Page 53 of Body Tox

“What the fuck was that for?” I bumped his arm with mine.

Asher’s glare snagged mine only long enough for me to squirm, but he resumed walking, completely ignoring me. I furrowed my brow, not understanding exactly the change in his demeanor, but he took a diverted path.

Before I could ask why, we were staring at a big, lopsided sign hanging from two posts. Underneath the sign was a gate that led to a little yellow house.

This place was tucked into a corner of the town, shrouded by overgrown trees and bushes that looked like they hadn’t been tended to in years. The house was a dull color, the siding flaking off like a shaved fruit. The sign was aged and had mold and algae on it.

‘Evangeline. Home of the lost, not forgotten.’

I stopped and stared at the sign, but Asher walked forward without glancing at any part of this place. He reached his bound hands to the side, pulling his hoodie off.

We stopped at the door, his face still hidden in the hoodie. But he continued looking at the ground.

“Lead away, then, Ms. Svenson.” His words were cold and distant.

I didn’t have a chance to respond because he smashed into the doorbell with his shoulder and remained standing with his head down.

An old woman dressed in conservative robing and a headscarf answered the door.

“Hello, I am sister Beatrice. How can I help you?”

Children’s voices were in the background—little chirps and chatter of kids of all ages. Asher kept his face hidden.

“Uh yes…” I cleared my throat. “Hi, sister, we’re here as journalists. We’re interested in the history of this facility.”

The nun eyed me and Asher. We probably looked like we were muggers as opposed to nosey reporters, but whatever.

“Hmm, yes, I see. Well, the children here could do with some good press. Of course, come in.”

I thanked her, and we walked inside. Asher remained silent and stoic.

This place was small, with a bunch of kids littering around the place in different areas. Some were at old school wooden desks scribbling on some paper, others were on the ground doing arts and crafts, and some were running around the place like tiny nut balls.

They looked happy for all intents and purposes. There weren’t any silent corners or abusive actions I could see. All the laughter was enough to give me a migraine. I tried to gauge Asher’s response to this peppy place, but he refused to look at anything or anyone but the floor in front of him.

“This place sure is lively,” I said, and the nun smiled. Her old beady eyes were prideful.

“Of course, dear. We try very hard to give these children the lives they deserve before they acquire homes for themselves.”

Acquire homes?

It was as if she was speaking about a litter of puppies and that they needed to be perfect little angels in order to be picked by some idiot dazzled by a cuteness factor. Good god, this person probably wouldn’t even be required to have a proper education on what the hell it meant to own something.

“I see,” I responded, standing awkwardly by the door.

The inside of the place looked as old as the outside. There was peeling wallpaper of some kid-friendly bears and shit, and the stains and aging of the floors and interior made me wonder if it was up to code.

“There are thirty children here currently. We have sixteen in foster homes,” Beatrice explained, adjusting her bifocal glasses and smoothing her dress.

“We would love to expand our facility one day to accept more children, but of course, the rumors do not help the ability to get donations.”

I quirked my eyebrow. “Rumors, ma’am?”

She looked down solemnly. “Yes, dear. The haunting rumors that have accumulated over the years.”

I glanced at Asher, but he turned his body away from her, pretending to study a speck on the wall.

“Haunting?” I pressed, a bit freaked out and more than skeptical.

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