Chapter 59

HE’S A THIN MAN. Not short, not tall. But wiry and strong. He’s dressed in filthy khakis, work boots, a white t-shirt that’s turned filthy gray, and a green baseball hat with the words ‘Christian Brothers Academy’ sewn across its brim. His face is gaunt and covered in black stubble. He’s holding a pistol. He doesn’t say a word when he grabs hold of my hair and pulls me in toward him.

When Molly comes at him, her hands and fingers held out before her like claws, he cocks back that pistol, hits her over the head with the butt. She falls like a rock beside me on the floor.

I want to scream, but the pain in my head is too great. The man grabs hold of my hair with one hand and tries to caress it with the other. It’s the first time a man other than my father has touched my hair and I become immediately nauseous.

I feel him shiver, his body quake.

“Two little kittens,” he chants. “Two little kittens have lost their mittens and they begin to cry. You naughty kittens. Now you shall have no pie.”

“I’m sorry,” I plead, tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“And they begin to cry,” he repeats. “Cry, cry, cry.”

He drags me downstairs, then goes back up after Molly. I want to run but I’m afraid he’ll kill her.

Molly is groggy by the time she is laid out on the warped floor beside me. Without a word about his intentions, Whalen is kneeling over us. He’s tearing off these extra long pieces of duct tape, wrapping them around my right wrist and Molly’s left wrist so that we’re joined together. When he’s finished, he yanks us up onto our feet.

“Little kittens have lost their mittens,” he chants, “Run away little kittens so I can catch you. Cry, cry, cry.”

Molly is more awake now. But she’s not saying anything.

The man presses his forearm against his eyes.

“I’m counting little kittens,” he sings.

“Run,” Molly insists. “Anyway we can, as fast we can.”