Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (classic literature list .txt) 📗

of the priests was a predator. The school was like a hunting ground for him. For years, in my sleep, I was forced to watch him rape countless girls. I tried to do something about it once when I was fourteen. There was a sixteen-year-old girl named Stephanie who had been sent there by her parents because she’d gotten pregnant. She was maybe four or five months along when she got there. Despite their willingness to beat the shit out of people like me, the priests and nuns wouldn’t do anything to hurt a pregnant girl physically. They’d emotionally abuse her, for sure, telling her that she was a whore and that she should repent. They were going to make her go through with childbirth—with no doctors—and if the baby lived, it was going to be taken and she would never see it again.

“Stephanie was the first person in five years who I had some sort of friendship with. She was really scared and confused as to why she was there, and I guess I just felt like I needed to protect her. I couldn’t, though. She had a daughter, and after she’d recovered from childbirth, one of the priests started to visit her at night. I had to look through his eyes as she was raped and told that this was what whores deserved. She fought back at first, but after a couple of times, she began to simply accept it. She’d repeat the things he’d say, that this was how whores were baptized, and when he came on her face, she’d thank him for the blessing. It made me sick to watch her shrink and get brainwashed like that, so I went to the headmaster and told him what my dreams were telling me. He summoned the other three priests to his office, and the four of them began to berate me for making false accusations. They gave me a chance to take back what I had said and admit that I was lying. I refused. They broke both of my big toes before I told them what they wanted to hear. After they had finished with me, one of them, Father Michael, leaned over and told me that I was fortunate that a good fucking wasn’t the method necessary to cure me.

“For the next three years, I kept out of the way of the priests and nuns as much as possible. When it became obvious to the adults that I was a lost cause, they started putting me on medication to numb me up and keep me quiet, figuring I was never going to be well enough to leave the compound ever again. I began stashing the pills. Some of the girls came from wealthy families and had a good amount of money with them, so I started selling them my drugs. By the time I was seventeen, I had enough cash to hit the road. I broke out, caught a bus down to Connecticut, and hid out in a little college town for a while. I got a waitressing job, and eventually I got connected with the right people who taught me to make fake IDs and such.

“From there I just kept moving. I never stayed in one place for too long. The nightmares always followed me. It never took more than a few months for them to catch up, but there were some periods of peace, I suppose. I tried to keep out of the way of the law, but it didn’t always work out. I got arrested in Ohio when I got pulled over and had a half an ounce of weed on me. I spent three nights in jail since I didn’t have enough money for bail, and I had to ditch my car. I knew I’d never be able to pay the fine, so I invented a new identity and split town.”

“So Maureen Allen isn’t your real name?”

“Closest I’ve used in a while,” Maureen said, taking the opportunity to take another sip from her glass. “My birth name, if it makes any difference, is Maureen Allerton.”

“What about your family?”

“My mom’s from Ireland, married my dad after they met while he was on a business trip. They were in the process of divorcing when my brother died. I haven’t seen my dad since. I’m pretty sure he married his secretary. Ma wasn’t very shy about making it known that they were humping while he was still married to her. Mom came up to the school a few times for the first few years I was there, but they were short visits and were never pleasant, to say the least. I thought about dropping in on her after I busted out, but I decided there would be no point.”

“Maybe one day,” the priest said.

“I doubt it,” she scoffed. “But, sure, maybe. Anyway, there’s not much else to say, I suppose. I’ve seen most of this country in the last seventeen years. And seen too much in my dreams. But I deal with it.”

“How?”

Maureen held up her glass. “This helps. Blacking out makes sure you don’t dream, you know? I got numb to just the booze though, so in recent years, I’ve needed the help of pain killers every now and then.”

“You don’t buy them from dealers on the street or something like that, I hope.”

“It’s pretty amazing what you can do when you make the right contacts and learn how to forge prescription pads.”

“Can’t say I approve of that. I’m sure there are better ways.”

“Yeah, but in this case, I prefer easy to better.”

“So tell me, then,” Father Patrick said, “have you ever taken the hard way and used this ability of yours to help others since you left the school?”

“I don’t like cops.”

“That wasn’t the question,” he said with a sternness that surprised her.

“A few years ago, I was in Chicago, living in a pretty shitty slum. It was a real shady building, you know? Cash only rents, no background checks or leases,