LITTLE TRUTHS,

a short story Vincent Anioke

Fiction is the truth inside the lie,Stephen King

Chapter 1 FROM her window, she could see the new red car, resting beside the recently mown lawn. It was a hot summer afternoon, and heat waves had been rolling through Brusdeau Street ever since the month had begun. Everyone complained, but she could tell that underneath the perfunctory grimaces and unrefined swear-words the town had been pushing around, there was an aura of relaxedness she hadnt seen in people in a long time. The worst of the ugly political clash between Portshire, Auxville and Winchester, Auxville had finally come to an end, and the much-needed economic channels between both towns had been opened once again, pulling Portshire out of a murky pool much of the outside world could care less about. Cheryl Collins had understood the full implications of the decision to move with her husband and raise a family in Portshire, a small, suburban town in the middle of nowhere, and, a few fleeting doubts aside, she had never regretted it. Nineteen years had passed since she had said Of course honey, lets do this, in which time she had sprouted a beautiful family and a mostly fulfilled life. Her Yale-bound son, Andrew, was the gleaming model parents used to instill self-discipline in their kids; her nine-year-old daughter was a few dozen miles away in an academic camp, undoubtedly stunning kids twice her age with her mathematical proficiency. Her husband was one of five men on the Portshire Senior Council, highly respected and constantly praised. Nothing in her pre-Portshire life had suggested that God would send an ebb of blessings streaming from the heavens to wash her life. Nothing, neither her constantly drunk mother nor her cancer-battling father, neither her spiteful elder sisters nor her unfruitful writing degree, had pointed to a future of happiness. God had been faithful to her, and she never let it slip her mind. That was another good thing about Portshire, wasnt it? It wasnt like the big cities, full of sin, full of hell-bound unbelievers. It didnt subscribe to the Satan-inspired doctrines some of the liberals preached. She didnt like to think of the horrors that existed outside the boundary of Auxville, partly because those thoughts always left a nauseous aftertaste, but mostly because Andrew would soon be heading into that world. For all the financial bliss and reputation-expansion Yale offered, those things came with the ever-present catch, a risk of corruption, of spiritual infection. Dan always called her silly when she brought these very real fears to him, dismissing them in a distasteful nonchalant way she could do without, and he was clearly yet to understand the severity of the risks Andy would face in the absence of the perfect sensibilities Portshire offered. Or maybe not. Maybe Dan was sure that their boy had been raised well enough. That was certainly reasonable. She and Dan had been excellent parents, and the beauty of the towns spiritual

growth had diffused into Andrews life. As a family, they walked to St. Pauls twice a week for mass. They prayed every night before going to bed, and said grace before family meals. In all these habits fostered over the years, she had never seen an ounce of rebellion, of worldly seeds, of impatience or dissatisfaction in Andrews heart. He was a good person, mindful of the need to work hard and make his family proud, and even more mindful of the need to prepare for the Hereafter by maintaining spiritual integrity. That wouldn t change. Not here. Not in Connecticut. Not in the frightening impunity cesspool of places like New York, God forbidding that he ever had a reason to go there. No, Andrew would be fine. And the whole town was fine. Perfect, really. It was a perfect day, a fine day to look out the window just before heading for volunteer work at one of the towns elementary schools. Look outside at a beautiful world that heat waves and bygone political propaganda couldnt taint. Look outside and think of a lifetime of near-perfection, of happier years that were on the way. Yes, on that day, Cheryl Collins had a short, thoughtful epiphany, one that reminded her that life could be pleasant and perfect, that there was much to look forward to. Like most people who find the worst days of their lives starting out without a hint of trouble, Cheryl was ignorant of the utter devastation that was on the way.

Chapter 2 ANDREW Collins only looked up from his journal when he heard the whining engine of his moms new Volvo. From his window, he watched her back out onto Brusdeau Street and drive off, almost hearing the gospel song she was apt to be listening to on the radio. Probably My Lord, My Rock, or My Life unto Thee. He stared outside the window for a moment, catching some of the suns baking rays on his face. A bird shot past the house, and he watched it glide until it was out of view. Beep. He turned around sharply, reaching for his phone. He stared at the new message, his sudden excitement deflated. The text was from his dad: Hey buddy, Ill probably be back late tonight. Just checking up on you. Has Mikayla texted you yet? His younger sister Mikayla had been given his dads old phone so that she could keep in touch with the family from her camp in Winchester, but she had been somewhat

lax in that regard. The first and only time their dad had tried to call her, she had rejected the call immediately, calling back a few hours later to rantas much as a girl her age could anywaythat her dads call had interrupted one of the camp classes. Ill call often, shed promised, but Mikayla often lied, as only perhaps Andrew knew. She was one of few unblemished angels in the eyes of her parents. Andrew sent a reply: No, she hasnt texted me yet; Im fine. See you when you get home. He picked up his journal and continued writing, carefully moving his small black pen across the lines of each page, the words neat and narrow. His parents had emphasized on the importance of neat handwriting with the same vaguely annoying vigor they had employed in instructing him of the wonders of texting without teenage jargon and unnecessary contractions. He wrote for three more minutes and shut the book. On the front cover lay a small digital screen and a set of numbers. Andrew typed in a code, locking the journal. He placed it under his pillow, left his bedroom, and proceeded downstairs to the ground floor living room where the television was still on. Within it, a reverend father prayed for a faithful congregation. Andrew switched off the TV, sprawled himself against one of the living room sofas, and waited for his phone to beep. The beep came three minutes later, and it was the right one this time, signaling a message from his best friend Josh: We r here dawg opn d door ASAP!!! Andrew rose, stretching his hands. He hadnt gotten much sleep last night, and he knew that a few more minutes on the sofa would have sent his mind onto the shore of dreams. Josh was forty minutes late, nothing new. Andrew glanced outside one of the living room windows, just to be sure. Yup. Joshs Volkswagen lay on the driveway, and Josh himself was walking toward the front door, a tall blonde girl racing after him. Andrew swung the front door open. Late again, he scowled. Well, Im friggin happy to see you too, Joshua replied, grinning, punching Andrews shoulder. Lighten up man. Whats on TV? Hey Andrew, said Cynthia, Joshs girlfriend. Its been a while.

