The Lost Ones

Chapter 13

"That's right." Father Roman's raspy voice became two-toned. "The consequence of sin is punishment."

When Kit looked up, he saw the rest of the shadows transform into enlarged, ghostly figures of the scar-faced man. Skye had vanished too, leaving him surrounded with the demonic figments. All holding whips in their hands, they moved towards him.

"The consequence of sin is punishment," they repeated in gravelly, satanic voices. They sounded like a million voices coming at him all at once. "The consequence of sin is punishment. The consequence of sin is punishment."

Kit firmly pressed his hands over his ears, shutting his eyes as hot tears streamed down his face. Too befuddled to think, he let his force of habit kick in and began shouting the two words he had been wired to say to almost anything, to everything. "I'm sorry," he pleaded. "I'm sorry!"

Ever since he was a young boy, apologizing had made up a majority of his speech. His mom always told him that the only way to be forgiven—by his parents, by his teachers and classmates, by his neighbors, by God—was to say sorry and plead for forgiveness.

Because human beings were flawed and sinful. And all the times Kit had gotten angry, envied the lives of others, disobeyed or lied to his parents, missed church for a school event, and fantasized lewd images of beautiful women, especially during his pubescent stage, he had been sinning. Simply saying "I'm sorry" always seemed to work, both on other people and Kit's own conscience.

But the thing was, Kit wasn't sure if the apology held the same meaning as it did as a child, when he felt guilty for the sake of feeling guilty and not because he was told he should feel guilty.

A whip cracked.

Kit yelped in pain when the belt struck his back. It was as if sulfuric acid had been splashed onto his bare skin. This feels too real to be an illusion! But it can't be real! It's not real! He braced himself for the second blow.

But when the whip cracked, he didn't feel a thing. Before he even looked up, he heard a familiar voice saying something he had become accustomed to hearing all his life. "Please don't hurt him! It wasn't his fault!"

Kit managed to raise his eyes. When he did, he widened his eyes at the tan-skinned woman with long, wavy brown locks wearing a knee-length dress and a black shawl. No shoulders, no knees, his mom used to always say about dressing modestly. Sitting beside him, shielding him from the wrath of Father Roman like she always did, was Kit's mother.

"Mom!" Kit cried.

"Stop defending him!" Father Roman shouted at the woman. "He needs to learn his lesson!" He was always saying something along those lines whenever Kit did something that made himself culpable.

But his mom didn't stop. "He's just a boy!" she cried angrily. That was always her excuse.

It never worked.

Father Roman lifted his hand and before Kit could stop him, the man swung the belt across the horrified woman's face.

"No!" Kit screamed. He shot up to protect his mom, but Father Roman slashed the belt across his face and Kit fell back, howling in agony.

"You've always been so weak, you pathetic, sinful boy!" roared the man.

Kit placed his trembling hand over his right eye and nose where it stung. It was spilling drops of slippery, warm blood. His heart sank as fell into a helpless state.