Page 7 of Taken By Sin

I have no family, and I will forever not.

SIX

The girls line up like we usually do when someone finds a home, but this is an unusual circumstance. "Where am I going?" I ask Sister Mary, my breath coming in short gasps.

With a serious, wrinkle-lined face, she attempts to smile at me, but it morphs into a frown. "You've been relocated," she states cryptically.

I nod politely, asking, "But where to?"

"A boarding house."

I'm unfamiliar with the term. "Is it similar to this place?"

She tilts her head. "Sort of. This will be a home with girls of your age." She pauses, and I know what she means. Girls who are unwanted, aged out. "And they'll help you find work and gain skills so you can start your future."

I wish to say more, but they gently direct me down the quiet corridor. Typically, we craft beaded bracelets for the lucky ones to keep in memory of each other, but now, with this permanent farewell, they offer me half-hearted smilesthat barely mask their sorrow as I carry a single suitcase containing all eighteen years of my life and step into the unknown.

I am the walking embodiment of all the girls’ worst fears, being sent alone into a world unknown.

A polished black car awaits my arrival, with a driver that evokes images from classic films standing beside the back door. He opens it for me, his smile inviting. However, having never been alone with a man before, I feel a sense of unease. Despite him being as old as the sisters, my trust remains shaky.

Sister Margaret feels my hesitancy as I slip back into her arms. "You'll be just fine, dear." She's the quiet one, sweet as a pie, just like Paloma. The only thing I'll miss from home.

It was only a temporary home, so I guess I can just call it the place I grew up.

"I'll take your bags..." He coughs, looking at my pathetic luggage. It's not that I don't wish for finer things, more things, but when you're an orphan with no money to your name, how are you supposed to find a proper wardrobe? "Your bag, Ms. Finley."

He knows my name, that seems to shake of my nerves. "Thank you." I hand it to him, but as I do, the stolen photograph of me as a newborn slips out.

Sister Mary's slap strikes the back of my head before the photo feathers to the ground. I shrink back, bracing for more punishment. Enveloped in darkness, I glance up and spot a man—the driver—blocking the glowing sunset.

"My instructions are clear: I must protect the girl." He slyly sneers at the sister. She offers no response or reprimand;instead, she simply watches as he carefully places my case in the SUV's rear.

One box that contains my entire life. Five plaid skirts, two plaid dresses, a few basics. Stockings and undergarments. I wanted to bring my books so badly, but I left behind my hidden stash on purpose, hoping the next girl who took my room would find them and escape as I did.

I slip in the back, my heart pounding as I roll the window down to get one last, clear view of the only walls I've ever known.

"Where am I going?" I ask the driver, rubbing the sting from my scalp. He sends a cheerful smile through the rearview, and it reminds me of Santa Claus.

"In due time," he responds.

I glance back one final time as the cathedral shrinks away, vanishing from view while we head toward my uncertain future.

At some point during the ride, I must have dozed off in the backseat, overwhelmed by fear and excitement that drained my energy. But now, I feel invigorated, my skin alive with the familiar warmth of the sun.

No, it’s nighttime. I'm electrified by the buzzing whir oflights.

We’re in the city.

I have visited New York City only a few times throughout my life, usually for a museum related to my studies or for the grand church there, butneverduring the evening.

The sisters told us stories growing up, that night is when the monsters come out to play.

I'm captivated by how the neon illuminates the shadows, shimmering against the midnight black glass of the buildings. I long to know our destination—are we nearby or still hours away? But the partition is up now, and I can no longer see the man.

The car decelerates and comes to a halt in front of a tall, slender building. Shrouded in darkness, I can't discern whether its surface is brick, slate, or sleek metal.

Moments later, Mr. Rollins opens my door and says, "We're here, Ms. Finley."

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