Thinking Straight (33 page)

“But…I don't quite get it. Why did you come here?” His eyes close again. And suddenly I know. “He was ‘purifying' you, wasn't he?”

Just then the door opens. Sean is on his feet in a flash, and when Bartle sees him he tries to run. But Sean tackles him neatly, banging Bartle's head against the wall in the process.

“Get the rope, Taylor.”

It feels so good being able to return the favor, tying Bartle up. When we've got him sufficiently trussed, he starts muttering scripture. I can't really tell what he's saying, but he sounds demented or something.

Sean says, “I'll stay here and watch him. You go get help. Get John. He'll know what to do. Then get to the laundry room as quick as you can and get them out of there.”

“John? You want me to get John McAndrews?”

“He'll know what to do.”

Well, what we've got to do is call the police. But I'm not gonna argue with the guy who just saved my life. I hightail it out of the chapel, wondering where I should start, but before I get too far into the main building I see Peter.

“Hey, Taylor! Did Sean find you?”

“Yeah. Do you know where John is?”

“His room. I just walked by.”

“Get everyone out of the laundry room
now.
They can't be in there. The shit's gonna hit the fan.”

“What? Why?”

I'm shouting now. “Just do it!” And I dash off.

I squeak around the corner to the boys' wing and head for John's room. He's there, just like Peter said, and no Leland in sight. I stand there panting, not knowing how to start.

“Taylor?”

“Sean said to come get you. It's Bartle. He attacked me. Sean has him tied up in the chapel.”

He's on his feet before I even finish, fishing a cell phone out of his pocket. I walk—trot—beside him, listening to his side of the conversation.

“He attacked Taylor…. Yes, ma'am…. No, he's okay, he's with me. He says Sean has the reverend in the chapel. Tied up.” He looks at me for confirmation and I nod. “I'm on my way there now…. I don't think there's any choice, but I'll call you as soon as I get there…. Okay. See you soon.”

I ask, “Was that Mrs. Harnett?” John sure sounded like he already knew something about this thing and I want to know if she's told him. If she really trusts him.

“Yes. Taylor, quickly, can you tell me what happened?”

This might get a little tricky. “Bartle and I were in the chapel, praying together. Then he started talking about how I could be purified if I could get too much of what Satan wanted me to have. So he took me into the corner office and he came on to me. He pulled his pants down….”

John stops dead in his tracks. I screech to a halt, and he looks hard at me. “Taylor, this is very important. Are you absolutely positive? What did he do?”

“He kissed me. On the mouth. And with his tongue. He pulled our hips together and said to pretend he was someone I wanted.”

John's in motion again. “Maybe you should go back to your room.”

“I really need to see this through.”

Sean and Bartle are pretty much as I'd left them. John says, “You hit him?”

“He had Taylor tied up. He was gonna kill him.”

John punches on his cell again and moves off a little. I look at Sean's face. He's calmed down quite a bit. Maybe too much. He seems out of it. I ask, “You okay?”

He nods. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, thanks to you. He was going to. He was going to rape me and then kill me. He said so.” There's an awkward silence, and then I add, “Thank you.”

He looks at me, tears in his eyes, and then he hugs me. When he lets go I have to sit down. It's just starting to hit me what nearly happened in there, and I'm feeling pretty shaky.

John comes over. “Mrs. Harnett is on her way. She's phoning the police and Dr. Strickland. They're going to want to talk with both of you. I'll wait here. Sean, if you like, you can wait with me. Taylor, I think maybe Charles should be told what's happened, don't you?”

So he did know the whole thing. But still, probably not about the circle. I nod. “I need to sit here for just a minute.” John paces around, but Sean stands over Bartle like some saintly version of Cerberus, guarding the domain of Hades, making sure no demons escape. I watch Sean watching Bartle, and I wonder what will happen to their arrangement now. Nate had said something about Bartle speaking for Sean so he could stay out of prison. And Sean's paid quite a price, though I'll bet no one but the three of us know about that. So far.

The thought of Charles pulls on me. I get up and tell Sean, “I'll go talk to Charles now.” He just nods.

John calls to me, “Taylor, please stay in your room so we can find you when the police are ready to talk to you.” I wave an acknowledgment.

I keep thinking I'm going to meet up with someone, maybe one of the circle kids as they head back to their rooms in ones and twos, but the halls are empty. I'm glad; I'm not really sure what I'd say to them. It's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other while single-frame images of my ordeal flash onto my mental view screen, out of sequence. The sight of that open door waiting for me. Bartle's jaw grinding while he makes me talk dirty to him. Blood spurting from Bartle's nose. Bartle raising his arms to the heavens as he shouts scripture at Sean. Sean's fist launching from his body. Bartle trussed up on the floor, mumbling in tongues. Bartle looking possessed as he describes what he'll do to me.

Something hits me from the side and I realize I've stumbled against the wall. I lean there for a minute, eyes closed, breathing shallow. I try to calm myself by thinking only about being rescued. Sean punching Bartle's lights out. Sean carrying me out on his shoulder—hey, under other circumstances, that might have been fun.

I allow myself a moment of near-hysterical giggling, and when I manage to push off again my head seems clearer.

The door to my room is open and the lights are on. In fact, there's someone seated at my desk. It's Nate.

I stand there in the doorway staring at him like an idiot. Why's he here? He just looks at me. Finally I say, “Where's Charles?”

Nate looks toward the other desk. I peek around the door, and there's my roommate, head on his arms, leaning on his desk. He doesn't look up.

