“Get back, demon,” Father Quinn said, whip raised in warning.
The priests against the wall moved forward as a threatening black-clad unit, shedding their robes in a terrifying synchronicity. “No,” Joseph whispered. Taking advantage of Father Quinn turning toward the wall, Joseph scrambled to his hands and knees and desperately crawled along the line of boys. “Get up,” he said, trying to push them to their feet with his trembling hands. Only blank stares met his eyes. The stares of boys who had mentally taken themselves to another place, somewhere away far far from here, away from this room, to a place they couldn’t feel pain. “Get up! Please!” he cried. He came to the end of the line, to Bara. Bara was the only one who met his eyes. He was the most outspoken of the group. He was a fighter. He would fight; Joseph knew if he and Bara could just get the others to move, they could fight back, escape whatever the hell this was. “Bara, help me. Bara!” Bara’s eyebrow rose, and a smirk pulled on his lips as if he found Joseph’s desperation amusing. But there was nothing humorous about this moment. And then the smirk was gone, and Bara’s face adopted the emptiness of the rest.
A hand suddenly grabbed Joseph’s hair and wrenched him away from the others and into an unyielding grip. The priests, in a unified naked formation, moved themselves right before the boys. Joseph was still, trying to pray that his eyes were deceiving him, as the Brethren took hold of their erections. Joseph fought the bile that had gathered in his throat. The priests’ pupils were enlarged, their chests rising and falling with anticipation. Joseph’s heart cracked as, one by one, the priests clutched his roommates’ heads and forced open their jaws with their free hands. Joseph choked on a sob as the priests pushed their erections into the mouths of the boys. They were relentless, slamming themselves into Bara, Sela, Diel, Raphael, Uriel . . . and Michael. Michael! Joseph’s legs weakened, knees dropping as he focused on his baby brother. His little brother, whose mouth was being sexually savaged by a priest not much older then himself. A priest with blond hair and disturbingly intense blue eyes.
Snapped from a stupor, Joseph fought the person holding him. He needed to help Michael, to help them all. To stop the Brethren. What was this? What kind of brotherhood would do such a thing?
Joseph tried to break from his captor’s hold. But when he turned, he saw Father Quinn was the one keeping him back. “They’ll drink the seed of purity,” he whispered into Joseph’s ear. Terror and disgust smothered Joseph. “And so will you, Gabriel.” Joseph thrashed and fought to be freed, to help the boys, but his legs were kicked out from under him. Joseph dropped to his knees. Hands on his shoulders kept him down as Father Quinn disrobed. Then the hands holding him began to shed his clothes, ripping the material apart to get to his virgin flesh. “Get away!” Joseph warned. Father Quinn moved toward him. The hands that had removed his clothes, his modesty, suddenly roved, calloused and rough, all over his skin. One by one they applied pressure and pushed his body down until there was no chance of escape. Joseph looked back and saw Father Brady and Father McCarthy. They had betrayed him. All of the priests had desecrated their faith and sold their souls to Satan. Joseph heard cries of pleasure echo from the line of Brethren disciples who were taking his friends and brother. He felt sick to his stomach knowing what those cries meant. The seed of purity, Father Quinn had said.
Father Quinn took advantage of Joseph’s distraction and wrenched open his jaw with strong fingers. Joseph fought it, tried to clench his jaw, but he was helpless; he was too weak. He cried out, tears dropping from his eyes, but it was to no avail. Father Quinn thrust his erection in Joseph’s mouth, cutting off his muffled pleas.
The taste, the feel of Father Quinn on his tongue, repulsed him. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He prayed it was a nightmare from which he would awake. But as salty drops from Father Quinn’s tip started to trickle down his throat, he knew this was really happening. That he was truly in hell. Nothing could be worse than this.
Tears slipped from Joseph’s eyes as he was held down harder. He hadn’t realized he’d been fighting to stand until he was incapacitated by hands behind his back and heavy feet on his legs. The quest to rebel against the unwanted sexual act fled from Joseph just like the tears that were in free flow. He prayed to God to make the punishment quick. To take him from this moment so he didn’t have to feel, like his roommates and brother had done. But surprisingly, Father Quinn pulled back before completion. When Joseph opened his eyes, it was to see the other boys in a circle around him, still on their knees. The unknown members of the Brethren stood behind them, shadowing them like sinister spirits threatening to steal their souls. Joseph was slammed to the floor on his front. His arms were pulled to the side by Fathers Brady and McCarthy and pinned down. Even through his panic and distress, Joseph understood that his body made the shape of a cross.