He didn’t have to wait long for an explanation.
“Someone is here to see you. A very powerful man. I have no idea why,” Father Quinn said. Gabriel rubbed at his eyes. He was getting a headache. Father Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “You had no family. It was why you were in Holy Innocents. Who the hell is he?”
“I don’t have family.”
Father Quinn leaned over the seat and gripped Gabriel’s arm, hard. “You tell anyone about the Brethren or Purgatory, and every one of your dormmates will perish.” Gabriel’s heart sank, knowing the threat was real. “That’s a promise, Gabriel. And it will be painful and slow. Michael will feel it the most.”
The SUV came to a stop at the back doors of the home he hadn’t seen for so long. Father Quinn opened the door, and Gabriel stepped out. He was led through the vaguely familiar hallways toward Father Quinn’s study. It occurred to Gabriel that while the Fallen were in Purgatory, living in hell, the priests continued to be a beacon of good to the community, to the boys who lived in this place. It was the cruelest of ruses. Good people being led astray by evil men dressed up as agents of God.
When Gabriel entered the study, a man in an expensive suit, who looked to be in his late forties, was sitting on a chair. “Mr. Miller,” Father Quinn said and shook the man’s hand. The man gave Father Quinn a tight smile, then focused his attention on Gabriel.
“Joseph Kelly?” Gabriel faltered at that name. He barely recognized it anymore. A quick glance at Father Quinn, seeing the priest’s warning in his glare, made Gabriel nod his head.
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Miller looked at Father Quinn. “If we could use your office, I have something to discuss with Joseph. In private.”
Father Quinn stayed seated for a minute, his stony expression and tight lips showing he was offended by the blatant dismissal. Gabriel was sure he would refuse, challenge the man who had come to visit him. But the priest got to his feet. His hand came down on Gabriel’s shoulder as he passed. His tight squeeze was warning enough for Gabriel to keep quiet. When Father Quinn left, Mr. Miller gestured for Gabriel to sit. Gabriel did, and then he waited.
“Joseph, I’m here representing Jack Murphy. Have you heard of him?” Gabriel shook his head. “That’s okay. I imagine you’re pretty sheltered here at Holy Innocents.” Gabriel gave no response. Mr. Miller regarded Gabriel, then said, “He was the owner and creator of a very well-known tech company.” Mr. Miller waved his hand in dismissal. “That isn’t the important part. What’s important is that you’re his one and only heir.” Gabriel let Mr. Miller’s words wash over him. One by one those words trickled into his brain, but they didn’t make sense. An heir. An heir? Gabriel shook his head, trying to catch up with what Mr. Miller was saying. His brain didn’t function as it once had. He was numb to any rational thought. All he had done for years was mentally disconnect from his everyday life—the torture, the pain, the sexual cleansing of his apparently dark soul. Gabriel and Michael had never had anyone in their life. No one but their mother, who they watched perish, succumb to the illness that stripped her of her energy and happiness. Yet even through his numbed thoughts, an anger took hold. Anger was a strong emotion these days. Gabriel had always had a calm and placid disposition, but anger had consumed it, had been chipping away at his heart for years, eradicating the kindness that was innate. Every time he was taken to the torture room: on the rack, limbs stretched until he broke; the strappado, hoisted, arms bound until he screamed . . . good seemed a distant memory, and contempt and fury took its place.
And now he was told there had been someone outside this hell all along? A relative that could have spared him and Michael from this pain?
“How?” Gabriel asked, through his clenched teeth.
“Jack Murphy is—was—your maternal grandfather.” Gabriel’s confusion and ire didn’t lift any; it only deepened. Heat burst in his chest and spread like fire through his body. His mother never spoke of a father. Granted, Gabriel was only six when his mother died, but he’d thought she’d had no family but for him and Michael. Their father had up and left not long after Michael was born. Gabriel didn’t remember him. As far as Gabriel understood, his mother hadn’t known her father either. Was raised by a single mother who died before Gabriel was born. They’d been alone. And when he and Michael had been found, starving and cold, their mother’s rotting body still lying in her bed with her two children hugging her wasting flesh, there had been no fucking talk of a grandfather! Someone who should have taken them in and shielded them from that sight.