“What happened then?”
“My counselor agreed. He gave me another try. He even promised to cure me. If I gave myself to him, he’d show me how unsatisfying my life as a homosexual was.”
“And how did he do that?”
“Each time we had a session, all I had to do was give him a blow job.”
Eddie turned away.
“He called it aversion therapy and said it was based on scientific studies. He went through the treatment himself, and it cured him. He said all I had to do was associate my sexuality with something bad. Since he was fat and ugly, I figured it might work. He even smelled.”
“This is all my fault,” Eddie cried.
Andy’s eyes were red, too. Snot dripped from his nose. He wiped it with his linen sleeve. “But then my counselor wanted more. He started fucking me at each session, until it happened.”
“What happened?” Eddie asked the question, but it looked like he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Another therapist walked in on us while he was fucking me. My counselor blamed me. Said it was my fault. That I seduced him, or else he wouldn’t have relapsed. They all believed his lies, and I was expelled.”
“Then you should have called your parents, Andy.”
“I did. They wouldn’t take me back.” Andy’s hands shook badly. “I had no place to sleep. No money to buy food. I started turning tricks on the street. For five bucks, I’d show it to you. For ten you could touch it. Twenty bucks got you a blow job. And you could fuck me for fifty.”
“Stop it,” Eddie begged. “This is all my fault.”
“No, it isn’t.” Andy put his hand on Eddie’s arm, and he stopped shaking. “I never blamed you, Eddie. And I never stopped thinking about you, either.”
Andy went to a nook in the hallway and retrieved his footlocker. Inside, carefully wrapped in white tissue, was memorabilia from Stratburgh University. Articles about the Sorority Maniac and the student heroes. There were magazine ads for Le Chateau.
“I kept everything, Eddie. I kept it for you.”
Andy held out the package and Eddie took it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Andy added, “I loved you, Eddie. I still do.”
Tears welled up in Eddie’s eyes. “No, you don’t love me. Your memory’s clouded. You don’t remember how you felt about me during school. We constantly fought, and every night you went cruising for guys.”
“That’s because I was scared. I was scared of my feelings for you.”
Andy buried his head into Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie held on to his friend as if their lives depended on it. “Maybe we were both scared,” Eddie said. “But every time you came home from the park or the highway rest stop, I was jealous.”
“Of me?”
“No. I wasn’t jealous of you, Andy. I was jealous of them, your tricks. They were with you, even if only for a brief time. You see, maybe I loved you, too.”
“Those tricks didn’t mean anything to me, Eddie.”
“They had to mean something, because you kept going back. You kept ignoring the people who cared for you. Loved you. People like me.”
Jamie tried to sink into the wall and disappear. He couldn’t believe his husband was saying those things. He knew Andy and Eddie cared for each other. They were best friends. But that had to be the extent of their feelings—they didn’t love each other, not like Eddie loved Jamie.
Andy took Eddie’s hand and placed it on his chest. “My heart still longs for you. You can have me if you want.”
“No.” Eddie took his hand away. “That was a long time ago, Andy. I love Jamie.”
“I understand.” Andy looked over at Jamie and back to Eddie, nodding with resignation. “Then I hope you understand why I can’t go with you. The Brethren gave me a life. A reason to live.”
Eddie nodded and stood up. He kept looking at Andy, but he held out his hand to Jamie.
Jamie accepted his hand, and together they started walking out of the quarters. But Jamie stopped and turned around. He said with a stoic voice, “I know reliving the past hurts, Andy. It hurts all of us. But there’s a few things you haven’t told us yet. Things that might help us.”
“What do you need to know?”
“Well, one thing you haven’t told us is how you met the Disciples.”
“I kept drifting, going from state to state. I finally ended up in California. West Hollywood. Vaseline Alley, they called it. That’s where Sharar found me. He let me stay with the Disciples, and when they finished their tasks, they took me home. Here, to the Brethren.”
“What were the Disciples doing in L.A.?”
Andy looked away and said, “They were performing God’s work.”
Andy was talking nonsense again. Jamie decided he was too conflicted to help them stop the Brethren. Their best course of action would be to leave Andy here. After they escaped, they could send him help.
“Then it’s time to leave.” Jamie took Eddie’s hand. At the door, they came face-to-face with Sharar. He was holding a pistol.
“Do you really think I would let Zacchaeus guard the quarters? I’m not that stupid. You two have caused enough trouble.”
Sharar did a front-snap kick into Eddie’s bad leg and he fell to the ground. Jamie knelt by his side.
Andy screamed, “No.” He rose and ran to Sharar with his arms raised. But Sharar was bigger and stronger. He lifted his arm, and with the backside of his hand, hit him. Andy fell to the ground, sobbing.
Sharar stood over Andy. “You pissant faggot. I’ll be damned if I let you stand in my way.”
Sharar gave Andy another kick. Then he grabbed Jamie and Eddie and hauled them out of there.
Chapter Thirty-four
Jamie didn’t know where Sharar was taking them until he dumped them into the root cellar. Jamie realized it wasn’t a cellar at all. It was it was dark, moldy dungeon. Eddie was by Jamie’s side, but he chose not to speak. It was a familiar choice now. Jamie kept quiet, too, and the hours passed slowly.