No kidding, Andrew replied indignantly as he swung the door shut. You guys know Ill be leaving soon, right? Josh picked up a remote control from a glass centerpiece and switched on the TV. Yada-yada. Youve just been dying for the chance to remind us youre a snotty Yale Prince, havent you? While we end up in community college. You and who? scoffed Cynthia, plopping herself on a couch. Community college if youre lucky, said Andrew, loosening up enough to smile. But Hicksville High is gonna be around for the next ten years at least , so I guess you are lucky. Whatever, said Josh, shrugging. College is overrated anyway. Chicks are the essence of life, and we both know Ill get all the hot ones. What do you say to that, horseface? You should talk, frog-nose, Andrew snorted. Yeah, I dont know, said Cynthia, looking at Andrews face carefully. Andrew is adorable. Yes! cried Andrew, clapping his hands. Thank you, Cynthia. In a false British accent, he added, Milady likes what she sees. Any comment frog-nose? Yeah, dude, Josh replied, throwing the remote control at him. Your cable sucks. And Cynthias only sucking up to you cuz shes pissed at me. Come on. Lets go to your room. You still have your Cards against Humanity collection? Nah, said Andrew, switching off the television for the second time. Dad warned me to bury em or burn em before mom saw them and freaked out. All those sinful vocabularies and what-not. Josh laughed. Well she can freak out at this, he said, motioning at his groin. Come on, kiddo. With that, Andrew Collins, Joshua Scales and Cynthia McIntyre headed to the first floor.

Chapter 3 THE temperature was still climbing on that late summer morning when Ebenezer Scales left home for work at the Portshire Mills. He reminded his wife to let the baby cry for a while if it opened its tiny little heavenly mouth and began bawling.

Toughen the little chump a bit, he had added, grinning at her. She wasnt really a fan of his parental tactics, growling in reply, Shes a little girl, not an NBA athlete! Eben wondered when his darling Lucy would learn that early trials bred thick skin. The youngest Scales was their fifth kid and the message still hadnt sunk in. Probably never would. On the radio, Amy Fitzgerald sang about healthy cows and harsh rains. She was the towns own superstar, one of few talents discovered during last years annual talent show. Her voice hit notes that inspired shivers and melancholy reflection. Eben believed she sang adorably, but hed had the misfortune of meeting the person behind the voice on a few occasions, and she was in a sorry state. She wasnt arrogant or rebellioushe didnt think anyone in the town was. But she was woefully ignorant of the simple things. Bow when you see an old man and say, How do you do today sir? Dont call your elders by their first names. As she crooned about worsening weathers, and maybe a good ol tornado like it was before, he conceded that maybe the beauty in her voice would spread out somehow to the rest of her. Damn girl can sing, he muttered to himself, but I still gotta give her old man a little chit-chat the next time I see him, the little bastard. I swear hes disappeared. And I still dont know why she thinks a tornado every once in a whiles a good thing. He turned onto Cadbury Avenue, brick houses sprouting on either side of him. Amy quieted down for a brief guitar solo before bursting into high pitches once again. As she said tornado for maybe the eleventh or twelfth time, Eben heard his truck growl. He frowned, wondering what was going on. The steady vibration of the floor beneath him had gotten irregular, in tandem with the uncharacteristic sputtering of the engine. He turned down the dial on the radio, trying to understand the sound more clearly, when he saw Jimmy Farnsworths van appear from an intersection a mere few feet ahead. Jesus! Eben shrieked, stamping on his brakes as much as he could. His eyes caught the blur of metal. He felt glass spray on his face, heard a nasty crunching sound from somewhere close by, wondered vaguely if there was apple pie in heaven and two seconds later, wondered nothing else.

Chapter 4 CAN you at least take your shoes off? begged Andrew in despair, watching as Josh flung his six-foot-one frame onto the twin-size bed.

Sorry Andy, said Cynthia, moving to a window. Josh and common sense dont mix very much. I see its in the air today to gang up against me, said Josh, digging a finger into his ear. Well babe, well see who youre gonna cuddle with tonight when we watch that zombie movie. She looked at him wonderingly. Really, Josh, really? Youre the screamer not me. So not! Josh screamed in a high-pitched note like the adult he was. Liar. Oh yeah? Remember when we watched Saw for the first time? You do not want me to tell Andy what happened. Wait, said Andy from where he stood by the door, his voice belying an enthusiasm that felt somewhat forced. What happened? Ah come on, snoopy droopy. Josh said, lifting Andys pillow to place it across his chest. None of your business. Hows Mikayla by the way? Ioh, look what I found. He picked up Andrews journal, which had been hidden by the pillow a few seconds ago. Secrets of the little Andrew. He punched in random keys, eliciting a warning beep from the book. Whats in here Andy? Hey! Andrew snarled, reaching forward quickly and prying his book out of Joshuas hands. Stop that! Keep your hands off my journal, Josh. You know that! Oh wow, said Cynthia, admiring the keypad on the books front cover. Thats so cool! Where did you get an awesome book like that? Some bookstore in Connecticut when he went there last year, said Josh, punching the pillow he had placed on his chest. And hes been all secret-government-agent on me since he got the damn thing, like he works for the NSA or something. Its none of your business, said Andrew, sticking out his tongue. He slid the journal into one of his deep trouser pockets and sat by the foot of his bed. He shared a small, uncomfortable glance with Cynthia. So, said Josh, now drumming on the pillow. Its been a while, you know. Two weeks. Andrew made a scoffing sound. Yeah? No kidding. Of course we all know who to blame for that. I didnt plan to bail out at the last minute last Friday, said Josh. I mean circumstances and all.

Wait, said Cynthia, frowning. You had plans with Andrew last Friday? Why didnt you t Keep your mouth shut babe, Josh told her, his voice just a bit more steely than usual. Dont listen to her, Andy. Andrew shook his head in disbelief. Anyway, its fine. Finally got the chance to clean my room at least. No kidding, its fucking amazing! I can actually see the floor. So, when are you leaving us for Yale, geek-king? Still cant believe Portshire produced an Ivy-Leaguer. Damn, cant believe my best friend is an Ivy-Leaguer. A couple more weeks now, said Andrew glumly. Still not sure I wanna go though. Are you kidding me? said Josh in disbelief, sitting up straight. Dude, youre like a town icon cuz of Yale. When babies here get shot out, your name is the first thing they hear. Youre gonna grow up and be a billionaire and then youll give me like, I dunno, a million bucks for a mansion in New York or something. Thats where shit happens you know. Eww, said Cynthia. I dont like New York. Sounds like people get raped every day there. Probably, said Josh, but so what? Thats where the real action is, babe. I feel like well have our honeymoon there. Andrew gave a small laugh. Assuming you dont get wasted with meth and die a slow, early, painful death or something. Andy! cried Cynthia, sounding horrified. Josh and Andrew looked at her with amusement. What are you yelling for? asked Josh, grinning. Were both being polite today. You should see us when there are no ladies in the room. You might think Andys a gentleman, what with his Yale admission and puppy-dog-face, but Ill tell you now babe, hes a beast. Even worse than me. Heck, worse than that little freak Sally we ran into. The witch with the really weird hair and that smelly leather jacket? said Cynthia, smiling. Actually forgot her name, but yeah, no way anyones mouth is fouler than hers. Wait, who? asked Andrew. Where? What am I missing? Nah, its nothing, Josh replied. Cynthia and I headed to Winchester a couple days ago. The big summer party at Fenway Highs been on the news all summer, so we had to

