Second part of the Christmas chapter. There is major angst. But still, review. And if you do review and have something constructive to say, please sign your review. Some total douche left me an unsigned review. So man up and tell me who you are.

"Patrick! Get up! You won't believe it! Look!" I woke on Christmas Day to Liam yelling in my ear and punching me in the arm as hard as he could, repeatedly. Instead of going back to sleep, like I wanted to, I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

"What is it, Mercier? I swear to God, I'm going to beat you bloody if you woke me up for nothing." Liam danced out of the way as I threw a punch at him. The other boys were either waking up or already awake, kneeling on their beds. I groaned and tried to lie back down, but Liam pulled me up.

"Look. Presents!" Liam shoved two peppermint sticks and a chocolate bar into my hands. His mouth was already covered in chocolate. I was about to punch him, when he handed me a thin, rectangular object wrapped in brown paper.

"What is this?" I sat up straighter and turned the package over in my hands. It was hard, but thin. Liam slid off my bed and ran over to his. He came back with a similar package, already half unwrapped. Without asking, he flopped down on my bed, straight on my legs. I yelped.

"Dunno. Sorry. Want to open them?" Liam was far less patient than I. He had already removed the brown twine and thrown it to the side and was ripping the paper off before I had even finished looking the package over.

"Oh my god." I undid the twine and slid the paper back. My gift was a book, a thin book with a brown cover that had a fist on it. The title read, in block letters, Homage to Catalonia. I flipped it over. The back was blank. Liam was holding a book with a huge grin on his face. His was a book of famous Shakespeare passages.

"Dear Patrick, I hope you enjoy this book. It is about the Spanish Civil War and the Republican cause. Although I did not fight in the POUM, I experienced the same things. Yours, Mr. William Franklin." He had written a note on the first page.

Everybody had received a book, but they were all very different. I had my Homage to Catalonia, which I could not wait to begin. Liam was already flipping through his book of Shakespeare. Most likely, his chocolate bar had him already wired. O'Reilly had not seen his book, but once Liam told him, started searching. Franklin knew O'Reilly well and gave him a book of poetry by W.B. Yeats. O'Reilly always hummed when he read poetry, as if it was a song. Downey and Peters flopped down next to us, on my bed. Somehow, my bed had become to unofficial meeting place of our group. Downey held a book with the mysteries of Sherlock Holmes, something I thought was higher than his reading ability, but I did not say anything. He'd punch me if I did. At first, Peters refused to show us what he had received, but Liam got him in a headlock and pulled the book from his hands. It was a battered copy of Oliver Twist. Peters thought it was a puff book, until O'Reilly mumbled something about murder, which made Peters perk right up. I realized I was the only boy with a new book, but did not point that out. As usual, Peters' father had given him a present for himself and his younger brother. This year, it was a model plane for Sean, which was rusty, but nice, and a switchblade for Peters. The blade was not sharp, but he still enjoyed flipping it.

"I'm going to go give Sean his present from Da and Franklin. Franklin left it with me, see?" He showed us the other brown package, with Sean's name on it and stood up. Most likely, he'd also give his brother a piece of his candy.

"Gerard, don't. Brother John will catch you." For once, Downey tried to stop his friend, but Peters shook his head. He always would go out on Christmas morning, to the yard, and meet his brother. There, he'd give him his presents and a hug and kiss over the wall. It was dangerous and stupid, but he did it all the same. We'd stand guard.

Peters went into the yard barefoot, still dressed in his nightshirt, holding the two parcels under his arm and a peppermint stick in his hand. He stood there, a few yards from the wall, watching for Brother John. The four of us huddled in the doorway. I had pulled my sweater on over my nightshirt. All of us were barefoot, squatting by the ground or dancing to stay warm. I was a squatter with O'Reilly. Peters turned and looked at us, a crooked smile on his face. Downey flashed him a thumb's up. O'Reilly nudged me. Sean was standing in the doorway at his side of the wall. Peters was facing us and did not see him. His younger brother saw Peters and ran across the yard, bare feet padding softly. Peters turned sharply, saw Sean, and smiled. He ran to the wall and stopped at the red line, looking around one last time for Brother John. The brother was not there. It was as safe as it ever would be. Downey grabbed me by the shoulder, squeezing it hard enough to leave a bruise. Peters smiled and stepped over the red line and walked straight to the wall.

