Free The Patron Saint of Butterflies by Cecilia Galante Page A

shoes.
    “Honey?” Nana Pete says my name so softly that it makes me want to cry. “Honey. What else is in the room?”
    I grit my teeth. “Belts.” Behind me, Benny’s shoulders tighten.
    “Belts?”
    “A wall of them. He makes us choose which one we wanthim to use before we take our robes off and get on the kneeler.”
    There. It’s out. Finally. But instead of relief, my whole body feels rigid, as if I have been shoved into a too-small compartment and am struggling for air.
    “And then he hits you?” Nana Pete whispers. “With the belts?”
    “Yes.”
    “Once?”
    I almost laugh the question is so ridiculous. “No, not once. Lots of times.”
    “And this … this is where you and Agnes were this morning?” Nana Pete’s lips are trembling. I nod. She wipes her forehead with her fingers. “Do Agnes’s parents know? Have either of you told them?”
    “I’m not sure if they know,” I answer slowly. “But it doesn’t really matter anyway.”
    Benny takes a deep breath and sticks his fingers in his ears.
    Nana Pete doesn’t seem to notice. “Doesn’t matter ?” she repeats. “Of course it matters! Do they know what’s happening to you? Do they have—”
    “Hey, Benny,” I say, pulling one of his hands out of his ears. The base of his neck is turning a mottled shade of crimson. “What’re you doing, buddy?”
    Without opening his eyes, he says, “Trying to disappear.”
    “Oh, sugar. ” Nana Pete bats gently at Benny’s other hand. “Stop it, sweetie. Look at me.” But Benny just squeezes his eyes tighter.
    I lean in. “Benedict!” His eyes fly open fearfully. “You don’thave to do that,” I say softly. “It’s okay, Benny. It’s just us.” A tear slides down the front of his face, behind his glasses. I wipe it from his cheek with the pad of my thumb. “Listen. Why don’t you go down to the pond and look for that huge bullfrog we’ve been trying to catch? Go ahead. And I’ll come join you in a few minutes.”
    Benny is out of the car before I can finish, leaving the door wide open. There is a horrible, awkward silence as Nana Pete and I watch him squat down at the pond’s edge and stare out at the water. I can feel her gaze shift back over to me, but I don’t turn my head. Not yet.
    “So Agnes’s parents … ,” she begins.
    “Agnes and Benny’s parents know all about the Regulation Room,” I say, drawing my finger down a wide crease in the seat. “Emmanuel has taken them in there several times.”
    Nana Pete’s lips curl back over her teeth. “You mean, they’ ve been whipped, too?”
    “Yeah. Most of the Believers have. It’s not just for kids. Emmanuel uses it for the retraining of anyone. That’s why it’s called the Regulation Room.”
    “Retraining,” she murmurs. “My God. What a word. How could Leonard … ” She shakes her head. “I’ve got to do something about this. Right now. Right this minute. I’m going to have to call the police. This is unbelievable. You can’t continue to live here.”
    Something inside of me rises like a wave of heat at her words. Can this really be happening? After all this time? Someone coming in and putting a stop to all of it?
    And then, with a lurch, I think of something. “You can’t call the police,” I say.
    “What do you mean, I can’t? Why not?”
    “If the police come and investigate, we might be taken away.”
    “But that’s a good thing, Honey! That’s the whole point! I don’t want you liv—”
    “But I—I’ll be sent away,” I stutter. “Agnes and Benny will get to go with you, probably, but I’ll be sent to an orphanage or something because I don’t have any parents here. I belong to Emmanuel.”
    Nana Pete gets a strange look on her face. “You don’t belong to Emmanuel.”
    “Well, there’s no paperwork that says otherwise.” A panic is starting to rise within me. “My mother just left me here. With him. And he’s the one in charge. He’s the only one who gets to say what