are you upset about Rebecca?” John asked.
“Yeah,” Luca admitted. He didn’t mind telling John so much, but was a bit nervous to speak in front of Brother Rei.
“Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” John said.
Luca looked up, met John’s eyes. “You feel the same?”
“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” John said. “This is our new home. We must abide by the rules of The Sanctuary and The Prophet.”
Luca nodded slowly, mostly so he wouldn’t get in trouble, then asked, “Why do they call him The Prophet?”
“You haven’t heard the story?” Brother Rei said, as though surprised. “It’s an int
eresting tale, one of the best. The Prophet was given a vision of what would happen on October 15, years before it came to pass. God spoke to him in his dreams, told him to get his people ready, to prepare them to enter His Kingdom.”
“Do you believe him?” Luca asked, wondering only after if maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut.
“Didn’t Will say he dreamed of the day, also?” John said.
“Well, yeah.”
“And you believe him, right?” John asked.
“Yes,” Luca said. “That’s how he found me. His dreams.”
“Ah, yes,” John said. “And did Will say that God spoke to him in these dreams?”
“Well, um, no, I don’t think so. I mean, he didn’t mention God.”
“Interesting,” Brother Rei said, stepping close enough to Luca to keep him uncomfortable. “Will dreamed of this day, yet did nothing to help anyone?”
“I don’t know. I mean, he helped me.”
“And yet God didn’t speak to him?” Brother Rei asked.
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“Well,” Brother Rei said, “If your friend had these visions, and God didn’t provide them, perhaps someone else did. Perhaps the Devil has his ear?”
Luca felt a chill run through him as Brother Rei glared down at him, almost accusingly. Luca looked to John for relief, but John’s face wore a weird smile that seemed inappropriate for the moment.
“How long have you known Will?” Brother Rei asked.
“Will is nice!” Luca cried. “He risked his life to save me, and to save Paola. He didn’t have to do any of the things he’s done.”
“Exactly,” Brother Rei said, and folded his arms across his narrow chest. He looked up at the sky, then back down to Luca. “Makes me wonder what his game is.”
Luca stood. “I have to use the restroom,” he said, not waiting for anyone to give him permission to leave. “I’ll see you around.”
Luca made it six steps when Brother Rei called out, “Brother Luca.”
Luca turned, “Yes?”
Brother Rei looked even more like a rat when he smiled. “Let’s keep this little chat just between the three of us, okay?”
Luca looked at John, who was still wearing the same simple smile, as if he wasn’t really even there. Luca nodded, “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Brother Rei said. “I’d hate to see you in the box next to the whore.”
Thirty-Seven
Boricio Wolfe
Dunn, Georgia
March 24
4:15 a.m.
Boricio woke up in a gummy, groggy, gallon and a half of what-in-the-fuck.
He had busted into another one of them rich bitch homes, and found a handful of pills scattered across the kitchen counter. Since it wasn’t The Matrix, and Boricio didn’t have to pick red or blue, he scooped the entire mess in his pocket, then popped five of each into his mouth, cracked the lid from one of the house’s million bottles of water, and swallowed the pills with a swish.
He had a nice five minutes or so where the world was normal. Then it started dancing the FuckedUP Boogaloo, studded and sequined in about a thousand fucked up colors. Things went from black to white, to Skittles, then back to black. The resulting drug-induced psychedelic coma had left him out for hours.
He figured it was a night later when he woke, maybe two. Either way, he needed to high-tail his ass back to base. The boys would be waiting on him, he was sure, so was more surprised than a date with a tranny when he arrived to find everyone gone, save for Harry who was in the garage, hunched over the engine of a Green Honda Element they’d picked up recently.
“The fuck you mean ain’t nobody here?” Boricio said. “It’s the middle of the night, where’d they go?”
Harry wiped his brow. “They left a while ago. Haven’t heard a peep since. Sorry, Boss.”
Boricio was furious. He growled, “Stay the fuck put. I’m going out,” then headed back to his car. He turned, and growled, “I mean it. I’m gonna be kill-a-bitch pissed if I have to leave here looking for any more ex-members of Team Boricio.”
“I’m not planning on going nowhere, Boss,” Harry said. He nodded, then got back to the engine work.
Boricio would’ve kicked him hard for ending the conversation early, but figured it wasn’t worth injuring the hand that fed the Boriciomobile. So he muttered something Harry couldn’t hear, then headed outside to the Z8. He’d find Charles in Charge, and everyone he was in charge of, and deal with each of them accordingly, saving Callie for last.
Nobody, and I mean nobody, gives Boricio the old adios. I say when it’s sayonara, and there ain’t no one this side of the sun gonna tell me when I’m finished with their sky. Fuck every one of ‘em. I find them and something’s gone wrong that wasn’t none of their fault, well then circle gets the fucking square and we’re even as the number two. But I find out they surrendered their spot on Team Boricio, Boricio will cut their scalps and wear them as a necklace.