Squeaking and scampering sounds came from the corner. Jamie figured the mice or the rats were checking them out. But it didn’t matter. Jamie felt like a complete failure, a prissy little nobody.
After more time passed, he asked, “How’s your leg, sweetie?”
Eddie surprised him. “I’ve had better days, but I’ll survive.”
“Good.” He bit his lip. He didn’t want to ask the next question, but had to know the answer. “Eddie, did you really love Andy?”
“Yes.”
That was the answer Jamie had feared the most. “So was I a consolation prize?”
“A what?”
“You know, like a Kewpie doll? Did you love me because you couldn’t have Andy?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That’s not an answer, Eddie.”
“That happened two years ago. Everything was different then. We didn’t even date.”
“I know. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
There was an agonizing pause. Jamie was afraid of what it meant, and held his breath.
“Yes. I loved Andy, but I fell in love with you.”
“Thank you.” Jamie reached for Eddie’s hand and grasped it in the darkness. They held each other for several minutes without saying another word.
Eddie finally asked, “Can you answer a question for me?”
“Of course.”
“What the hell is a Kewpie doll?”
Their laughter was cut short by the clanging of keys. A strip of light cut through the darkness as the door to the dungeon opened. Mordecai and Sharar walked in carrying a kerosene lantern. The light cast menacing, ominous shadows onto the walls.
“You boys are more trouble than you’re worth,” Mordecai said. “And all we’re trying to do is give you the chance at salvation.”
Jamie tried to squint past the light. All he could see were their outlines. “This is America, Mordecai. You can’t lock us away just because you don�
��t like the way we live our lives.”
“I just did.” Mordecai’s laugh echoed through the chamber. “Besides, this isn’t a dungeon. It’s the Brethren’s Spiritual Confinement Center.”
“So you confine people’s spirituality here?”
“If need be, yes.”
“Well, you’ll never be able to confine mine or Eddie’s. So what are you going to do with us?”
“Nothing, until after Easter.”
“What happens then?”
“I’ll hand down your sentence. Lapidation. Being stoned to death.”
Jamie held his breath.
“It’s a biblical tradition. First, we select the rocks. Size is very important. They have to be small enough so the victim isn’t killed with just one or two throws. Yet the rocks have to be large enough to be dangerous, and eventually lethal.”
“Very ingenious,” Jamie said.
“Then we’ll bury you waist-deep. Your hands will be tied, too. That way, you can’t escape.”
“Figures.”
“And then the Faithfuls will take turns pummeling you with their rocks. They’ll like that.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Sharar. They have no reason to hate us.”
“Hate doesn’t need a reason. It just needs to be cultivated.”
“No. People aren’t murderers. They don’t like to kill.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Mordecai corrected. “People love to kill. What they don’t like is experiencing the punishment if they’re caught. But guilt is a funny concept. The more it’s shared, the less it bothers people, and that’s the great thing about stoning. It doesn’t cast blame. Since the wounds are cumulative, no one particular throw can be proven to have actually caused the death. And everyone is innocent.”
“And it’s all for the glory of Mordecai,” Jamie said sarcastically.
“You’re absolutely right.” He held up his arms to the sky. “Thanks be to me. And if things go well this Easter, I might broadcast your execution on national television. Now if you’ll excuse us, I have some things to attend to.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Ellen’s cell phone rang and vibrated at the same time. Her heartbeat increased as she picked up the phone. The text message was from Jamie.
Girlfriend, I am extremely sorry for not getting back to you. I have decided to call off the investigation since nothing bad is happening here. Everyone is pretty chill. We will be going home soon. I will talk to you later. Sweetcakes.
“Thank goodness he and Eddie are safe,” she said to herself. “I knew that message had to be a joke. On papyrus paper? It was just too weird.”
She looked at Jamie’s text one more time. It was strange, too. It didn’t look like a typical message from Jamie. The language was stilted, it didn’t have any abbreviations or emoticons. And it was punctuated, which Jamie never did. And she’d never heard him use the word chill before.
She returned his text. AYS CM 88, Ellen In other words, Are you serious? Call me! Hugs and kisses, Ellen
She waited a long time, but didn’t get the requested phone call or even another text. A list of possible scenarios ran through her mind when the second text came through: Sorry, but I have got to go. My husband is calling me. Later, sweetcakes.
She felt a little better, even though Jamie’s response still didn’t seem normal. But I’ve got to allow the guys some slack. Being stuck inside an ultraconservative cult would probably change anyone. When they get back home, I’ll deprogram them with Katy Perry songs.
She plopped herself down on the couch, laughing. Thank God my boys are okay. Now was the perfect opportunity to forget about the investigation and get to know Chris on a personal level.
Criminy! She’d forgotten all about Chris. They had an appointment to meet at his place near the Boston Harbor. She checked the clock. She was late.
She programmed Chris’s address into her Porsche’s GPS. Hoping to save time by avoiding the sightseers, she sped down side streets rather than taking the main road. But when she got to his address, it wasn’t an apartment or a condo. It was a posh hotel, even swankier than the company’s corporate condos in Dedham.