check it out. There I am minding my own business when we run into this scary gothic witch that screamed the fuck out of me. Well, to be fair, said Cynthia, you did a bit more than just run into her. Cynthia, said Andrew, how did your dad letwait, Josh, youve been avoiding me all summer and attending crazy parties at Fenway? Didnt the police arrest a couple of guys there last month? Cuz of weed or something. That was Roster not Fenway, said Josh with his usual tone of merry indifference. Youre always overthinking things, Andy. That might have helped you on the SAT, but its not much good in real life. It was a pretty kickass party too. And nothing crazy like alcohol. You should have been there. In a slightly higher tone than hed used all day, Andrew said impatiently, Maybe I would have been there if youd told me you were going! Josh seemed somewhat alarmed. Whoa, calm those hormones down, James Bond. I know youre leaving pretty soon and that sucks, but we still have the rest of the summer! And besides, youll probably make a few new cooler geek friends on your first day at that miserable Ivy Andrew was just about to cut in and retort that time was the last thing left when Joshuas phone rang. Hello? said Josh on reply. Hey, mom, slow down. I can barely hear anything youre saying. Cynthia moved closer to Andy and asked quietly if he was alright. He was about to reply when Josh sprang out of the bed, nearly screaming. What? When? Oh God. Ill be there right now! Mom, calm down. Heshes going to be fine! Ill be there right away! Andy and Cynthia shared a look of alarm for a moment and turned to Josh. Its my dad, Joshua replied, looking sick. Theresheshes been in an accident. Chapter 5 PORTSHIRE Medical had been in need of ungiven renovation for the past five years. The paint-peeled walls and dirt-streaked floors now seemed as elemental to its identity as did the doctors and nurses of questionably varying skills that had worked there for years. Along one of its busy corridors, people paced around in both directions, the frequency of their paces suggesting the intensity of their medical affairs. Joshua found his

mom pacing up and down a small part of the corridor, his baby sister bawling on her shoulder. Where is he? he asked, his voice almost pleading. Oh thank God youre here! she wailed, putting her free arm around him. Lucy Scales was a thin, frail-looking woman a lot stronger than she seemed. Heshes in there... She motioned at a nearby door. There was a crashan accident. He crashed into Mr. Farnsworths van. Angie found them. Theyre both alive butbut very badly injured. She wiped tears off her eyes with a finger, and when Josh stared at them, at how red they were, he realized with a pang that shed been crying for a long time. Mom, he mumbled, putting his arms around her again and patting her back. Hes fine. Hes going to be fine. We had a little fight this morning, me and him, she wailed. I did this. I didnt think it was anything, but maybe, but maybe Dont even say it! Josh pleaded. If anything, youre the reason hes gonna pull through. Hell be fine mom. I swear. Your friends, she said weakly, looking over his shoulder. They came. YouI dont think you should have brought them. Josh turned around. His best friend and girlfriend were a few feet away, both staring at him with concern and uncertainty. He wiped the trickle of tears off his face and approached them. What happened? Andy asked immediately. There was an accident, Josh explained. Dads truck and Mr. Farnsworths bloody van. But He paused for a moment and shook his head. You guys should leave. Well be fine. What? No! cried Cynthia, aghast. Well be here. You need us beside you! No, he insisted in a low voice, holding Cynthias right shoulder. My momshe really needs me now, and I know shed prefer it if I was the only one with her. Shesalways been like that you know. Containing stuff within family. But I promise, everything will be fine. If theres some kind of development, Ill text or call or Dont even think of texting, Cynthia told him, an almost angry edge to her voice. Promise to call. Josh nodded, holding her fingers tightly. Yes, I promise. Ill call. He looked at Andy. Hey, can you take Cynthia home? Look after her for justa few hours.

He caught the fleeting look of discomfort that crossed Andys face before acquiescence replaced it. No problem, said Andy. I dont need Cynthia began, but stopped when Josh gave her a strong look. She nodded. Alright. Thats fine. She gave Josh a long hug and whispered in his ears, I love you. I love you too, he replied, exhaling. I love you so much. Cynthias house was located on one side of Mill Street, just a block or two away from Joshuas. Looking north from her front door steps, Andrew could see the town windmills, spinning dully as though bored of standing around. Do you really think hes alright? Cynthia asked, as she fiddled around with a bunch of keys, trying to find the right one for the front door. Ive never seen him soAndy, he was crying. I know, Andrew mumbled to himself, thinking. He could count on one hand the number of times hed seen Josh cry, and theyd been best friends for years. It was no secret that Josh tried to keep his most intense emotions to himself. Seeing the tears on his face had dealt Andy a punch he was still trying to recover from. Ihe really loves his dad. Hell be fine. Damn! Cynthia cried, the keys falling from her hand. Stupid little bastards! She reached for the keys at the same time Andy did, and their hands brushed against each other. Andy managed to pick up the keys, but he didnt hand them over to her just yet. Are you alright? he asked, although he knew she wasnt. She stared at her feet, sighing. Its just thatstuff like this. Car crashes. They dontthey dont happen here often. I dont think they happen at all. Do youI dont know. It sounds silly. You can say it, Andy assured her. She nodded and spoke, but only after a cautious moment. Do you think God isangrywith us. Withthe town. With something we did. Andy winced a bit. Cynthias dad was essentially Portshires Reverend and her mom served alongside him on the churchs senior committee for town affairs. It made sense that she would think of something like that. We didntGod isnt angry with us, he told her firmly.