Boricio cranked The Mummies and whipped the Z8 to 110 mph.
It felt great to be out on the prowl. Truth was, ole Boricio felt better in flight than out of it, his nose in the air and hairs up on end, the taste of prey teasing his mouth.
The thought of prey in his mouth smeared a smile across it, then put a thick on his dick as he thought about a prime piece of prey he once had named Pepper, a Puerto Rican chica who had actually been quite tasty and not spicy at all. Boricio sunk his teeth into her two years earlier when the both of them were nice and drunk and she wasn’t expecting a thing, least of all the flood of blood soaking the bed just a few seconds after Boricio filled her with white honey. She was still shaking from all the shudders he’d sent into her body with his few final thrusts that she didn’t realize it was a knife he’d slipped in her gut right there at the end, at least not until she was swimming in the crimson bath.
Boricio eased on the gas and started rubbing his cock through his jeans.
There hadn’t been a struggle. Her eyes just went from wide to not even there. Boricio had to leave town the next morning since he’d made things so messy. He was usually cleaner than he’d been that day, but Boricio was never at his best when hungry, and it had been far too long between snacks.
Control was the golden key to never getting caught, and Boricio knew himself well enough to fuck his worse habits in their ass, as long as he made the time to do it. So he kept himself on a tight schedule and vowed to never go hungry again. And he hadn’t, at least not until the world went away and left him with nothing to fuck.
Soon as he found the Merry Band of Fuck-Alls, Boricio would maybe take Maid Marian Callie in a room with no windows and make her do every unladylike thing he could think of. He had the rest of the drive to imagine the specifics, but he could already guarantee it involved his pecker, her face, and a happy fucking ending. He wouldn’t kill her, of course; that would be bad for business. But he’d spent enough time laying off, pretending that Charlie was hitting that. She had to be craving some cock by now.
Boricio slapped the steering wheel, suddenly pissed, thinking about the day he shat away after sucking down those trippy pills and dreaming again about some Damien Omen-looking kid that creeped him the fuck out.
Blind with rage and cruising near Mach 1, it was a miracle Boricio saw the curly Q of white smoke snaking on the dark horizon, but there was no doubt about what he saw. Boricio flipped a bitch and shot the Boriciomobile back toward the belching chimney.
It probably wasn’t Charlie, or any of the Merry Band of Fuck-Alls, but it might be better. There was a 50/50 shot that whoever put the smoke in the chimney was wearing a furbox between her legs, and that made her ripe to make Boricio’s acquaintance. And considering there might be more than one person in a house with a fire, Boricio figured his odds were even better than that.
There’d probably be at least one bitch good looking enough for Boricio to get on down and pray to the divine scar, fill her with milk, then drop her in the trunk and take her home
for seconds. Shit, she could be homely as a mud fence, that wouldn’t matter much these days. Ole Boricio would simply make her face the other way. He could still barrel down Boscoe Boulevard, splatter her sphincter, then leave her in a heap and hit the road. Maybe even leave her breathing, in case he wanted to swing that way again.
He pulled the Boriciomobile to the edge of a clearing, then took his binoculars from the passenger seat and pointed them toward the massive house sitting squat in the middle of nowhere. Boricio never could make sense of why people lived in those sorts of huge ass houses, in the capital of nothing, far enough from everything to be Ma and Pa Kettle hunting for their meals, but with marble and granite and Dom Perignon. Who delivered the Dom out to the middle of Fuck-All?
He stared through the binoculars for a long while, unmoving and seeing nothing. There was a massive window looking half a mile wide running along the front of the house, so Boricio figured it was a matter of time before someone would walk in front of it. He was right. And when he finally saw what he wanted to see, Boricio wanted to whoop and holler at a Christmas come early.
Standing in front of the half mile window was a Holy Trinity of fuck yeah: two girls and one guy, all of ‘em purty. One to cut; two to fuck. Boricio wondered whether he’d start with the brunette or the sandy blonde, then figured he must’ve been an awful good boy all year for Santa to give him two to choose from.
Boricio tossed the binoculars on the passenger seat, exited the Z8, then peeled the shirt from his body and dropped it in the dirt, kicking it around on the ground and dragging it across the dirty sludge with his feet. His freshly dirtied shirt was now half frozen, sending a chill and a shudder through Boricio’s body when he put it back on.
Perfect.
His guise ready, he headed toward the house, whistling Here Comes Santa Claus.
He knocked, then waited a long five minutes, perking his ears, though he couldn’t hear a thing on the other side, especially from behind his own chattering teeth. Then a faint, metallic click strummed his ears. A gun? He figured as much and was instantly proven right. A sharp order blasted through the door, still muffled but clearly coming from the guy. Then the door opened, barely. The girls must have been standing behind it because Boricio could hear them breathing. Could smell them.