Nate gets up and says, “You look like the wrath of Satan, Taylor. Here, sit.” I do, and he hands me some papers he's holding that I hadn't even noticed. He shuts the door and stands there watching me.

I look down at the papers and try to focus, but the letters just swim. I clench my eyes shut, open them, and try again. I give up. “What is this?”

Nate scowls a little. “Charles was working on this when I got here, looking for you. Um, are you okay? Where were you?” He can't exactly ask why I sent Peter to scatter the members of our little house church. Not with Charles right there.

I look over at Charles, still bent over his arms, and say, “I was with Reverend Bartle.”

That gets him. He sits up and looks at me. “What did you say?”

“Charles, I know what he was doing to you. He was doing it to Ray. He probably killed Ray. He tried to kill me. When did he start hurting you?”

He's flustered, but he manages to say, “After Leland's Apology.”

Looking back, this makes sense; it's about when Charles started getting really weird. And if he'd known what Bartle did in there before Ray died, he'd never have let Ray go to the chapel alone the night he died. I turn to Nate. “You told Charles about Leland's note, right?”

“I—yes. Taylor, what did you do? What d'you mean, he tried to kill you?”

I set the papers on my desk and take a shaky breath. “I tempted him. I told him I was unable to stop lusting after boys and I needed his help. He took me into his office”—here Charles covers his face with his hands—“and told me he was going to give me too much of what Satan wanted me to have to make me not want it anymore. Then he tried to have sex with me. When I refused and tried to get away, he tied me up with a rope and told me he was going to kill me, after he—you know. Sean found us, and he hit Bartle. He saved my life.”

The silence in the room is a testament to the impact of my story. But it doesn't last long. Pretty soon Charles's sobbing breaks it.

Nate takes my shoulder and gets me to my feet, and we both get Charles up. We stand there together, holding Charles while he cries. Then somehow we're all sitting on the floor, a box of tissues beside Charles.

Charles speaks first. “You did that for me, didn't you?”

“Mostly. But also for Ray.” And for Sean, though I didn't know it then.

Charles says, “You didn't even know Ray.”

“He was a brother, just the same. And he was gay. And he shouldn't have been here, any more than you or I should.” There's quiet, and then I ask Nate, “What are those papers, anyway?”

Nate looks at Charles. “Do you want to tell him?”

Charles exhales and says, “Reverend Bartle made me write down all my feelings, my impressions, of what happened when—when I was in his office. He said it would help reinforce the lesson I was supposed to be learning. Nate…well, he found me writing them.”

So this is what Charles had been hiding all those times. I laugh, more of a bark. “Lesson? He was just getting off on it. He made you give these impressions to him, didn't he?” Charles, looking absolutely miserable, nods. I go on. “He wanted me to tell him all the details of my imagined encounters with the love of my life. He couldn't get enough. Every time I would stop, he'd say, ‘Go on,' and his voice was getting all hoarse. He was lapping it up. He's a pedophile, Charles. A rapist. The worst kind, 'cause he used God as a weapon.”

“And you exposed him.”

Nate chimes in here. “And nearly lost your life in the process. Taylor, what were you thinking? I told you to—”

“Look, don't go on at me. You know very well we needed evidence. I just didn't know how bad it would get. I didn't mean to nearly get myself offed, you know.”

“Well, I'm sure Mrs. Harnett will not be so easily put off. She'll take you to task, risking your life like that. What's happening now?”

“The police are on their way. They may be here by now. John's in the chapel with Sean, and your…I mean, Mrs. Harnett is probably there by now, too. John called her, and she was going to call the police. They'll be coming in here when they're ready to talk to me.”

“They'll want those,” and Nate nods toward the papers on my desk.

Paper. I untie my right shoe, pull out the inner sole and then the article, and hand the paper to Charles. “Here. You're already weepy, and it's possible this might make it worse, but it's something you need to know.”

He takes it kind of gingerly, like it might bite him. It just might. But he needs it. Nate looks at me, a question on his face. “Let him read it first. Then you,” I tell him. “I talked about it in…um, to Peter already.”

Charles looks up at me once about halfway through, a pained expression on his face, but he goes back to reading. Then he hands it to Nate in utter silence. His eyes aren't focusing on anything. I'm dying to ask what he's thinking, but I want Nate on board first, so I keep quiet, hoping he'll read fast.

When Nate finally looks up, Charles looks at me and says, “It's all lies.”

“Charles, it's science. They—”

“No, I mean what they've been telling us here. All lies.”

“Not lies,” says Nate. “They're just misguided about this. If our situation were the same as it was two thousand years ago, it would still be a sin. It would jeopardize our whole community if all the homosexuals didn't have kids. But things have changed. It's just that people really want to know exactly what they should and shouldn't do, and for most people it's easy to go on calling what you are a sin. But they're wrong.”

“Some things haven't changed,” I add. “It must still be a sin to murder or rape. But not to be gay.”

“Rape,” Charles echoes. “I knew it had to be wrong. I knew it. Why did I believe him? Why did I let him do that to me?” His eyes close, and he strains his head back, obviously fighting a new deluge from his private vale of tears. Nate and I sort of look away and wait until Charles seems to recover. He takes a shaky breath and asks, “What's
ESO?”

I laugh, and it sounds high and weird. Guess it's the tension. “Equipment Smarter than Operator. It's IM. It means that even when we don't know what biology is doing inside us, and even when we fight it, it knows what's right for us.”

“That's why I was fasting, you know.”

“What?” He's confused me, coming up with that out of nowhere.

“I wasn't making any progress. And I wanted you. So I tried fasting. It didn't help.”