She didnt look convinced and merely stretched her hand out for the keys. He handed them to her, watching her shuffle through them for a few more seconds before finding the right one. Do you wanna come in? she asked, unlocking the front door. No. Yeah, I guess. I told Josh Id keep you company for a couple of hours. Theres no-one at home? No, she replied as they walked into a dim room. My parents are at St. Pauls with the other committee members, working on the details of the winter bazaar. Theyll probably be there the whole day. My brothers are still in Winchester. Im guessing theyll be back next weekend, but to be honest, I dont really care. Andy shut the door behind him, looking around. Its so dark in here. Yeah, I know, she replied, pulling up the curtains. Light filtered in instantly, turning the couches and tables from shadowy monsters to gleaming objects. All better now. You can grab a seat. Do you want anything? Soda? Water? Maybe a sandwich? I can make one in the kitchen right away. She motioned at a nearby door. Andy shook his head. Cynthia sighed and began pacing. I still dont understand why he didnt want us there. I mean, he said his mom preferredI dont get it. The Scales arent the easiest people to explain, said Andy. They like to go through tough times alone. I remember a couple years back when it was pretty rough for Josh and his family. They kept pulling mortgages, loans. It took an entire town meeting to convince them to accept help from everyone rather than let some devilish bank in Winchester suck them dry. Oh yeah, said Cynthia, plopping on a couch a small angle away from Andy. I remember that. She smiled a little. I guess you know him pretty well. Yeah, Andy replied. Weve been friends forever. I still remember the first time I saw him. Middle of second grade I think. Thats when his family moved and he just showed up at Brusdeau Elementary during recess. You probably think hes a hunk now, but you shouldve seen him then. With braces, and something that looked like dungarees, except worse. He seemed funny, and for some reason, no one wanted to talk to him, so I just went over and said, Hey, really cool clothes. Thats how you guys became best friends? asked Cynthia. Andy laughed a bit. Nah, not really. He was pretty self -conscious then, and I still have no idea why, but after I spoke to him, he likejust burst into tears. The teacher came

over and Josh, that cheeky little bastard, he said Id be mean to him, and I was standing there, all open-mouthed, like what? And then she makes me apologize and in my mind, Im going, hell fucking nowell, maybe not that. It was like second grade. Anyway, I eventually apologize and I just say to myself, theres no way in hell Im talking to that bastard ever again. And of course, were best friends now. Cynthia smiled in amazement. Thats pretty cool. Yeah, I guess since I always lived pretty close to him, I had just a vague idea of who he was, but it wasnt until I moved to Hicksville High this spring that we actually ever really spoke. Its probably pretty surprising. Small town, and he lived right next to me. You figure well be the closest of pals right? You were at Mills High at first, right? asked Andy. She nodded. So why did you transfer? Well, every semester Mills kinda rechecks its budget, what it spends on what. It decided to stop the weekly students-of-faith-exploration program. I guess my dad saw it as a sign of, I dont know, spiritual weakness or something. Andy smiled. It was probably just the economy. Yeah, maybe. And I had just a semester left. But that was all my dad needed to move me to Hicksville, and Im glad he did. I mean, we were, what, thirty in my graduating class at Mills, and I still keep in touch with a lot of them. But moving to Hicksville, I got the chance to meet Josh andyou know, hes absolutely amazing. I just wish he wasnt so So what? Andy asked, after shed been silent for a few seconds. Secretivebut thats not really the word. There was silence for a while, and then Cynthia rose at once, as though stunned by a sudden realization. We should pray, she told Andy. We should pray for his dad, and when my dad gets back from the committee meeting, hell probably organize a more formal prayer group. But we should pray right now. If its something we did, if its something Gods angry with us for, then maybe hell forgive us. Oh God no, Andy thought in despair. To Cynthia, he smiled weakly and said, Yeah, thats a good idea. Umlets pray.

Chapter 6 TWENTY minutes after Cynthia concluded what Andy felt was an unnecessarily long prayer session, Andy found himself bored. He and Cynthia had paddled small-talk back and forth, but she had eventually relapsed into a thoughtful silence on the couch, and her eyes were closed. She was probably asleep. Or trying to communicate with an angel. Andy knew he wanted to be anywhere but here and wished he hadnt told Josh hed look after Cynthia for a couple of hours. He checked his phone every minute, hoping for something, for a text, for a call, but Josh offered no updates. Eventually, Andy got out his journal, typed in the code, and began writing. He wrote for several minutes, often taking pauses to make well-detailed diagrams. He thought back to his Yale application, and to some of the elaborate comic artwork he had submitted as a supplement. He still wasnt sure how he had felt seeing the letter of acceptance. His mom had been behind him and she had screamed in excitement and kicked around the house the entire day, singing praise songs and calling neighbors. On the other hand, he had felt a strange, strangled mixture of terror and amazement. YaleYale waswell, it was Yale. Hey, he said, almost struck by how abruptly his voice cut through the silence. Can I use your bathroom? He looked up at Cynthia, but she was still curled on the couch, peacefully asleep. Damn, he mumbled to himself, his need to pee rising at once. He rose quickly, propping his journal on the page it was opened to and dashed through the door Cynthia had motioned at almost half an hour ago. It led into a dim, tasteful looking kitchen, with portraits of Jesus Christ and the Holy Trinity hanging over racks of plates and cooking utensils. He saw a bunch of doors leading out of the kitchen to various other rooms, and a flight of stairs at one end that spiraled its way upward. Now on the verge of jumping from foot to foot, he ran for the stairs, making his way to the first floor. The stairs led to a corridor bordered by doors, the nearest of which was slightly open. He ignored it, focusing instead on the door directly opposite the nearest, which, for some reason, had a little cardboard sign hanging around its doorknob, declaring in pretty cursive handwriting: Remember to flush. Realizing shed probably be incensed if she found him up here, half-wondering how he had even ended up here in the first place, he swung the door open and ran into an eagerly waiting toilet. A minute later, he was done, and was just about to head down the spiral stairs and find a nice way to tell Cynthia that he wanted to leave, when he realized that etched on the door opposite the toilet were several words written in blue marker.

He read them slowly, mostly shocked, mostly disbelieving. And then he heard Cynthia scream. Chapter 7 CYNTHIA was staring at her father. She was one of many. A small part of a tiny congregation staring at him in awe, bound by extrasensory forces to the raw power of his words. His eyes seemed to drill into hers, and with his steely, powerful voice, he said, For all have sinned and come short of the glory of the Lord All have sinned and come short of the glory of the All have sinned and come short of All have sinned and All have sinned Sinners She sat up at once, rubbing her throbbing neck. For a second she was disoriented, but then, the fragmented memories assembled themselves, bringing pain with them. She could see Joshs face, looking haunted, streaked with tears. Andy? she mumbled, looking around. She was alone in the room. Was he gone? Had he actually left without even saying? She saw the journal, innocently lying a small angle away from her. Andy? she repeated, her voice a little louder, and heard a flushing sound from above her, almost as though in response. He was in the toilet on the first floor. Without really thinking about it, while mostly wondering why he hadnt just used the ground floor guest toilet, she picked up the journal. She remembered how secretive he had been about it earlier that day and looked at the page that was open. She read the words quickly, saw the diagrams. Her heart raced. She flipped to a previous page and read quickly. She flipped through more pages, saw the stark diagrams. She dropped the journal as though it had bitten her and screamed. Oh God, thought Andy in despair as he sprinted down the stairs. Cynthia! he yelled, running through the dim ground floor kitchen and into the illuminated living room. Cynthia, are you?

