SUGAR AND STEEL

Chapter 15

The inside of the church was exactly as the art student expected it to be and exactly like the psycho remembered. When the boys walked through the doors, people were already filling pews (they weren’t late- Kai checked). Following the crowd, they filed into a pew with room for a couple of scrawny psychos, next to a sweet looking old woman with shocks of white hair. They were sat facing a large recreation of the crucifiction that brought back memories for Sami (ones he didn’t really want to see). Where the nails had been stuck through the sculpture’s wrists and feet, as well as where the crown of thorns laid against the sculpture’s forehead, bright red droplets of crimson paint stuck out in stark contrast to their stark white background. Kai thought that they were oddly pretty.

Kai also thought that this church was different. It didn’t smell like the church Lupe took him to (cinnamon and book pages and warmth), in fact it smelt cold. There was no other way yo describe it. There was still the lingering scent of book pages and warm smoke, but they were surrounded by the cool, stale air that starkly contrasted the heat from outside. Kai felt that this air was choking him. But he didn’t say anything.

Sami remembered this. How could he not? It was funny, because as soon as the air that smelled of home and hurt hit his nose, Sami was a little kid again. Back ramrod straight, shoulders back, blazer on, hands in lap, eyes facing forward, sinning soul left at the door. He was nine again, small and scared. But he didn’t say anything.

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    The pastor was talking, eyes scanning over the crowd of small-town familiar faces when one caught his eye. Mostly because he hadn’t seen this face in years. A strange feeling bubbled up in his chest at the sight of those steel gray eyes- the same ones his wife once had. The feeling wasn’t fear, or hate, or joy, but more of some strange combination of the three. Samuel was back (with a boy he was probably fucking), but the question was truly why.

    Samuel looked up to meet his father’s eyes, and their color darkened to the color of gunmetal. And now the pastor understood. Samuel was angry.

    Maybe, he should be more scared.

    Because that boy (and the one he was probably fucking) were here to carve out the sins of the man before them with a knife (quite literally). Spill his blood all over the carpeted floor of his living room and kill him like he killed Sarah. So he should’ve been more scared. But he wasn’t.

    Because the boy with eyes like his mother’s had never, ever, fought back. Even if his eyes were the color of gunmetal. He had taken the hits without retaliation, crying silently.

    But that boy is dead just like his mother and his sister.

    And a psycho lives. A psycho named Sami that wants to carve out the sins of his father’s black soul, spill them out all over the carpet, make him regret that he ever touched that little girl. Who wants to watch his father’s life pour out of him in crimson pools and who wants his lover to help.

    Sami was definitely someone to be scared of.