Page 11 of Bad for You

“You look just like her. My sweet Margarette.”

I can’t breathe when he runs his hand down my back.

“You’ve got guts. Use it on whoever gave you this.”

Lenny’s words echo in my head, but I don’t know how to fight Father Merry off. He will; hehasoverpowered me. And I am so tired of fighting a battle I can never win.

“Come now, sweetling, my friends are waiting. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

I’m lax in his arms as he carries me from the attic to the bathroom, where he bathes me. This is the only time he’s gentle.

“Water and baptism symbolize the Lord’s death, burial, and resurrection. It is in water we purify ourselves of our sins and become one with the Lord,” he says, passing the soapy cloth over my body.

His touches never stray from that of a caregiver when he prepares me like this. I wonder if he thinks he’s doing the right thing to make amends for all the awful things he’s about to commit.

Once I’m clean, he dresses me in a long white nightgown. He then plaits my hair into two braids.

He takes my hand, and we commence our familiar walk down the deserted hallway. I’m not nervous. I know what to expect, and the moment the basement door comes into view, I detach from my mind so I can no longer feel the atrocities that are about to befall me.

Father Merry opens the door, and we descend the stairs. I can smell cigarette smoke. I can hear the familiar whimpers.

Our hands are still entwined when we enter the basement.

“Gentlemen, forgive me for taking so long,” he says, addressing the two men who sit around a poker table.

Another man is behind the white sheet that’s hung up to provide privacy. I can see his silhouette. It’s lit up by the dim lighting. The lighting also allows me to see someone on their knees, their head bobbing up and down.

Still, I feel nothing. I have switched off to this reality because I want to believe it’s a nightmare I’ll wake from one day soon.

“She is worth the wait, Father. Bring her to me. I need a closer look.”

Father Merry leads me over to the man. I know better than to meet the eyes of these men, so I keep my head bowed. I can see he has shiny black shoes and wears navy trousers. He isn’t a man of God. Could he be different from the others?

“My name is Aldo,” he calmly says in an accent I’ve never heard.

No one has ever told me their name before.

“What’s your name?”

I don’t respond because I know I can’t speak to these men.

“It’s okay,bellezza. Don’t be afraid.”

“Her name is—” Father Merry commences but is sharply cut off by Aldo.

“I didn’t ask you, Father. I asked her.”

No one has ever spoken to Father Merry this way.

I like it.

I find the courage to speak. “Valentina,” I say, wetting my dry lips.

“Valentina. A beautiful name for a beautiful little girl. Look at me, Valentina.”

Even though this is against all the “rules,” I slowly lift my chin and look at Aldo.

He has dark hair and green eyes. They aren’t bloodshot or unfocused like the other men who have sat where he is. He seems gracious.

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