She was facing him and her face was contorted in fear. She backed away from him at once. Stay away from me! she shrieked. Stay away from me, you pervert! He frowned at her, uncomprehending. What? What the hell are you talking about? Go away! she screamed. Just GO! Suddenly, the idea, the possibility occurred to him. It made him jolt and made his thumping heart thump even faster, because it dawned on him that it couldnt be the case. It just couldnt. He couldnt be that unlucky. In that brief, unthinking moment he had left his journal open, certain to be back in less than a minute, she couldnt haveshe couldnt have read it. His heart screaming out its beats, he turned, and saw it on the floor. Oh God, he mumbled. Oh God, Cynthia. Calm down. My dad told me about people like you! Cynthia shrieked. Youre a mortal sinner! Cynthia, dont be so crazy. Its just for an art She picked up the journal with two fingers and flung it at him. Take your demon book and leave! Now! LEAVE! Her reaction confounded him on all levels. But his ears were beginning to hurt, and if he didnt leave now, someone would come in and think he was raping her. Shutting the journal, he ran for the door, still numb at the prospect of his sudden bad luck, still staggering. The last word he heard, just before he opened the front door and ran out onto Mill Street was Cynthias hysterical high-pitched shriek, a shriek of one word he knew so well from endless nightmares that played the same tune. Sinner! Chapter 8 A GOOD thirty minutes of walking separated Brusdeau Street from Mill Street, and Andy faithfully indulged the long path, still numb. He walked quickly, trying to calm his throbbing heart by just clearing his head. He couldnt. The thoughts were knives. I dont understand. The way she screamed It was like I was attacking herlike I was a killerit was just the journalwasnt it? It was justthe stuff I wrotenothing in here should have made her scream

IdiotIm such a stupid idiot. But I didnt know she would get up. Oh God, she read it? How the fuck did this happen? How the hell did this happen? He met a few elderly folks who tried to stop him for a chat. Normally, hed have indulged them but this time, he brushed them aside with a hasty wave and went on his way. He passed by a small basketball court on which a group of sweaty Hicksville High juniors chased a ball around. They all called him names, each variants of the word Yale, but he gave them a small nod and broke into a jog, whizzing past them. He had never been happier to see his house, standing to welcome him. He got the front door key out of his pocket, and was in his room less than a minute later. Sweat clung to every inch of bodily skin, and his head was still a riotous mess of unclear thoughts. He opened his journal, flipping through some of the pages and some of the diagrams. The worst things would have been those stark diagrams. Not just the ones that had remarkably accurate pencil figures of him and Josh kissing fiercely. Some of the pictures were nude, some of them very sexually explicit. In those times hed let his mind run wild. Oh God. This was something hed kept secret all his life, something he had been certain he wouldnt have to do at Yale. Why did it have to unwind now? Why now? He couldnt stop his hands from shaking. He kept muttering to himself. Okay, she probably saw some of these. AndI dont know. Shes going to tell her dad. Shes going to tell Josh. Shell probably tell everyone she canbut its my word against hers, right? My word against hers. He knew he could get rid of the journal. Burn it. Dispose of it somehow and thered never have been proof that those thoughts, those words, those pictures had ever existed. But as soon as he thought of that possibility, he also understood that he wouldnt do it. Couldnt. He placed his head against the wall and mumbled to himself what felt more like a prayer than a self-assured statement. Oh GodIll be fine. Sinner. Faggot. Unholy pervert.

It all made sense now. Her dad had always told her about the deepest of sinners and the kind of ill will they brought with them. They were magnets of destruction, attractive forces for Gods cleansing wrath. All have sinned and The crash earlier that day. This was it. Somehow, that had to be it. She paced around the sitting room fervently. Josh She remembered one of the pictures and closed her eyes, grimacing. Those thingsthe kind of things Andy imagined doing to Josh. She had to warn Josh. She had to warn him somehow. She had to warn the church. She had to tell her dad. Suddenly, her phone rang and she reached for it. Josh was calling. Josh! she screamed, the word flying out of her mouth. Sorry I didnt call sooner, he told her mournfully. I just wanted to be sure. They said my dads going to be fine. A few broken ribs and some other fractures, but hell definitely live through it. His voice was shaking. Oh God, babe, I cant tell you how glad I am. How glad I am. Oh no; should I tell him? She thought of the pictures, of one of the phrases from the book: Maybe one day, youll turn to me Josh and say, Ive always known, and maybe then, youll kiss me. Im really glad your dads fine, Josh, she told him, her voice trembling. But theres something really important I need to tell you! Its about Andy. A world away, Josh frowned. Andy? What about him? Is he okay? Josh, said Cynthia, sounding utterly frightened. Joshs heart, which had throbbed much too quickly in the past hour, which had just begun settling down, found itself picking up again. Hes a homosexual. Joshs eyes bulged. A what? Cynthia, trust me, Ive seen his shoes too but

