Joseph didn’t know what was happening. He couldn’t understand what this place was. This wasn’t the church. It wasn’t even modern Catholicism. It was something ripped from the past . . . a vicious cruelty that should never be reborn.
“Gabriel,” Father Quinn said, walking toward Joseph. He heard rustling behind him, then Father Brady stepped forward; he now too wore the strange robes. Father McCarthy came through a door on the opposite side of the room, wearing the same attire. Joseph’s mind raced. What is all of this?
“I had high hopes for Joseph,” Father Quinn said, stopping before him. He wasn’t addressing Joseph, but speaking about him. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers along Joseph’s cheek. Joseph froze, not a muscle within him moving. Father Quinn had never touched him like that before. Joseph had trusted him implicitly, and his favorite priest, his mentor, had never violated that trust. Father Quinn leaned in closer. Joseph’s instinct was to pull away, but he stayed where he was. He couldn’t give them any indication that each minute of being in Purgatory was torture to his soul. He couldn’t let them know that he was good but pretending to be damned. “Joseph was my prodigy. The boy I knew was meant for more than life had afforded him. God had put him in my path for a reason.” Father Quinn took a step back and tipped his head to the side as he regarded Joseph. “Little did I know it was to test me. Little did I know it was to show me the lengths to which the devil and his denizens will go to corrupt good men. Men like me and my brothers.”
Joseph’s legs shook. He was sure his knees would give way any second. Father Quinn believed him to be hell-created? He believed him to be possessed by demons?
Joseph opened his mouth to protest, but closed it when he knew his confession would take him from his brother. His brother who no longer went by his name and was instead remade as Michael.
“We are the Brethren.” Father Quinn nodded at Fathers Brady and McCarthy, who flanked his either side.
“B” stood for Brethren.
“The Catholic Church abandoned the harsher punishments for demonic possession years ago. Inquisitors fell and faded away with the modern times. And in that time, demons flourished, hiding in the least expected places. Waiting . . . just biding their time until they could unleash their fury and evil on the unsuspecting world.” Father Quinn smiled, but it was unlike any of the smiles Joseph had been on the receiving end of before. “You see, a group of priests, a century ago, realized that evil was prevailing. So they formed a group of like-minded holy men who took on the burden of challenging this evil even when the main church let it slide.” Father Quinn spread his arms wide. “The Brethren. We are the Brethren. And we are warriors of God and the devil’s worst nightmare.”
The Brethren. This group operated separate to the church? His favorite priests . . . they were a sect, a secret group of exorcists? Joseph couldn’t wrap his head around what he was being told.
“I believed Joseph would join us one day. He was exactly what the Brethren are. Devout and pure and intent on dedicating his life to the church.” Father Quinn walked to the wooden table before the open fire. “Here at Holy Innocents, we scouted out those who were evil. Born under the guise of innocence, but unable to escape our attention for the demons that they were. Or are. The demon you are, Gabriel.” Fathers Brady and McCarthy grabbed Joseph’s arms and dragged him to the wooden bed. As Joseph got closer to the fire, he started fighting to be free. It wasn’t an act. Terror and fear were all he was made of in that moment. Joseph gritted his teeth, kicking out with his legs. Father Quinn gathered shackles and attached them to the bed. But he couldn’t win. He couldn’t stave off the fathers holding him in their strong grips. A fist smashed into his jaw. The following dizziness caught Joseph off guard. In his daze, he was thrust upon the wooden bed. When his head stopped spinning, his hands and feet had been chained to the bed. He tried to fight the chains, but it was no use. Father Quinn nodded at Father Brady. Father Brady hovered over Joseph and sliced down Joseph’s robes. The material fell to his sides. The sticky air slapped his skin.
“All of them,” Father Quinn ordered. Joseph tried to fight again when Father Brady moved to his briefs. But it was useless. Within seconds he was naked, bared to their eyes.
Father Quinn’s eyes roved over Joseph’s naked skin. For the first time in years, Joseph felt tears sting his eyes. He was fifteen. He had been looking after his brother for all these years, drowning in the grief of losing his mother. The only solace he’d found was in these men . . . these men who had now stripped him bare and revealed they were not the men he believed them to be.