Wanted

Chapter 59

Sorry everyone, wasn't physically well enough to write. Much better now, and I have two chapters for you to read. Chapter 60 will be published today as well, have to do things a bit slower than usual though, which is a pain in the... since my brain doesn't agree with my body and doesn't want to slow down.

McCarthy had kept his word. He made John go to bed and smell the food and listen to them eat. John didn't mind and just blocked it out. He was used to being hungry for most of his life, it was a laughable punishment for someone like him.

McCarthy didn't say another word to John and neither did anyone else. They barely talked to each other. Even Horace kept his mouth shut for once, throughout the whole of dinner time. It must have been torture for him too.

After dinner McCarthy disappeared and didn't come back. His wife too just left once she was done cleaning her kitchen. John had wanted to say something to her but couldn't even look at her, for fear she would look away. He didn't know what he wanted to say to her though anyway.

He could hear them do their prayers and talk to each other until late, but neither of them came back to him to pray with him. John tried not to care. Most of the time he didn't believe in a god anyhow and even when he did, he knew he wasn't listening to him or anyone praying for him.

But he liked the idea of someone like McCarthy pray to his god for his brothers, which is why John always answered, he had not, when McCarthy asked him if he had done his prayers yet. McCarthy then would come back into the kitchen, sternly order him out of bed, tell him to kneel down in front of it with folded hands, and then knelt down beside him. The prayer itself meant nothing to John, the idea of a heavenly father watching out over him, all seeing, all hearing, was not an attractive prospect for someone like him, but rather a foreboding one. But McCarthy always ended his prayers with "...and look out for and protect all those who care for this boy, and are close to this boy's heart," which made John think of his little brothers and all his friends even Walls, but especially Jeremiah and Numees, Matunaagd, and Enkoodabooaoo. He didn't like to admit it, but it helped him fall asleep even though it made him sad that his ma had missed out on those prayers, and he was wondering if she had been less unfortunate if she hadn't.

That night sleep did not come easy to him and when it did it was short-lived and upsetting. Sleep did not bring peace that night. Once, he was certain he was awake and could hear a baby cry. He was convinced it was his baby brother Charlie, but then he realised it couldn't be, because he was lying on his bench in McCarthy's kitchen and Charlie was far away, and also not a baby anymore. The crying did not stop though which scared him. He just could not understand why there was a baby crying until he fully woke up and realised it was the cat miaowing outside. She was hungry too, so he let her in and offered her some food from the slop bucket with the food that was meant for the pigs.

The cat licked his fingers clean, and John wondered if it would do him too if McCarthy decided he wasn't worth to be given food to the next day neither.

It wasn't fair. He'd used bad language, but he had more than paid the price for that when Blunt hit him in front of everyone. His shoulder was still somewhat sore from it, even when he had it in his sling and wasn't moving it. And he had not run away, he was going to come back to the shop, he didn't deserve to be beaten for that either. And that slap in the face?! Just because he'd told them the truth. Maybe his choice of words could have been better. He shouldn't have used the F word. All week McCarthy had warned him about the foul words that kept slipping out of his mouth, but no matter how hard he tried, he kept forgetting, he couldn't help it. It's how he talked when he was mad. Why should he change for them? And he didn't regret what he said anyhow. It was the truth was it not? They didn't care. They hadn't wanted him from the beginning. He might as well be a slave.