Im serious! she screamed and he got tenser. His journal. Thatthat fag-book he carries around and always hides. I sawJosh, I saw what was in it. Josh let her speak, and by the time she was done, his horror was boundless. A minute after the call was over, he hurried to his mom. Mom, he told her urgently. I have to go. Right now. Chapter 9 TWO hours had passed since noon, and Andrew was sprawled on his bed, his eyes closed. But he was far from asleep. He was thinking of this nightmare. This morning, he had woken up imagining what it would take to make the day perfect. Josh would finally show up, instead of bailing at the last minute. He would show up on time. And he would show up without his girlfriend Cynthia. It shouldnt have been hard to remember a Pre-Cynthia erashe had only really been around since the beginning of the last Hicksville spring semesterbut when Andrew tried to think of Josh before Cynthia, the images came, the images of memories they had made through countless shenanigans. Except that they were little more than images now, a murky collection of sights and sounds that may have belonged to one of Portshires typically banal local movies. They had lost the power to infect him with happinessor at least, content. The most important thing had been that feeling of content. His more powerful recollections of Josh were naturally pulled from more recent events, and they always had Cynthia somewhere in the background, a small smile on her face, her hands in front of her, as though she were some shy angel unwary of any damage she had caused. And maybe he was being unfair. Why would she think she was causing any damage? In fact, why would Josh need to spend more time with Andy when they knew each otheror at least believed they didlike the lyrics of an Amy Fitzgerald song? When he needed to know Cynthia more? When, mostly over the phone, he, Josh, had told Andy again and again and again, I swear Im so in love with her. Because I was here first, Andy mumbled to himself and hit his pillow. He sat up straight, feeling as though a small rock had cut through everything inside him. He was afraid; Cynthia knew. She fucking knew. Im not gonna cry, Andy whispered, rubbing at his eyes. Im not gonna cry. Things had been simpler without her, hadnt they? Wellhis life had never been simple, but the nature of his relationship with Joshone defined by affection heavy enough

to be sufficient and interaction strong enough to let Andy sleep happythat relationship had been simple enough. He remembered some of those telltale signs that had begun sprouting in seventh grade, the ones he had uprooted from his head each time they broke through the surface of his mind, the little nibbling weeds Satan must have sent. He would get just a bit too excited if Jason Lander came over and asked if he wanted to hang out near Lander Barn, the tall red structure in the midst of endless hay, the one that stood proudly in the middle of the Landers thriving farm, near the Myrrh Creek. He would see some of those online underwear commercials and get just a bit excited when the men When they And when Josh would pull him aside and point at the new girl and mutter, Nice boobs, right?, Andy would wonder why those two lumps made a difference to anything, but would always grin at Josh anyway and say, You bet. Then he found one of the magazines in Sallys bagsSally! Sally! The girl everyone said would be the salvation of the world when God decided to destroy it. The choirmasters innocent daughter. He found those magazines by accident during recess, and he saw the endless pictures. Beautiful men in military trousers and nothing else, or those little tight white undies. Some of them wearing nothing but ties, smiling alluringly. He remembered the wave of heat that had engulfed him upon seeing those pictures, a tremendous heat accompanied by fear and guilt. Fear that he would be found out, that he had already been found out. Found with what? Of what? And he knew it was wrong. He knew he never should have done it, but he had taken those magazines anyway. He had gone home, pretending not to notice Sallys distress. During family prayer, when his parents formed a small circle with him and Mikayla, thanking God for the day and praying for a better tomorrow, the magazine had been nibbling at his mind, the words of prayer his lips uttered, the same words they uttered every night, empty to him. Where had Sally gotten it from? Surely not from Portshire! Had she traveled to Winchester recently? He doubted it; the entire school would have known, wouldnt they? Maybe not. It didnt matter. She had gotten it somehow. And now, hehe had it. That night, after everyone else had fallen asleep, he had switched off his lights and gone under his blanket with a small flashlight Josh had given him a few months back. He had gone through those pictures, his heart racing, sweat tracing down every inch of his face, his breathing heavy.

And there had been a wave of ephemeral excitement, consuming his mind, leaving him wanting more. Wanting them. He realized a few images were forming in his head, more solid images of him and one of those men and they were Doing somethingabout to do something He wanted them to; it was a No! No! He plunged out of bed, his blanket sailing through the air and landing on the floor. This was wrong. This was a mortal sin. He was going to hell. Satan was in his head, dancing in his head, singing victory songs. He burnt the magazines that night, and went to confession a few days later. He never mentioned what he had done. Fear kept his mouth shut, and even as he had mumbled out the usual starting words, Bless me father for I have sinned, his heart had been racing, because he had been sure that somehow, the reverend knew. He had received divine knowledge, and he knew that Andy was no ordinary sinner. That his sins were too great to be forgiven. He had done twice the penance the reverend had told him to. For a long time, he fought those thoughts. They came back, in images and fantasies and different models, but they always did, and he had no idea what they meant. Except that he did, didnt he? One night, he had found it difficult to sleep. For no clear reason, he turned around and around for endless minutes, but sleep defied him. At some time past midnight, he had sat up on his bed, and mumbled in a weak voice, What if Im gay? The word astounded him. It was a dirty word, wasnt it? Father Ben had said so a thousand times, had said that outside the walls of Portshire existed all manners of sin the town was fortunately not infected bylewdness, adultery, shameless fornication, homosexuality, rape. No, no, he wasnt gay. This was temptation, trial. Jesus had been tempted thrice. Yes, and he had overcome each one. Now, this was Andys trial and he would win somehow. The struggle went on for months. Once that word was used for the first time, that word that had previously been suspected, placed out of the forefront of his mind, that word that had been perpetually ignored but perpetually within reach, when he had said it out loud that sleepless night in bed, it never went away. The idea lingered around relentlessly, striking him with a force that kept him on edge. Maybe these unholy thoughts left a palpable mark on his face. Maybe people could sense it in him, the stench of his sin. Ricky Hue and the Anderson twins looked at him funny

sometimes, as if trying to decide if he belonged to their community of holiness. Even Mikayla, for no clear reason, began asking, Are you okay, Andy? No, no, Im notthese things Ive been thinking Homosexuality wasnt something that ever really came up by itself in Portshire. When it did come up, it was usually attached to a string of other words that were apparently unfit to qualify the spiritually sound citizens of Portshire and always applied to the outside world. Therefore, when Reverend Ben McIntyre began his Sunday sermon one nice fall morning with, And today, I was inspired by the Holy Spirit to talk about one of the strongest moral vices crippling our wobbling naturethe unnatural act of homosexuality, Andy, who had been on the verge of sleeping, sat up straight at once, his heart hammering fiercely. As Ben went on speaking, it became clear that his sermon wasnt Spirit-inspired at all, but was a way of venting his frustration at the same-sex marriage propositions inhabiting a significant portion of discussions in national politics. Reverend Ben had always been a fierce speaker, his hands flying around to make energetic gestures during his sermons, but on that particular Sunday, he seemed filled with additional fire. He raged about the ugly, ugly rebirth of Sodom and Gomorrah, the signs of the end-times manifesting manifold, the winds of Gods wrath wreaking havoc on the souls of the unrepentant. In all my twenty-eight years of ministering to this beautiful town, he finally said, reclining on a wall, breathing heavily, Ive had the fortune of never witnessing anyone that would make this unnatural choice, anyone that would choose to defy Gods beautiful, beautiful model for mankind and procreation. But the devil is strong, and works in many ways. This town has stood steadfast in faith for many, many years, and if we continue to abide by the words of our Lord, Jesus Christ, this evil of homosexuality that pervades the rest of the world will never find foot in our community. For surely they shall come to us in one direction, and flee from us in seven! CAN I HEAR YOU SHOUT ALLELUIA? ALLELULIA! the congregation thundered. An hour later, Andy was back home. He locked himself in his room and cried. That night, Andy hung out in his backyard with Josh. Gleaming stars watched them from above, crowded around a haughty golden moon. Josh had just finished narrating why he was certain he had scored a zero on his first Biology test of the semester, to which Andy had replied, Just be grateful we dont have negative marking.

