Page 17 of Cry for Help

Caim pondered my words, shrugging. “We’re new to the city.” He told me.

“Oh,” I said, lowering my hands. Somehow, his words had raised more questions than answers. I held up my arm, showing the red sigil on my inner elbow.“Why is this red? What Sin is red?”

“It’s hard to explain.”He signed, wincing.

“Why do you need a human? What is my job here?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Caim countered.

“Not many people speak ASL. I’m taking advantage.”

“I speak all languages. It’s kind of my thing.” Caim shot me a crooked grin. “Behold, I am Caim. Do you want to play a board game? I have Settlers of Catan.”

“Is that why I’m here? To play board games?”

“We could do something more interesting. Reveal our pasts. Tell me, how did it feel to kill your foster mother. Your foster father. Little baby Calvin?” Caim knitted his fingers together and rested his hands under his chin. He regarded me with the same mirth as if he were asking if I wanted an ice cream sundae. Bile rose in my throat, and my nose and eyes burned with unshed tears. I couldn’t breathe.

The last argument I’d had with my foster family echoed through my head.

I’d told Faith, my foster mom, that I hoped she died during an argument. I couldn’t even remember what we had been fighting about.

And twenty-four hours later, she did. They all did.

Words had power.

Mine more than most.

So now, I didn’t speak. At all.

I couldn’t risk it.

“How do you know about that?”

“Stolas has your file.” Caim cocked his head to the side. “Does it feel good to kill people? Is that why you did it? Did your foster family do something to you? Was it revenge?”

I stood up, my hands shaking. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

“You like questions.” He spoke instead of signing. “You want to know why you’re here? Because Stolas needed a human, we didn’t have enough credits for anyone else.”

“Why do you need a human?” My fingers slipped, and I struggled to sign the words.

Caim opened his mouth to speak, turning to the side, as the front door opened to reveal Malphas with a paper bag of groceries. Caim stood up, brushing his hands down the front of his t-shirt and shaking his curly hair away from his eyes as he drifted away—like he hadn’t just broken my heart with his cruelty.

It hit me then. I didn’t know Caim. He was the only person in the house I could communicate with, and I’d assumed that meant kindness. Inclusivity. Not many hearing people learned ASL if they didn’t need to. I should have known better. Caim was ademon.

I wasn’t in the mood for Malphas. Though he carried grocery bags, which was a good sign. Considering I was the only person in the house whoneededto eat.

I scratched my arm, ignoring the burning cut from the barbed wire. It had bothered me all day, but it was easy to overlook.

Malphas ignored me, striding into the kitchen with his bags. I drifted forward to watch him. Waiting like Oliver Twist for a morsel of food.

I had no qualms with stealing food if needed. Prison had been a dog-eat-dog world, and I’d fallen victim to poachers more times than I could count. Food was a treasure. I didn’t get commissary often; that was a privilege reserved for people with family and friends on the outside. But I would trade. I had skills for those brave enough to approach me.

Braiding hair. Cutting fingernails. Helping people write their love letters. Seemingly benign skills that were worth their weight in gold behind bars.

Malphas ignored me as he packed away his groceries. He’d bought more cheese, and I found myself drifting over, myneck craned as I studied his haul. My fingers itched with the desire to grab the triangle of brie on the kitchen island and make a run for it.

“You like cheese, huh?” Malphas crossed his arms over his chest, resting his butt against the counter.

---