"Happy Christmas, Sean." Peters handed his little brother the packages and candy, grinning like an idiot. Sean stood on his tiptoes and threw his arms around his brother's neck and planted a sticky kiss on his cheek.

"Happy Christmas, Jerry. I wish Da was here." He handed Peters something. Even from the distance we were at, I could see it was a card, a messy, colorful thing, but a card all the same. Peters kissed his brother on the head and slid the card into the front of his nightshirt.

"Me too, Sean. Me too. He'll be here next year." Sean and Peters hugged each other again. Downey's fingers pinched me. Across the yard, in the doorway behind Jerry, was Brother John. We ran, leaving Peters and his brother to their fate.

My Christmas sticky bun was delicious, but I was unable to enjoy it. The bun sat heavily in my stomach, as did the cold glass of milk given to drink it down. Peters would not speak to us. It was not that he was mad at us, which he was, but that he was scared, not just for him, but for little Sean as well. He had always been able to keep Sean out of trouble, taking his punishment as well, but this time Brother John wouldn't let him. Brother John had not said a word, but had just walked across the yard and put his hand on Sean's shoulder. Sean was sitting away from the boys his age, crying into his glass. Brother Tom put his hand on the boy's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. The boy nodded, wiped his tears away, and started to eat. Peters turned to look at his brother. Sean gave him a watery smile and started to eat his sticky bun. Downey patted Peters on the back and nudged the glass back towards him. We were all silent, the only group of boys like that in the hall. Brother Mac walked by, smirking. He knew what had happened in the yard. I hunched my shoulders and finished off the last of my breakfast. Peters had just started his and ate slowly.

"Have you boys enjoyed Christmas?" Peters gave an angry twitch, but did not say anything. The rest of us nodded solemnly. Lim took a bite of bun and chewed it slowly, to get out of talking.

"Yes, sir. We have. Mr. Franklin gave us books." Brother Mac put his hand on my hair, tilting my head back sharply. I looked into his eyes and gave a nervous smile. He let go of my hair, a little too slowly for comfort. My eyes fell straight to my lap and I shivered, from cold and fear.

"Finish your breakfasts, boys." Wordlessly, we nodded, and shoved the last few bites of sticky bun into our mouths and gulped down the rest of our milk. Only Peters did not hurry. He sat, looking at the bun, face unreadable.

I went to the dormitory and sat on my bed. The candy and book from the morning were still there, untouched. Nobody had stolen them. Normally, one had to hide food, or it would be eaten. I unwrapped on of the peppermint sticks and took a bite out of it, sucking on the piece in my mouth. Other boys were in the dormitory, lying on their beds, reading their new books or playing with cards. The radio was on loudly, playing fast Christmas songs, nothing that we'd ever hear in church. O'Reilly was singing along to the radio, but his voice was softer and more subdued than normal. So far, nobody else had learned what had happened to Peters. The peppermint flavor suddenly came in my mouth. It was sharper and spicier than I remembered, but still delicious. Homage to Catalonia was next to my leg. I leaned over and picked it up, looking at it more closely. Franklin had gotten me a beautiful copy. There was a slight sticky patch on the back, where the price must have been glued down. Idly, I wondered if I was the only boy who had a book bought and decided that was impossible. Although Franklin had many books and a low salary, he had his meals provided for and would get ever boy a gift. I lay down on my bed and opened the book.

"Up. Everybody, get up. That includes you, Delaney." Brother Mac marched into the dormitory. The radio went off. I dropped Homage to Catalonia back onto my bed and sat up.

"What is it, sir?" Boys started talking all at once, but did as they were told, forming a line. I slid in front of O'Reilly. Looking at his face would be too much. Homage to Catalonia slid off my bed to the ground. Brother Mac walked over, looked at the book, and let it go, dropping it on my bed.

"Brother John wants all of you in the refectory. Come along. You don't need your coats." O'Reilly and I looked at each other, but did not speak. I followed the boy in front of me out the door and to the yard.