Josh laughed a little. They were splayed across a slowly rocking hammock, staring up at long-dead constellations. I saw her in church this morning, he said. She had that weird purple dress she wore to Uncle Jonathans retirement party. Oh yeah, and she was with Bowie of course, the ugly little beast. Andy made a meaningless chuckle, suddenly nervous. Yeahthatthat was a pretty intense sermon this morning. What did you think? Josh shrugged. Nothing, really. I guess I understood why he was all tensed up and heavy on the topic, but I dont think he was justified. Andy felt his pulse rise. Maybe, just maybe Josh believed Really? Andy mumbled, trying to keep some of his relief out of his unsteady voice. Yeah, really, Josh replied, running a hand through his hair. Its really a nobrainer if you ask me. Faggots arent normal; they arent part of this world. I know theyre destined to burn in hell, every single one of them. Andy felt his heart break. Josh and his parents had dinner with Andys family, before the former left for home. After the family prayers that night, Andy headed to his room, locked the door and got out his phone. He didnt know why he hadnt thought of it until now, but his mind was entertaining the possibility that there was more toto whatever this was than everyone in Portshire was saying, and if anyone would know, it was Google. He spent the next few hours going over articles he had never thought of reading, his mind lost to the racing time, his eyes glued to the screen from which a thousand black words jumped, condemning, encouraging, questioning Humanity is happily fulfilling every biblical prophecy that signifies the dawn of the second coming; Jesus is eternally merciful, eternally forgiving, but on the last day, the unrepentant will be stunned at how fast their downfall has come. They will reach for the feet of the Lord, crying, Messiah, Messiah, please show us mercy, but He will turn away from them. On the last day, there will be no mercy. Not for the sin of homosexuality weve allowed to overwhelm our rotting culture. I felt like I couldnt believe what I was hearing, but then I taught about it, and it really made sense. In fact, it was the easiest thing to believe. The hypocrisy, the selfrighteous condescension. I understood it. He could sit on his high chair and spew fire and judgment. He could remain floating in his utter ignorance, contempt of a concept he would

never understand. He could sentence me to hell or everlasting destruction or whatever fancy cataclysm they use these days, and I didnt have to care. Why would I give a crap about someone that had never been through this rocky rollercoaster my lifes been shaking through? Been through the endless depression, the self-doubt, the self-hatred, the unending stigma Andy kept reading, and as time ran on, the number of articles that seemedthat actually seemed to suggest that there was nothing wrong with him grew. He began trembling. He had no idea why, but a small tremor rocked through his body. Somehow, he found himself on the floor, hugging his blanket and staring at the dark ceiling. Im gay, he mumbled to himself. In tenth grade, Andy began obsessively wondering if he was the only gay person in Portshire. He knew that Jimmy Sheldon, one of Hicksville Highs few academic superstars, was extremely effeminate, and was always prodded with the burning end of verbally ignited sticks. Few people actually ever called him gay though, possibly because his dad was Hicksvilles vice-principal and his mom, known as Shrieking Satan, was famous for spending hours outside the house of anyone that might have offended her, and screaming about it until the Portshire Sheriff came along and quieted her. But mostly, gay wasnt a word ever used because it apparently didnt exist in Portshire. He saw no sign on the faces of people he came across, no traitorous whispers from their expressions. Even Jimmy Sheldon, with his unconscious cat-walking curls and his voiced sentences that seemed more songs than statements, was dating Victoria Carlotta, one of the prettiest girls in Hicksville High. Does that really mean anything? Andy wondered to himself. Probably not. One afternoon, Andy, while running through a corridor, trying to catch a lab class scheduled to begin in less than a minute, lost his footing, skidding headfirst and sideways onto an open metal locker. The sharp end of its top surface grazed his skin, drawing blood at once. He was on the ground for several seconds, dazzled, and then someone helped him up, exclaiming something about blood and the sick bay. Two minutes later, Joyce Harkins, the school nurse, was sticking a bandage onto Andys head, assuring him that hed be fine. Andys forehead throbbed violently, its quakes seeming to diffuse into his eyes which also hurt. I dontI dont feel fine. My eyes You could rest up in the sick bay, darling, Joyce told him warmly, running her fingers across his bandage. You say you have a class right now and you can probably go to that if you want

I dont, said Andy promptly, smiling a little. Joyce grinned. I didnt think so. She led him past one of the doors in her small paper-littered office into a wide room with rows of beds lined against the walls. There was someone in the room already, sitting bare-chested on one of the beds and rubbing at his foot. Andys heart made an involuntary, energetic thump and settled down. Lander honey, youre supposed to be asleep, said Joyce, heading toward him. Your moms on her way here, and if were lucky, she wont take a swing at Hector, or me for that matter. Im fine, Jason Lander replied, his tone somewhat grumpy. He forced a weirdlooking grin onto his face. Just dandy, nurse. Joyce regarded him for a moment, half-shrugged and turned to Andy. Try and get some sleep. An hour away in la-la land will do your head a lot of good. With that, she left. Andy watched her disappear, the door closing behind her, and turned to Jason. A large bandage strip wound its way around Jasons stomach, just beneath his navel. Thankfully, there was no sign of blood. Jason was staring at Andys face with amusement. Litt le, uh, little wound you got there Andy. Sure you need to be here? When Andy said nothing, merely staring at Jason confusedly, the latter added, What happened? Nothing, Andy replied, moving closer. He could feel strobes of heat cutting across his face. I just fell, kinda grazed my head on the sharp end of Julias locker. I know it looks like nothing but it really hurts. Umyou seem hurt pretty worse though. What happened? Jason moved to the left, and Andy sat beside him, staring at the ground. Lets just say I wont be on the basketball team for a while, said Jason, sounding bitter. Coachs finally had his wish. Andy looked up, frowning. What do you mean? Coach loves you; all those triple pointers you made in our last game and Big whoop, Jason snorted, looking amused. Doesnt matter. Hes never liked memaybe at first, but hes always yapping crap like Im too big for my own good. He shrugged. Anyways, I dont care anymore. For a while, no-one spoke. Andy looked around the deserted room, almost hearing Mr. Kellers voice in his mind, droning about titration analysis and broken pipettes. Suddenly, Jason nudged him with his right elbow, an almost impish grin on his face.

