Page 14 of Pocketful of Us

The flames got bigger and Mama's screams grew louder.

"Papa, help me!" I cried, clutching her shawl in my small hands. "Papa! Pap –"

"Your papa isn't coming to save you this time, Giacobbe," Uncle Cal sneered. "You're all alone now, boy."

Coughing and spluttering from the smoke, I pushed past him, only to be dragged back by the scruff of my neck.

Orange flames.

They were everywhere.

"Mama's on fire!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Stop burning my mama!"

"Your father is weak and your mama is a traditora," he snarled. "What happens to traitors, boy?"

"Mama –"

"What happens?" he roared, shaking me violently.

"They burn," I sobbed, dropping onto my knees, with Mama's shawl still clenched in my fist.

"Calisto!" Papa's cousin marched towards Papa's best friend, looking furious. "What the hell is this?"

"Christopher," Cal acknowledged. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"What have you done, Cal?"

"I'm in charge now."

"Where is the boy?" he demanded, eyes bloodshot. "Where is my godson?"

"Still alive," Cal mused. "For now, at least."

Sniffling, I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my face in my knees.

They were coming for me next.

Our home wasn't safe anymore.

I knew that now.

"Daddy, no," another voice cried out. "Make it stop!" Moments later, two small arms came around me.

I didn’t need to look up to know it was Ramona.

"My mama," I sobbed, throwing my arms around her waist.

"Giacobbe," she wailed, falling to her knees beside me. "We gots to go. We needs to run away from my daddy…"

"I remember you," I whispered, body rocking back and forth. "The night they burned her alive." Shaking my head, I blinked the tears from my eyes and looked at the man who raised me. "You…you called me yourgodson."

Releasing a pained groan, my father nodded slowly. "Everything I have done, every lie I have told you, and every treacherous order from Cal that I have ashamedly followed, has been to keep my oath to your parents. I vowed before God and your parents to protect you. To be your Papa's second. I'm only sorry that I didn't do a better job."

"This is why I wanted you to read the journal," Presley groaned, pulling me from my horrible fucking memories when he flopped back down next to me. "I'm so sorry, Sketch."

"One year," Dad continued to destroy my world by saying. "That's how long it took me to convince Cal to give you to me. For twelve long months, he kept you locked away on your father's ship, while I desperately tried to negotiate with him." Pain encompassed his features as he spoke. "For three hundred and sixty-five days you were beaten, starved, degraded, and tortured in your papa's private quarters."

"The scar on his hip?" Presley demanded, sounding pained. "The one shaped like a T?"

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