Page 200 of King of Pain
He clinks his glass against mine. “To surviving.”
We drink.
“What’s this?” I nod at the tablet.
Ant tilts it so I can see.
“Detroit Diocese Facing Multiple Abuse Accusations Spanning Decades” —CNN.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Thisisbig news.”
Ant scoffs. “It will be. For five minutes. Then the Church will do what they do.”
I look at him, questioning.
He taps a section of the article, his finger landing on the subtitle:“Priests Relocated.”
I squint. “Okay. I mean, that’s good, right?”
“In theory, yeah.” He sets the tablet in his lap. “It gets them out of the current congregation, so any kid they may have been currently abusing is safe—”
“Where do they put them?”
“In a kind of dorm,” he explains. “Temporary housing while under investigation. Most dioceses have one, or they convert existing buildings.”
He scrolls, reading aloud, “Says here all three priests from my time—Tommy, Francis, and Dean—are housed together at a place called Foster Hall. Apparently, Father Dean had been leading a sister church in the parish after serving under Tommy. Problem is, when they make this go away, they’ll relocate them to another parish.”
“Okay,” I say quietly, barely containing my anger, “start wherever you want. Tell me about the nightmare.”
Ant’s quiet for a beat. Then, slowly, he begins to tell me.
The bike incident. The way Father Tommy’s car hit him. The way he hovered over him like a predator. The things he said. The warning to keep quiet. The threats.
He tells me about the roles each priest played: Tommy, the head and the worst of them. Francis, overseeing the school and children’s programs. Dean, the youngest, the one training for his own parish. How intimidation was constant for three years.
“Where were your parents in all this?” I ask, already fearing the answer.
Ant sighs. “I tried to tell them. At first. But they were so blinded by their faith…”
He trails off and drops his gaze to his hands. They’re trembling.
“They would’ve rather believed I was just being dramatic. A kid with an overactive imagination. Once, my mom came in and read me scripture about the evils of tempting others.”
My jaw drops. “Wait—what?”
Ant nods. “Matthew 18:6. I’ll never forget that. She made sure I knew that there were severe consequences for children who led grown men to stumble into sin.”
My rage is barely contained. I can’t take it. I push off the bed and start pacing, dragging both hands through my hair.
“Don’t get all rage-y,” he says, voice quiet.
I shake my head, still pacing. “That must’ve been so lonely for you.”
“It was. I didn’t have many friends. When you’re the priest’s favorite?” He gives a bitter laugh. “It makes you a target. But my classmates were just kids too. They couldn’t have known.”
I stop pacing, sit at the end of the bed, and grab his foot in my hands, massaging the sole, grounding us both.
“My only saving grace was my Nona,” he says. “She lived across the street. My grandpa had just passed, so she was lonely. I’d go over there after school.”
