“Are you sure?” I ask Tad.
He fidgets and shifts uneasilybeside me on the couch across from the TV in his penthouse. We’re both insweats. My arm is cradled in a white sling that my doctor says I’ll be in for afew weeks while my arm heals from the serious stab wound Maggie gave me. Tad’swasn’t as bad.
The interview with the Fraziers isabout to begin. It’s not something I’m eager to watch, but we both want tounderstand the mentality behind the psychos who were so determined to kill usthat night. I can’t imagine any victim of a crime not eagerly jumping towardthe opportunity of understanding their attackers the way we have the privilegeof discovering through the Kira Wilde interview that’s airing tonight. Throughwhatever ropes Kira pulled, she has the exclusive story that is surely covetedby most other networks right now. Amazing that she was able to land it. I wascertain the Fraziers would discover some money-grubbing attorney who wouldencourage them to keep their crazy mouths shut.
It’s only been a few nights sincethe attack. Since that day in the hospital, I’ve had to stifle my impulse toact like a bodyguard around Tad. I’m just his boyfriend. Although, now thatwe’re officially an item, I feel more protective of him than ever before.
“I wanted to shoot his fucking brainsout,” Frazier shouts at Kira. The cursing is bleeped, but does little todisguise what he said.
He’s dressed in orange, his longstrands of dark hair scattered in a mess across his scalp. He has a fiveo’clock shadow. His appearance makes it seem as though he didn’t even attemptto look presentable for the interview. Almost as though he wanted to appear tobe the victim, rather than the aggressor.
“But you didn’t shoot him,” Kirasays. She looks as cool and collected as she did the day she interviewed Tad.And I have to admit I’m still a little pissed at her for how she surprised himwith that shit about his mother. “And you could have shot his partner, BryceFinnegan, at the time, but why didn’t you?”
“I don’t think you understand, Ms.Wilde. I don’twantto hurt anyone. What I do, I do because the Lordcompels me to do it.”
His tone, calm and collected, isso distant from the Frazier we encountered a few nights earlier—the one withthat determined look in his eyes, unleashing such passionate war-cries. I wonderif it’s part of the cool, collected religious leader look he’s spent yearscrafting. “With the two faggots before Roarke, I had very clear visions that Iwas to take myself and my wife, and we were to be the ones to execute them.”
“Did you have a vision aboutRoarke?”
“The first vision was aboutshooting him.”
“But that didn’t work out. Didn’tthat make you question your vision?”
He smiles, his eyes sparkling witha passion that I’m sure left so many of his followers enchanted by his words.“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Ms. Wilde. And I admit, I was surprised anddiscouraged, but I reached within, and I prayed about it, and he came to me ina dream and said that I wasn’t to be discouraged because he had a more powerfulplan for Tad Roarke…and that he needed me to make a great spectacle of him, toshow all who transgressed that the blood of those like him needed to be spilledacross the streets to repair this world from the Sodom and Gomorrah that it hasbecome.”
Kira tilts her head. “But again,you failed, so what do you think now?”
“When Joan of Arc was beingtortured for her faith, she asked God time and time again why he didn’t rescueher from her imprisonment, but again, it isn’t our place to question his will.We may just obey and trust that everything leads to his greater vision of thisworld.”
“So you don’t see this as youhaving failed him?”
“I did as I was asked and to thebest of my ability and with an open heart for his wisdom, so no, I think thateven now is a part of his plan. Perhaps it was really his desire for me to actas a beacon of light. For people to hear his words through me. To give me thisplatform so that others may follow my lead and help us out of these darktimes.”
“And what is it that you wantpeople to follow your lead on? That members of the LGBT community are evil andneed to be killed?”
He pauses, and for the first time,appears to be thinking before he speaks. He leans back in his chair, raisinghis cuffed hands as though preparing to pray.
“If your hand—even your strongerhand—causes you to sin,” he says, “then you must cut it off. These abominationsare the hands of our society. They’re doing this to us. They’re the reason thisworld is being cast into the depths of hell. Because you believe in theseabominations more than you believe in the God who died for you. Because likethe followers of Moses, when you could not see your God, you denied him. Youcreated false idols and worshiped your wicked, vile impulses. Have youforgotten that without God we are no different from the beasts that rape andmurder and torture one another without empathy or shame? Do not be misguided bythese dark messengers of Satan. They are here to lure you away from the divine.To capture your spirits in the fiery abyss.”
I can see that Tad’s struggling towatch this asshole spewing such vicious words about us, and if he’s like me,he’s terrified about Frazier’s words because he’s wondering if it might reallybe true that some divine force despises us for what we are.
I raise the remote and turn offthe TV.
“Should have done that a lotsooner,” I say. “You okay?”
“Not really,” he says.
He lays his head on my shoulder. Iwrap my arm around him and pull him close.
We sit in silence, and my thoughtsdrift back to when I was younger. To Jim, my foster dad, smacking me around. Tothe sting, not just of the belt, but of feeling so betrayed and abandoned bythe world. A lost boy wondering if that was the way it would always be. I haveto remind myself that even though there are assholes like Frazier out there,there are people who support us. People who care about us. And that at the endof the day, at the very least, we have each other.
“There’ve always been those guyson the team who I can tell don’t like me because I’m gay,” Tad says. Clearly,he’s doing the same sort of reflection as myself. “They don’t like to talk tome much even though they’ll talk to the other guys. But I know they have theirown feelings. From where they were raised. From what they were taught. I guesssince they never say it out loud, I never give much thought to it. Just thinkof them as jerks and let that be that. But seeing this quack vocalizing thingsthat I know so many people believe...it scares me when I think that there are alot of people who, even though they don’t say these kinds of things or do thesekinds of things, believe them.”
“There are a lot of shitty peoplein the world.”
He pivots his head on my shoulderand looks up at me. “This is the part where you’re supposed to remind me thatthere are some good people out there too.”
“Guess you’re not the one whoneeds to be reminded.”
