Tribe (32 page)

“Then you've come to the right place. If you give yourself to God then you'll find love and happiness. That's what we're doing here in this house, coming together in love.”

She glanced over at him, saw tears welling in his eyes. And so she couldn't stop herself. He needed help. He needed a true friend. He was in pain, pain that was honest and sincere. She leaned over, kissed him on the cheek.

He blurted. “I…I had sex with another guy.”

It took her by surprise, and at first she didn't know what to say. She didn't even know him, they hadn't even spoken five words before this, but she'd never seen someone open up so quickly, so deeply.

“We all make mistakes,” said Martha. “God the Father is infinite in His mercy.”

“Then…then a few days ago I wasn't very nice to a friend of mine. A girl. We were in a motel. I was drunk, I
…
I made her have sex with me.”

She squeezed his hand. “You don't need to tell me this. You need to
—
”

“
But I want to. I have to. I have to tell someone at least.”

“You need to find God the Father and tell Him. We can help you—find Him, I mean. All of us can. Don't worry.”

“It's too late. Something worse happened. Something at college. I need to turn myself in to the police. I did something horrible. I…I need to tell the authorities.”

“No, silly,” she said, amazed at his agony. “You don't need to tell anyone but God.”

“But you don't understand.”

“Of course I do. I understand that the police can't help you. And I understand that God can.” She glanced upward at the dark sky. “Look! Look a falling star! It's a sign, Pat! A sign for you to reach out to heaven.”

“What happened was horrible, I
—
”

“Shh. Whatever it was is between you and God. Find Him and you'll find eternal love and forgiveness.”

“Do you remember that night, Rick?” said Martha, wiping tears from her own eyes. “You just started weeping. Sobbing. And I thought I'd never seen anything so pure, so honest. That was the man I fell in love with, that young man who was drowning in a sea of despair, who was reaching out…reaching out to me.”

“Stop it, Martha!” snapped Rick.

“And that's what I grew to loathe about you. After that night you never really gave yourself to God or anyone else, particularly me. Whatever was burning inside you never turned into love. No, gradually, bit by bit, it just turned bitter, and over time it turned into hate, didn't it?”

“Now's not the time for this kind of nonsense!”

Suddenly it was all so clear, thought Todd, staring across the stage at Rick. He understood. What had happened so long ago had kept Todd in the closet for years; Rick, on the other hand, had hidden elsewhere.

“You didn't join that church to find God or to be sexually rehabilitated or anything like that, did you?” said Todd. “Hell no, that's not what you've been hiding from, is it?”

“Spare me your accusations!”

“It was just like you said, you didn't see anyone else on that fire escape, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“You didn't see anyone else because, of course, it was you out there. You got that window open, didn't you? Somehow you went out on that fire escape.”

“God's wisdom is all-encompassing.”

“It was you—you out there with Greg. I saw you, didn't I? And what did you do, push Greg? Is that the truth you wanted to confess to Martha, that you killed someone?”

Rick stared at him, hesitated, then blurted, “You were the coward, not me. At least I didn't run away.”

He
ran to the window. What a bastard, that Greg! He'd tell the entire fucking fraternity! And Pat reached for the window, tried to pull it upward, but it didn't budge.

“Todd, I can't get the window up! Help me!”

When Pat turned around, though, Todd wasn't right there. He was standing in the doorway, ready to run. Their eyes met, the terror mutual, but instead of coming to his aid, Todd turned and fled. Vanished, just like that. Todd was gone, he'd fled, abandoned him. For an instant Pat just stood there, overwhelmed with shock; he'd never felt so alone in his life. Then he turned, saw Greg laughing out on the fire escape, pointing at him, mouthing the word:
Faggot!

Something in Pat exploded. Burst. He grabbed the window, gritted his teeth, gathered strength he didn't know he had, and shoved it upward. The cold air flooded in, constricting around his nearly naked body.

Greg stood out there on the black metal fire escape, laughing and pointing, a cigarette in one hand. “I
was just out here having a smoke when I thought I heard something in your room. It was pretty dark in there, so I took a peek, and what do I see but a couple of faggots!” He laughed. “Man, wait till I tell the guys about this
—
you and Todd! Holy shit, we're gonna have us a wienie roast! I always thought you were a queer. I
always knew you didn't belong in our fraternity. But Todd? Wow, wait till the guys hear about this!”

“Fuck you!” said Pat, scrambling out the window in his underwear.

“Oh, help me, help me, a sissy!”

Pat swung, but Greg was quicker and quite a bit stronger, a star hockey player in the peak of fitness. He flicked his cigarette into the air, then caught Pat by the wrist, just like that, just that quickly.

Not releasing Pat, Greg softly, gently taunted: “Faggot!”

Pat wasn't going to take this. No! And summoning his strength a second time, Pat twisted his body in an attempt to jerk his arm free. That was when it happened. Greg lost his balance, that was all. The fire escape was so narrow, so flimsy. He started to fall back and he reached out, grabbed for something, anything. Found nothing. Greg tried to catch himself but the railing was low, and when he went over he only managed to grab on with one hand.

“Help me!” Greg pleaded, hanging desperately from the grating.

Towering above him, Pat looked down at Greg's fingers as they clutched the slippery metal bar, and then said, “Fuck off!”

“Okay,
so I went out there,” said Rick calmly, “but Greg fell.”

Todd stared at him and knew the truth. “Bullshit. You pushed him, you killed him, didn't you? That's the truth that's been eating you all these years.”

Paul demanded, “What's he saying, Rick?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” he shouted, pressing the gun against Janice's temple.

“I'm saying you killed someone,” said Todd. “Or at the very least you contributed to his death.”

“You're filled with the devil, Todd Mills, you sodomite!”