She went inside the lobby, where the concierge said she was expected. A bellboy escorted her to the Independence Suite on the top floor, room 1212. When they got there, he even rang the doorbell for her.
This joint must cost him a fortune, she thought.
Chris opened the door and handed the bellboy a couple of bills as a tip. She apologized for being late as she walked inside.
“That’s okay,” he said. “Want a beer?”
“Only if it’s Sam Adams.”
“Is there any other kind?” He grinned and made his way to the kitchen. “Well, you look happy today. That must mean one thing. You heard from your friends.”
“Yeah, and what a relief.” Ellen went to the windows to take in the view. The windows ran from floor to ceiling and had automatic venetian blinds. She played with the switch, opening and closing them. “Turns out the message was a hoax, and nothing out of the ordinary is happening there. They’ll be coming home soon.”
“That’s great.” Chris handed her the beer, but with a sad look on his face. “Does that mean you’ll be going home, too?”
Ellen’s mood dropped. “Well, I have to go back to med school. I haven’t even finished my first year.”
Chris moved away from the window. “I figured you’d be leaving.”
Ellen didn’t look at him, afraid her eyes would get teary if she did. I finally get a chance for a relationship with a decent guy, and I’m the one calling it off. “Heck, New York and Boston are so close, we’re practically neighbors.”
Chris seemed to take her cue. “And there are dozens of commuter flights every day.”
“If you could still afford to fly,” Ellen said. “This place must cost a fortune. Why didn’t you move into the corporate condos? It would have been much cheaper.”
“I know, but those condos are so close to work. I’d be called in at all hours. Besides, your father keeps me so busy, this space gives me a place to decompress.”
“Oh go ahead, blame it on Daddy. But I must admit, the view here is great.” The suite overlooked Boston’s harbor. It had scenic views of the piers, boats of every size, and fancy restaurants. A block away, Ellen even saw a large white tent with dozens of workmen outside. “What’s that?” she asked.
Chris walked back to the window and looked down the street. “Oh, that’s the Pavilion, an outdoor amphitheater. And you’re right, it is big. It’s supposed to seat five thousand people.”
“In that tent? Wow. What are they getting ready for?”
“Beats me,” he said, moving away.
The tent fascinated her, however. Workmen were constructing a huge cross at the entrance. Television and satellite trucks were all over the place. Workers laid cables and hung huge lighting grids. She squinted her eyes and was able to read the marquee at the entrance: The Annual Easter Sunrise Worship Service, sponsored by the American Council of Conservative Christians.
She cringed. “Remind me not to be around here on Sunday. The thought of five thousand right-wing Christians roaming the streets scares me to death.”
“You’ve got that right,” Chris said, taking a plastic bag out of his pocket. He held it out to her. “So, you want to catch a buzz?”
“You mean smoke a joint?” He nodded, and she nodded back. They made their way to the living room, but didn’t sit on the couch. They moved the coffee table to the side and sat cross-legged on the rug.
Chris laid a couple of joints on the floor. He lit one and took a toke. He handed it to Ellen. She hadn’t smoked pot on a regular basis for a while. In fact, she hadn’t since graduating from Stratburgh. She and Chris took turns, but nothing happened until about her fourth toke. A sense of calm enveloped her. She even felt kind of floaty.
After a few more inhalations, she started getting high. It felt good, exciting and sexy. She won
dered if Chris thought she was sexy. She offered him the roach. He inhaled deeply and moved toward her. As he got closer, she opened her mouth to accept his kiss. Their lips touched and he gently exhaled into her mouth. It was the most intimate moment she’d ever experienced. She loved him.
Chris took Ellen by the hands and led her to the bedroom. Panic surged through her, though. She’d never had to disclose her status under such intimate circumstances before. She feared he would reject her, especially since she’d waited until this moment to tell him. But she never expected this to happen so early in their relationship.
She stopped at the bedroom door. “Chris, I need to tell you something.” He looked into her eyes, and she wanted to cry. She bit her bottom lip. “I’m HIV positive.”
“Oh,” he said. Ellen’s heart stopped. He smiled and gently touched her cheek with his fingers. “That’s okay. We’ll be safe.”
He finished leading her into the bedroom and she closed her eyes. I may have won at love after all.
Chapter Thirty-six
Good Friday
Zacchaeus tossed and turned on his mat. He threw his pillow to the side and put his hands under his arms to stop them from shaking. He felt like he had back at the Second Birth Treatment Center—like a nobody, without anyone caring if he lived or died. He figured Eddie was just saying those things to make him feel better. Obviously, Eddie didn’t care for him and never had.
It was also obvious Sharar didn’t have any affection for him, either. A pissant faggot. Zacchaeus knew he was missing essential qualities the rest of the Disciples had, yet he was anything but pissant. He was strong. He was certainly better-looking than Raamiah. Zacchaeus had thought that he and Sharar were developing a friendship, becoming confidants. He was Sharar’s little soldier. Perhaps with time, he would even become his lover.
Or maybe I’m just being foolish again. I’m just a little man trying to be noticed in a world of important men. I’m truly forsaken.
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