Page 22 of The Hitman's Omega Priest
His voice broke, and Bishop held him tighter. Desperate to take away this pain but unable to do anything except listen.Kensley stretched his left hand out, fingers splayed, and Bishop noticed the odd angle of his pinkie.
“In the first twelve months,” Kensley said softly, “my left hand was swollen for most of it, because of a thick wooden ruler. Something didn’t heal right. Disobedience was punished immediately. Back-talking was punished, and so was questioning. We were not allowed to question anything, not our training, our discipline, the Holy Scriptures, nothing. And everything they did to”—he made air quotes—“beat it out of us? It didn’t always leave a mark.”
Bishop swallowed down his anger so he could find his voice. “Maybe not a physical mark.”
“Yeah. There was a punishment room we nicknamed Purgatory, because it was a glorified closet. Thin mattress on the floor, a bucket for personal business, no light, only two meals a day, instead of three. Only water to drink. You could be in there a day or for up to two weeks, depending on the infraction.” He released a long, ragged breath. “There was a girl named Meg who presented as alpha female, and she entered about a month after me. She was sixteen, as defiant as I was, and she had terrible claustrophobia.”
Bishop closed his eyes briefly, hating what sounded like a haunting memory for Kensley.
“Sometimes at night, when it was quiet, I could hear her screaming from Purgatory, that she couldn’t breathe, that the dark was crushing her. After about six months of training, she disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“We were told her parents had withdrawn her from the Order, but who knows? The poor girl probably ended up in a psychiatric ward because of their treatment. Eventually, I figured out that becoming a robot who spewed back everythingI was told was smarter than having thoughts or opinions. It definitely hurt less, and I didn’t have to suffer in Purgatory.”
“Purgatory sounds like solitary confinement in prison. Why the fuck would priests use that as punishment in a religious institution?”
Kensley shrugged, lifting his head to meet Bishop’s eyes, his own swimming in regret. “Same reason as in prison. To break us down. Make us stop fighting. Submission.”
Bishop stroked his fingers through Kensley’s thick, black hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“You wanted to know. Some people broke. I could see it in their eyes. The way they moved through the abbey, like someone who was already dead. I guess I was too damned stubborn to let them win, so I learned how to play the game. How to be the robot they wanted me to be, without actually losing what was left of my soul.”
“I’m glad. When we first spoke a few weeks ago, I could tell there was something behind the façade you presented as Elder Thorne. I could still see the Kensley I remembered. The one who stole the remote, and hogged the popcorn, and who wouldn’t let me carry you after you hurt your foot. If you weren’t still in there, I don’t think you’d have trusted me to keep you safe Saturday night, or to come with me. To be with me.”
“You’re right. Even before I was positive who you were, I knew Drew Burton could get me out of the life that was slowly killing me.” Kensley traced his fingers over Bishop’s heart. “I’m not sure how excited I am about a life as a fugitive from King’s enemies, but this existence right now? I’m very happy to be here with you.”
“Me too. I am so fucking sorry for everything you went through. I wish I could take some of that pain away.”
“You’ve survived your own pain. I’ve only ever burned my hand on a hot pot handle. I can’t imagine what you suffered. Was…?”
“What?”
“Was the boiler explosion actually an accident? Or was it one of your enemies?”
Bishop sighed and gently squeezed Kensley’s thigh. “The fire inspector’s report did not find evidence of arson or tampering, so it was officially deemed an accident.”
“Unofficially?”
He growled softly. “A few days after, while I was in a coma, King got a text from a burner phone. A photo of my place before and after the fire. Ziggy was unable to trace it, but King believes it was a taunt. Someone claiming to have done it to get me out of the way, and now bragging because to the rest of the world, Bishop Anders did die from his burns.”
“Do you think it’s true? That an enemy did it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t ruled it out, because my death definitely benefited the other families trying to get King out of the way. He was angry and scrambling, and don’t ever tell him I said this out loud, but he was extremely vulnerable for a few months. But he kept his inner circle pucker-tight and got through it. Like he always does.”
“There’s a reason they call him King of Cats on the streets. Nine lives and all that.”
Bishop chuckled. “Yes, they do. I just hope he’s ready for whatever is about to go down, because what this adversary did? Openly committing a burglary and attempted kidnapping inside of a church? There’s not a bought cop on the force who’d look away from this, and we know the police commissioner has his head so far up the Holy Father’s ass that they share a digestive system. It was a huge risk.”
“To use me against King.”
“But they lost their chance to get you. And I won’t give them another one.”
Kensley smiled, bright and warm. “I know you won’t.” He kissed Bishop again, this time with a bit more intent behind it. “So now that I’ve talked about my past a little bit, can we forage for breakfast? I really don’t want cold beans.”
“Yes, we can. I need to reheat my coffee, too.”
They ended up finishing the last of the pancake batter, supplemented it with a can of fruit cocktail, and they ate at the small table like they’d done this a hundred times before. Shared a simple meal and pleasant conversation, with nothing more pressing to do than wait. Bishop was used to waiting, used to endless hours of boredom, but he could see that Kensley wasn’t.
