Exclusive Excerpts of the BlockBuster Novel ANGEL'S SIN by Vincent P. Sanchez

I knew when I decided to tell my story I would have to revisit a hell I long ago buried deep inside my soul. A hell that always lied right beneath my surface. A wise person once told me that you can only bury your demons for so long before they pull you down; before you can truly move on you must cleanse our soul….
Throughout my years at Mama’s house foster children would come and go, some were adopted and became family and others were too broken to stay. Like I said before, every child bared their own demons which manifested into various of behaviors; anger, isolation, permisques, pyromania, pedophilia, etc. As a child there’s no way to process these things you just adapt to your environment with no conception of how it would affect you in the future.

It was 84’ when he came to the house. We all ran to the top of the staircase to peek down at the new kid. To us it was a new playmate and depending whether it was a girl or boy strengthened the battle of the sexes. We would always argue over who would have the TV, what shows to watch or what games to play so a new arrival was a big thing. Our anticipation became a quick disappointment when we realized he wasn’t in our age group. This happens sometimes, Mama would get somebody that’s close to aging out of the foster care system and as a favor she would take them in for the agency. But even though he was older he turned out to fit In just fine. He was quick to crack a joke and flash a funny face. He’d even played Hide-and-go-seek with us.
His name was Robert Taylor, he was nineteen when he was transferred to Mama’s house and had been in foster care since he was three. He was tall dark with a slim build and at first glance seemed to be the coolest dude ever. He sported shell tops, Lee jeans, BVD shirt and a red Kangoo. This was pretty impressionable to a nine year old kid during the birth of the Hip Hop era. I couldn’t wait to step out into the hood with him, as far as I was concerned he’s fam now. Me and Black Rob, a nickname he quickly coined, hung out all the time. He taught me moves on the basketball court, gave me tips on how to pop lock and was the funniest cat on the block. On my block being funny was a necessity; I’ve seen kids go home in tears off of “Yo mama” jokes and with Black Rob around cats knew not go there. It wasn’t long before I began to emulate Rob; I dressed like him, talked like him and acted like him. Finally, there was a normal dude in this crazy ass house.
With twelve kids, three aunts, three uncles and Mama the rooms were stacked. The girls had the attack and the boys shared a room with two bunk beds. We all love to hang out on Rob’s top bunk; he always had cool shit to do like G.I Joe’s, marvel comics and a box with a cassette player. We would all stay up late after curfew and go to sleep where ever we passed out at. This night was no different than any other night other than I ended up passing out on Rob’s bed. It’s the innocence of a child, the naïve manner and trusting heart of a kid…and then it happened. The one thing that would change my world forever, the moment I left my childhood as I knew it behind and would have to carry this evil inside me for the rest of my life.
He touched me… the way a man should never touch a boy.
Was I imaging this? Was I having a nightmare?
His grip was so deliberate…please let this be a mistake?
I turned over to protect my penis from any other mistaken brushes but he touched me again. My heart pounded through the bunk bed. He placed his hand on my back and slid it down to my ass. I was terrified. I cracked my eyes open to see if maybe he was just dreaming but as my pupils adjusted to the dark I could see Rob stroking himself as he touched me. I tried to pull away but I couldn’t move. My first thought was to hop out the bed and run to Mama but I was paralyzed with fear. This can’t be happening. My nine year old mind struggled to understand what was going on and I experienced confusion I never nor would I ever feel again. Why was he doing this…I wanted to scream out but I didn’t; I just laid there as he felt me up and finished his business.
Over the next few months the molestation continued and became more intense. It became as common as a parent reading their child a bedtime story. I would never really fall asleep and when I did I’d wake up to feel his hands in my pajamas or his penis rubbing on me. Day and night became two different worlds for me. During the day life would go on as if nothing ever happened. He would revert back to the guy everyone liked and wanted to be around and the night when everyone slept he was this predator that snuffed out every bit of innocence I had. I became so preoccupied with anxiety as day transitioned into night. My fear turned to rage but strangely enough not towards Rob; Ironically I felt some sort of sick love for him. Not an intimate love but a love one would have for their big brother. I looked up to him and didn’t want to disappoint him. So I succumbed to the abuse and it became part of me. It was the only way my young mind could cope. But I still had anger and resentment toward the ones who were supposed to protect me and keep me safe from this living hell.
How could they not see what was going on? Could they not see it in my face…did they not hear it in my voice?
Maybe they just didn’t care…maybe this was all my fault.
The episodes began to extend into the day. So now even the light offered no protection. Rob would coax me into the closet. “Little Angel” he would call me. “Come here, I wanna show you something.” He would promise me things as he laid me on top of him and trained me how to hump him through his sweat pants. “Don’t worry Little Angel, ima gechu some G.I Joe’s…ima gechu Incredible Hulk...Don’t worry…Don’t worry Little Angel…” He’d let me off of him when his pants got wet and sometimes I would go to the bathroom and throw up Mama’s breakfast. These were very dark moments in my life, most the memories are blacked out so I’m not sure what was the extent of the abuse. I just knew it wouldn’t be long before I broke.
Over the next couple of years it pushed my appetite for sex into overdrive. The abuse mixed with puberty was too much for me to handle. I would sneak into the attic into one of the girls bed’s and violate them. I would touch their newly developed bodies and humped them through their pissed stained panties; my behavior compelled by the molestation. I needed to be reassured of my sexuality, I was so overwhelmed with guilt and confusion; I was so fucked up. This can’t be right; this can’t be the life of an eleven year old kid. I would study my friends, look’em in the eyes and search their face for that imprint of hell. Was this normal? Did this go on in their house? Why were they so happy? I wanted that happiness…I needed it. I would sleep over my friend’s house to escape and feel how it would be to be normal. One day I asked. “Ms. Williams, can I come and live with you?” She looked down at me and with the most loving and sincere face she said. “Why, what’s wrong sweetie, you don’t like where you live?” I wanted so much to tell her about my demons… about my fear of the night…about the circus of drugs, alcohol and molestation at Mama’s house. But I didn’t. I sat there and looked at the world through jaded eyes. “Angel? You okay sweetie…what is it baby?” she spoke in her southern bell accent. “You know you can talk to Ms. Williams…What’s bothering you child….”

Throughout the next year I did my best to avoid Black Rob which isn’t easy when you share a room with the son of a bitch. I took to the streets and spent more time there then at Mama’s house. I stayed out late and became a student of the ghetto. I kicked it with the old heads and did my little dirt with the crew. One day when I got home from school Black Rob’s bed was stripped down and his dresser was empty, he was gone. And just like that it was over. No more promises, no more hiding, no more fear.