Chapter Six
Joseph opened his eyes into the heavy silence. All of the boys were looking at him strangely. He couldn’t see fear or upset on their faces. After what each of them had just endured, he thought his roommates would be as broken and weakened as he was. Then he realized they had become used to it. He thought back to the robotic way they’d lined up against the wall and stripped themselves of their clothes. The way they’d dropped to their knees.
How many times had they been hurt in such a way?
“It’s not demons.”
Joseph turned to Bara. Bara blinked twice, then continued. “Inside us.” His head tipped to the side. “We just want to kill. There’s no demon making us do it. No evil forces at work. We all just want to.” He smiled a disturbingly dark smile. “Or, should I say, if we ever get out of this hellhole, we all will.” Joseph’s breathing paused at the easily given confession. Bara spoke as though he hadn’t just admitted a heinous need. “We each have our own dream way, of course. Mine would be many people all at one time.” Bara shut his eyes, and a grin pulled on his lips, as if he were picturing a massacre in his mind. Joseph studied the faces of the others. And he saw the agreement in their faces. When he looked at Michael, all of the fight drained from him. He had fought so long to stop Michael hurting others. Joseph thought that if he could stop him enough times, try to appeal to the good inside him, Michael’s need for blood would fade away. But Michael’s desire to inflict pain had only grown stronger over the years. It was a sinister calling within him as much as the need to be good was within Joseph.
Joseph had lived in denial for too long. But lying in the bed, six sets of ungodly eyes watching him the same way Michael had all his life, Joseph had to accept the truth. Michael would one day kill. It was simply who he was. And these boys too . . . they were crafted from the same darkness that devoured Michael.
“All of you?” Joseph whispered. “All of you want to . . . to kill?”
One by one his roommates sat down around him on the floor, all remaining in his line of sight so Joseph didn’t have to move his pained body. Bara nodded and sat back casually against the next bed. “Like I said, I want to kill several people at once. I dream of it every night.” He sighed. “Just need to get out of here first.”
Joseph’s breathing sped up when he saw the conviction in Bara’s expression.
“I’ll kill people who love themselves.” Joseph’s attention went to Uriel. The other boy’s lip curled. Uriel was the most sullen out of the group. Seemed the most angry. “The vain, the narcissists. I’ll murder them all.” A wash of coldness spread over Joseph.
“What did you do to get in here?”
Uriel smirked. “Smashed a vain prick’s head against a mirror and sliced a shard of the broken glass over his wrists. He’d been pissing me off for months.”
Joseph’s heart skipped a beat. “Did . . . did he die?”
Uriel’s amusement fell away. “No. But in a perfect world he would have.”
Joseph’s eyes fell to Bara’s. As if he knew what Joseph was thinking, he said, “Poisoned the soccer team with rat poison.” Joseph’s eyes widened. He had heard of the illness that affected the winning team. But—
“That was you?”
Bara nodded and laughed. “None of them died. I got the quantities wrong. But it was fun to watch them all fall to the floor in agony. I still replay it in my head at night.” His humor dropped. “I will never make that mistake again. Next time, my targets will all die. Hopefully slowly and in great pain.”
“I just want what other people have,” Sela said, pulling Joseph’s gaze from Bara. He ran his hands over his closely shaven head. “I like to create.” Joseph frowned, unsure why that would warrant him being in Purgatory. Sela must have seen his confusion, as he added, “I like to create art . . . made from pieces I’ve taken from others.” Joseph blanched. “I took a finger and an ear before Father McCarthy found me.” Sela’s eyes frosted with darkness. “One day I’ll make the perfect piece of art.” By the tightening of his lips and the dropping of his eyes, Joseph knew something else tormented Sela’s mind. He didn’t want to know what. He wasn’t sure he could keep hearing the depraved fantasies of the boys he had come to see as friends.
“I want to strangle. To watch a girl die as I squeeze her neck.” Raphael was focused on the string around his finger. He was wrapping it around and around, the top of his finger turning blue at the act. His fantasy explained the string. Raphael smirked and his cheeks flushed. Not with embarrassment, but with what looked like want. “And ideally I’d be fucking her as I did it.”