Page 3 of Sanctuary

Simon fed the lions and other cats giving the occasional head rub or chin scratch to the cats who loved him. He saved his favorite cage for last. He went back to the hut for tastier food because he liked to spoil Indra. Unlike the other cats, he entered Indra’s cage and pet the large, orange striped head that rubbed against his side. Indra was an eight-foot-long Bengal tiger who weighed over three hundred pounds.

“How are you, buddy? I brought one of your favorites as a surprise.”

Indra never attacked his food. He loved Simon and always wanted affection first. Rubbing Indra’s head was no hardship. The sleek fur was coarser than a house cat's but less rough than a lion's. His head had the softest fur on his body, but Simon knew Indra loved belly scratches the most, so after the greeting, he sat beside the cat, who immediately rolled to his back in expectation.

Tigers can't purr, but Indra made deep chuffling sounds that meant he liked Simon’s attention. A few minutes passed before Simon stood and walked to the bucket. He spilled the contents on the cage floor so Indra could eat his special treat first, which was a whole chicken, feathers and all. Simon had found the dead chicken in the coop that morning. The hen was old and, within the next few weeks, she would have been chopped up and used as a meal anyway. Simon didn't like when animals in his care died, but this was part of his job at Savage Sanctuary and the cats had to eat.

He walked slowly to the corner of the pen. He respected Indra and understood that the tiger, acting on instinct, could hurt or kill Simon without meaning to. He sat down and pulled his own breakfast from his pocket. It was a burrito wrapped in plastic that Yolanda at the cafeteria had given him. He slowly peeled back the wrapping and waited for Indra to investigate.

The big cat moved with grace and power, so quiet and stealthy, it was almost like he was stalking Simon. Indra wasn’t aware that his size alone intimidated people. He had been a bottle-fed cub, raised by a private illegal owner. The man got caught running a financial scam, and Indra was confiscated by the local wildlife authorities. Eventually, they placed him on the island. Simon knew these things because the librarian on shore had read the newspaper article about Indra to him. It was also why he knew the tiger's name and what it meant. Indra was named after the Hindu god of thunder and war, a fitting name for the goliath beast with the heart of the most precious golden retriever.

With the help of his friend the librarian on the mainland, Mrs. Miller, Simon was learning to read. Many words were difficult, and even when he slowly sounded them out, they didn’t always make sense. Mrs. Miller told him to be patient with himself. Simon knew that one day he would be smart if he kept practicing and he refused to give up. His lessons with Mrs. Miller helped him understand more overall and he didn’t get confused as often. He even knew how to say a few big words and knew their meaning.

Simon had to keep his attempts to read a secret. Jerry didn’t want him to learn anything other than caring for the cats and if he knew Simon might read someday, Jerry would fire him. If that happened, Simon didn’t know what he would do. The cats needed him.

He tore a small piece of his burrito off and offered it to Indra. The cat sniffed before he delicately removed it from Simon’s fingers.

“You have your own, so go eat it,” he told the old cat. Indra was eleven, and tigers in captivity only lived between fifteen and twenty years.

Indra wandered back to his food and began eating his surprise first, just how Simon knew he would. The cat was always curious about what Simon ate, but he only needed a taste to know the food on the ground was better.

When Simon finished his meal, he stood slowly and walked to the door of the cage. He never approached Indra when he ate. He looked at his left hand where three fingers were missing and tried not to think about the pain or the infection that had kept him in bed for weeks. Simon had placed his hand through the bars to pet a male lion named Cleveland. He hadn't been paying attention to the lion's agitation and had no idea that one of the females in the next pen had gone into heat.

In the wild, Cleveland would have followed the female around until she allowed him to mate with her. The male lion's frustration from being kept away from her was very real and it cost Simon his fingers. Good lessons worked like that, and he paid closer attention now, no matter what was going on in the rest of the sanctuary.

Simon turned the corner of the long trail and stopped.

“You weren’t in the pen with that animal again, were you?” Jerry yelled, his face reddening.

Jerry, with his slicked back stringy hair, his face thin with prominent cheek bones and a nose that was too sizes too big, owned the island and the cats. He stood a little over five feet and twitched nervously whenever he was close to any animal. He always complained about business and Simon’s failure to understand how tight money was. He insisted on dressing in a suit no matter the weather and Simon had never understood. Maybe Jerry wouldn’t be as mean if he dressed in work jeans.

Simon looked down at his feet when the question was asked, not meeting the shorter man's eyes. “No sir, Mr. Jerry. Through the bars, like you showed me.”

Jerry continued to stare for a moment but Simon knew he hadn’t seen him in Indra’s cage.

“Be sure it stays that way,” Jerry finally said. “I’m watching the weather and there’s a tropical storm building to the south of us. Be sure the animals are secure. If the storm passes in time, we’ll have a big weekend.”

To Jerry, they were always just animals. He didn’t take time to learn their names or make friends with any of them. He cared about making money and to do that he had to break rules. Simon hated those broken rules but he knew nothing about business. Jerry was the smart one and Simon did as he was told.

When USDA inspectors came to the island, Simon wasn’t allowed to speak to them and he was told to stay out of sight as much as possible. He overheard Jerry telling one inspector that Simon had been deaf and dumb since birth. It had made Simon sad that Jerry lied about him. Though this happened years ago, since that day, Simon wanted to be smarter. To do that, he had to read and that was why Mrs. Miller helped him. She showed him books that came with cassette tapes so that he could follow the words. She gave him a tape and letter book that explained what sounds went with what letter. He had sneaked them to the island and hid them in his room, which was built onto the hut where the cat’s food was kept and prepared.

Mrs. Miller also gave him novels on tape for adults. He couldn’t read the books yet, but he liked the stories and he learned about the world. Espionage thrillers were his favorite, but he’d also listened to James Herriot and learned about caring for different animals. If Simon could be anything he wanted, he would be a veterinarian.

At night, Simon struggled through the words in story books made for children. He tried not to bang his fists against anything in frustration because when that happened, things broke. He promised himself that one day he would be smart.

Simon lifted his head and looked into Jerry’s eyes. “I always make sure the animals are secure,” he lied.

Chapter Three

Bridge Home School for Girls, Misty

Misty felt desolate as she studied the white-painted room’s bare walls through red puffy eyes. Her parents' house was similar, though they had a picture of Jesus hanging on the cross in the front room. When her tears finally dried, she checked the only other door in the room and found a closet. It was divided into two sections, one with a rod and the other side with shelves. Three identical dresses to the one she wore hung inside. A dark gray dress hung beside them. A single pair of black boots sat on the floor beneath the dresses. On the shelves were seven pairs of white socks, seven plain white nightgowns, and the same amount of underwear.

The horrifying thing that caught her eye on the bottom shelf was a bedpan. Her mother had a cesarean section when Noah was born and Misty had emptied and cleaned a bedpan for her mom on the first days after the birth. Her mother had planned to have Noah at home but after two days of labor, she was taken to the hospital.

It made her father angry that he had to waste the Lord’s money and had insisted her mother return home the following morning after the surgery. Her mother had told Misty where she would find the bedpan after she was unable to rise from her bed. Misty had taken care of her mother and also newborn Noah.

She closed the closet door and leaned against it. The bathroom was down the hall and the bedpan made sense if she was to be locked in the room each day, but she hated the thought. Misty couldn’t help thinking about why she was here. Her parents had threatened to send her to a place that fixed troubled girls, and they had done it. Another sob built in her throat, but she held it back.

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