Todd said calmly, “There are just some things that can never be cleansed, namely, the truth.”

Suddenly Ribka started to cry, and Zeb said, “Dad…Dad, please let Janice go.”

“We have to leave! We have to get out of here, get back to The Congregation where we'll be safe!”

“Dad, please!”

“Rick…the baby,” begged Janice. “At least let Zeb take her.”

Paul released Zeb and stepped forward. “Give me the gun, Rick.”

“What? But Paul, we—”

“This isn't right,” continued Paul.

Quite abruptly, a high voice shouted out from the back. “Why's everyone always treat me like a dog?”

“God Almighty!” thundered Rick. “I told you to stay in the car, Suzanne!”

“That's exactly what I mean—I'm supposed to wait in the car like a good dog. And here all of you are, up here in this bar, every one of you, including my baby!”

Shocked, Zeb looked out, then in a small voice said, “Hi, Suzanne.”

“Oh, Zeb…are you all right?”

He nodded.

“And Ribka?”

Still tight in Rick's grip, Janice asked, “Please, Rick, just let me give the baby to her mother.”

“No!”

“Rick—” began Paul.

“Don't come any closer, Paul. All of you just stay where you are! Anyone touches me and I'll kill her!” he shouted, pressing the barrel firmly against Janice's head.

Todd could barely breathe. He saw the pistol buried against Janice's head, saw the fear strip her face of any color. Sweat burst across Todd's brow. He glanced sideways, saw Rawlins out on the main floor, tense and ready to dart forward. But they were too far away. There was nothing they could do.

“This is not God the Father's way,” said Paul.

“Shut up!”

“You've strayed, Rick. You no longer stand on The Promises.”

“How dare you!”

“Give me the gun!”

Maybe he'd really do it, maybe he'd really shoot, and Todd's voice, little more than a whisper, said, “Wait, I—”

“You pull that trigger, Rick,” continued Paul, “and you will have the wrath of the Lord upon you.”

“Stop!”

“No.”

“I'll shoot her!”

“Then we'll know where Satan truly lurks.”

“Stop it! Just stop it!” shouted Suzanne, running forward and reaching into her bag and pulling out a pistol of her own. “Anybody hurts my baby and I'll kill him!”

Swinging his gun at her, Rick yelled, “You ignorant slut!”

“Dad, no!” cried Zeb, lunging forward.

But it was too late. Rick took aim at Suzanne and squeezed the trigger. Todd flinched, expected a blast. There was, however, none. Rick pulled the trigger again and again. Still not a single bullet fired, and Rick was paralyzed.

Paul calmly said, “I've never had it loaded. Never.”

“You fool!”

Rick threw Janice and Ribka aside and darted toward the edge of the stage, rushing at Suzanne and her gun.

“Don't!” shouted Suzanne. “Don't! Stay back!”

Charging her, he leapt off the stage. Suzanne focused the gun right on him. And fired.

Todd ripped up one
of Jeff' s old gowns, a white cotton summer dress, and Rawlins, using a first aid technique he'd been taught down at the police station, held the bleeding in check until the paramedics arrived. Nevertheless, the loss of blood was extreme, for the bullet had struck Rick just beneath the left shoulder. Bending over the wounded man, who lay on the floor between a couple of round cocktail tables, Todd first feared that an artery had been pierced. When Rick had trouble breathing a few minutes later, Todd guessed that a lung had been punctured.

“Just hang on, Dad,” begged Zeb, clutching his father's hand and trying to hold back the tears. “Help's on the way. The ambulance is coming. You're going to be okay. Just…just hang on.”

Rick tried to speak, stared at Zeb for several seconds, then closed his eyes and nodded.

“One of the best trauma centers in the country is only a few blocks away,” added Todd. “We'll get you there in a few minutes.”

Relieved, concerned, amazed, Todd stood up and glanced across the room. Not too far away, Paul had his big arms around Suzanne, who was sobbing, horrified that she'd actually shot someone, while the grandmothers, Janice and Martha, tried to calm Ribka, who'd been so terribly startled by the gun blast and the ensuing commotion. At least, thought Todd, no one else was hurt.

In a few minutes the ambulance arrived and two men and a woman came bounding up the stairs of the Gay Times and into the Show Room. They took over then, slowing the loss of blood even more, putting an oxygen mask on Rick, then lifting him onto a gurney.

“I'm here, Dad!” shouted Zeb, refusing to let go of his father's hand. “Dad, I'm right here!”

This time, however, he got no response, not even a nod.

“We've got to take him now,” said one of the medics, a tall guy with red hair.

Zeb demanded, “He's going to be all right, isn't he?”

“I think we've got him stabilized. We'll do all that we can.”

Janice came up behind Zeb, placed a hand on either of his shoulders. “Do you want to go with him in the ambulance?”

“Yeah.”

“That would be great,” the female medic, an athletic woman with brown hair, said to Zeb. “Your father's going to need a transfusion, and blood from a relative is always best.”

“Sure, but…but…I can't.”

Todd saw this ripple of panic wash across Zeb's face. Or was it helplessness?

“What are you trying to say, Zeb?” asked Todd.

“I can't give him blood—he's not my birth father. His blood is type O, mine's AB.”

Janice, clearly shocked, demanded, “What? How do you know that?”

Zeb stated simply, “When Mom told me I was adopted, she gave me a whole file on me. The letter from you and all the legal stuff was in there. Everything, including Mom and Dad's wedding certificate. They got married by a judge, and their blood types were written down.”

Todd looked at Janice, the shock shooting through them both. Todd knew what Zeb was saying, what it meant. Janice was type A, Rick was O. They couldn't have produced a child who was AB. But Janice and Todd could have, because Todd was type B.