We were lined up in two lines, older and younger on each side of the refectory. The benches and tables had been pushed to the sides, except for one. Peters and Sean knelt there next to each other, only in their underwear. Sean was crying, Peters shaking a little and angry as hell. Brother John held a large pair of scissors and pushed Sean's head down. He cut tufts of hair from Sean's head, before moving on to do the same thing to Peters. Sean started to sob loudly. Brother John backhanded him across the face, knocking the boy over and shutting him up. Downey grabbed onto Alex McDunna's arm. I stood next to Liam. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. It was where Downey had been holding o earlier and I winced, in a mix of fear and pain. Brother John put down the scissors and took his strap from his belt. Everybody tensed, except for Peters and Sean, who did not turn around, most likely from fear.

"It is a shameful and a disgusting thing when the behavior of a boy descends to the level of a beast. It is an affront to God and a blasphemy of the soul. Look well on this, and remember what you are about to see. This punishment is just the beginning. In the hands of almighty God lie future punishments, and they will be more terrible than anything you can ever imagine." He hit Peters' bare back. Peters jerked up and yelped in pain. We flinched. Sean began to cry again. Brother John moved onto him, dealing two swift strokes before returning to his brother. He rotated between the two of them, one hit, switch, one hit switch. I felt something rising in my throat.

"Turn away. All of you, turn. Gallagher says." Liam poked me. We turned in unison, putting our backs to Brother John. The little boys followed suit. He did not notice that we were no longer watching. I was shaking like a leaf. We all were, a mixture of scared and excited.

"No flogging. No flogging. No flogging. No flogging." I could not tell who started the chant, but joined in fast enough. All the boys did. The beating stopped for a moment, but started even harder than before. I ran to get Franklin.

My heart pounded in my ears as I ran up the stairs and down the hall towards his room. It was empty. I could have wept in frustration, but was too tired, too tired to even breathe. Instead, I sunk down by the wall, panting, trying to keep from collapsing right there. I heard somebody scream loudly, far louder than before. Peters needed me. He was my friend and I was not about to let him go. I jumped back up and took off down the hall, running straight into Franklin. He grabbed me and asked me what was wrong. Unable to answer or even breathe properly, I just grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down the stairs. Franklin followed me as I ran, tripping down stairs as I went, too exhausted to catch myself, but too excited to stop. The shrieks were growing louder and the chanting was till going. Brother John was yelling at somebody, anybody as he strap came down again and again. We turned the last corner. Franklin pushed me aside and sprinted into the refectory. I tore after him. The boys were still in two lines, backs towards the Peters boys. Brother John was hitting Sean. Both boys were bleeding heavily.

"On Christmas Day! You fucking bastard!" Franklin grabbed Brother John by the arm and punched him in the jaw. Brother John went down but leapt up, snarling. Brother Mac grabbed him and kept the two men apart.

"Shush, lads. Shush. It's all over. Come on. Come with me." He knelt and picked up Sean, careful to void touching his back. Peters pulled himself up and grabbed Franklin's hand, following him out of the refectory. Without speaking, we followed suit and filed out of the building. I was the last one out, sill by the door, doubled over.

"Go back to your room, Delaney. Good boy." Brother Mac took me by the arm and led me outside. He waited until I stopped panting before giving me a gentle push towards the dormitory.

The dormitory was quiet when I went back. The boys were either crowded around Peters' bed or lying on their own, staring up at the ceiling. Downey sat next to Peters, holding his hand and rubbing his shoulders softly. Brother Tom was taking care of Sean in a bathroom. O'Reilly came in with a soaking rag, which he draped across the cuts. Peters groaned and shifted his weight slightly, tears in his eyes. It was a shock for me to see Peters crying. He was one of the toughest boys in St. Jude's, tougher than the oldest lads and he still cried. I touched his head and went to lie on my bed. Homage to Catalonia was still on the ground. I picked it back up and lay down. Something hard was under my pillow. Sitting up, I lifted the pillow and took out what was underneath it. It was a book, with a fine leather cover and blank, creamy pages. There was a dark brown ribbon that started at the spine. Inside the book was a pen, a splendid black fountain pen. I tested against my finger. The ink was black and true, and did not leak or drip. I flipped through the book. On the front cover, there was a note.

"For Patrick. Christmas, 1939." There was no name or any other writing. I looked over the book many times, flipping through the pages, but never found anything else. In the end, I hid it back under my pillow, where I had found it.

Don't you want to know who gave the book to Patrick? If so, review, and I'll give you a hint! By the way. If anybody is interested in doing drawings for the characters, PM me.