Joseph coughed, and Raphael went back to tying the string around his finger. “I tied the church bell’s rope around a boy’s neck until he passed out. I didn’t get to finish the job. Father Quinn interrupted me.” Joseph’s head was too full, circling with disbelief and horror at what his roommates were saying.
“I can’t stop myself.” Diel’s voice was tired and weak. Joseph felt a bolt of sadness stab his chest at the defeated expression on Diel’s face. He lifted the chain that kept him restrained. “I get lost in my head, and before I know it I’ve hurt people.”
“You don’t like it?” Joseph asked softly, pained by his friend’s plight.
Diel’s eyes sparked to life. “That’s the problem, Gabriel. I love it.” Diel leaned forward, his chain pulling tight against the bolt on the far side of the room. “I live for it. And I long for the moment when the impulse becomes too much. I want to kill, one after the other. Again and again, each more deadly than the last.” Sela reached out and put his hand on his friend’s arm. Diel closed his eyes and breathed deeply. After a few seconds he seemed to calm. Looking into Gabriel’s eyes again, making sure he had his rapt attention, Diel said, “I can’t wait for the day when my control completely snaps and I give myself over to who I know I really am inside.” A flicker of a smile edged on his lips. “I’m not good, Gabe. And I have no intention of ever being that way.”
Joseph swallowed the lump that had clogged his throat. Because he could see it in Diel’s eyes. See the hunger for death, feel his need for murder.
Joseph had always known there was evil in the world. To be around such venomous disregard for life was overwhelming. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to hate the boys. Hate their desires, yes. But not them.
The boys all looked to Michael. He was staring at Luke’s vial of blood. Joseph wasn’t even sure he had heard any of the conversations, until Michael’s head tipped to the side and he said, “I want to drain a body of blood.” Michael’s tongue snaked out and licked his lips. “And I’d drink it all.” His eyes raised and pierced Joseph’s stare. “It’s all I think about.” Joseph stopped breathing, his chest like a lead weight, crushing any hope he had for his little brother. Hearing the truth of Michael’s inner desires was as suffocating as Raphael’s string around his finger.
It was the stark realization that his brother was a murderer. The only difference was, Michael hadn’t managed to kill yet. But a tight pulling in Joseph’s gut told him he would, given the chance. They all would. Every one of them.
Joseph wondered if the Brethren were right. If demons truly existed in their souls. The Bible talked of possession, and Father Quinn’s belief in the Spanish Inquisition’s mission rang in his conscience.
“I’m not like you.” Joseph’s attention darted to Michael. His little brother didn’t say anything else. But it had already been enough. It was the most he had gotten out of his brother in their lives.
And he was right. Joseph was nothing like him . . . like any of them. The thought of harming anyone was repulsive to Joseph. It hurt his heart. Yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away from any of them. Jesus walked with the sinners. The righteous path would be to walk alongside these boys . . . his brothers.
He wouldn’t abandon them.
“No one has ever tried to save us before.” Joseph followed the sound of the voice across to Diel.
“You’ve made it worse for yourself. They don’t like anyone challenging them,” Sela added.
Joseph’s hands fisted in the sheet that covered the thin, uncomfortable mattress. “I don’t care. I will fight against them every day that we’re in here. All of them. Even the ones I never knew existed until tonight.”
“They were like us once.” Uriel moved to sit on the bed beside him. “They were successfully exorcised, cleansed of their sinful urges and began a new mission—walking the Brethren path.” Joseph exhaled at that revelation. Matthew was right. Some did return to Holy Innocents, but in what state? At what cost? “On your eighteenth birthday, you get to decide whether to join the Brethren or not. Pledge yourself to them and forever live under their watchful eye. Work each day on fighting the evil inside.” Uriel smiled coldly, like he had no intention of ever letting that malevolence go.
“Or what?” Joseph whispered.
“Or die.” Raphael looked up from winding the piece of string around his finger. “Go to the torture room and never come back out.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“You can’t stop them,” Sela told him.
“I will,” Joseph said, conviction lacing his words. “They won’t kill any of you. I promise.”