Andy smiled weakly. What? Been a while we really hung out you know, said Jason. Was thinking of the last time you came over. When was that? Seventh grade? Nah, I think eighth grade, Andy replied, still smiling. The Easter dinner. Your mom gave out all those amazing hand-woven baskets to the guests. With the colorful eggs and I remember, Jason went on. It got ruined by that brown mug, the Angel Michael one. Kim kept playing around and finally broke it and my mom, well, you know. Yeah, that was definitely eighth grade. And then we stopped hanging out. What changed? I mean, I know that was bye-bye middle school, but even now, we go to the same high school. Dear old Hicksville. Andy sighed. I dont know. You made the b-ball team; I joined the creative arts club. We took different classes. True, true, said Jason, slinging his right arm around Andys neck. Andys heart began drumming. He looked up, stared at Jasons face. Jason st ared back, his expression unreadable. It was fun being around you; you always had the craziest ideas. I did? Andy managed to say. We should hang out more. Weuh, we should. Silence again. Andy didnt know what was going on, why his heart was pounding so fast, why his head was a mess. Jasons face seemedcurious? Friendly? He didnt know, but there was something in it, gentle, almost encouraging. The seconds passed slowly, bearing the weight of magic and uncertainty. Something was happening, about toAndy felt himself leaning forward. His heart thudded faster. Jason was still smiling, and suddenly he wasnt. He recoiled, shoving Andy away at the same time, growling, What the f At the same time, there was a small bang as the door flew open and Joyce walked in holding two plastic cups filled with water. Hey boys, she began. Got some coolis everything okay? Andy was on his feet, his heart still thudding. The pain in his head, which had ceased to exist for a moment, was back full-force, gnawing into his mind. Jasons expression was bizarre and terrifying, an ugly mix of confusion and defiance. Andy nodded meaninglessly. Yeah, everythingsfine.

Jason never really brought up the issue afterward, and never really spoke to him again, not that Andy was willing to initiate any form of communication. Several times though, he thought about it, about what he had almost done, about leaning in for some reason, certain that Jason would, about that smile on Jasons face before it vanished, before he recoiled. The door swinging open at the same time maybe? He didnt know; he didnt know what to make of it, but if ever there was an event to define lucky break, what happened that afternoon was probably it. Nearly a year later, in the summer, the Collins and the Scales headed to one of the finest hotels in Winchester, Auxville, spending five nights in two interconnected suites. Andy had convinced Mikayla into insisting on a change of holiday scenery. Arent you tired of spending every summer in Portshire, doing the same things over and over again? hed asked her. Nope! shed replied heartily. Well, I am. But mom and dad will never listen to me. So, if you talk to them, and if we actually go somewhere this July, Ill give you control of the TV for a week. A month, Mikayla sweetly amended. Ill try. Andy hadnt actually expected anything to come out of it, so when his mom told him theyd be spending close to a week in Winchester, he had been surprised but not too thrilled. Winchester was merely a bigger and more modern version of Portshire, but it was certainly no New York. However, there was an additional detail that made everything worthwhileshed spoken to Eben and Lucy Scales, and theyd agreed to tag along with their kids. On the final night at the Imperial Winchester, six Scales and four Collins had sat around in a circle of crimson couches and sofas, recapping the mini-adventures theyd had over most of the past week in relatively big shopping malls and university campuses. The community college here is amazing, said Lucy, her thin hand holding up a glass half-full of water. Beautiful campus. And the dean of admissions, whats his name again? Storrs, Eben supplied. Yes! Lucy cried, nodding in approval. Hes an inspiring man. I thought he was corny, said Devon Collins. The whole speech about an educational revolution and shaping our youth. How do you do that on a budget of a couple thousand dollars? And those rats

You saw them too? asked Mikayla, her eyes bulging. She hit Andys shoulder. Told you! Mikayla, no hitting, Cheryl put in. To her husband she said, You dont always have to be so cynical, Dev. Unlike you, I find this place very inspiring. Especially the church. The dome and those angel statues put St. Pauls to shame. I agree, said Lucy, prying the little hands of Anthony Scales out of a small bowl of almond nuts. Youve eaten too much dear. Its almost bed time. Josh, have you made up your mind on the colleges youre gonna apply to? The ones here are pretty good. Andys thinking of Yale, said Devon, grinning, his voice full of unabashed pride. Well, its just a maybe at this time, said Cheryl at once, looking uncomfortable. Yale? asked Josh, looking surprised. Damn bro, aiming big. Well, said Andy, half-shrugging. He looked at his moms worried face. Like mom said, its just a thought at this time. Youre Hicksvilles geek-king, said Josh, patting Andys right shoulder which Mikayla hadnt hit as much over the past hour. Heck, Yale should apply to you. Andy grinned. Haha, thanks Josh. Sure man, said Josh. You work hard and you totally deserve it. I love you. Andy froze, smiling almost sheepishly. Aww, Andys mom crooned. Thats so sweet, boys. See, I knew this trip would be a good bonding experience. Well, Im serious, said Josh. Andy works hard; hes amazing and hes always there for me, and I absolutely love him. I love you too, said Andy, and he felt his body float saying those words out loud. Well, its a night full of love, said Lucy. I love every single one of you here. These five days have felt like five weeks, and I know were tight-knit, but I dont think we say these things enough. Amen! crooned Eben in agreement. I got my portable CD player somewhere in the room. I could grab it, we could listen to a few Fitzgerald tunes, thank the Lord Jesus for a wonderful, wonderful week and call it a day. Andy Scales wasnt listening. He could only hear three words, replaying themselves in his mind.

After the night prayers, Mikayla and Devon Scales slept instantly. Cheryl and Andy stayed up for a little while more. They spoke for a few minutes, mostly about how she was willing to let go of her reservations regarding him going to college in faraway places like Connecticut. He hugged her and made a solemn promise: No matter where I am, Ill always be your baby. She kissed his hair. I know, sweetie. I know. The hug lasted several seconds. Andy had his arms around his moms back, his eyes closed, and in the darkness, he saw Joshs smiling face. Josh and I are close, right? he mumbled. What are you talking about? his mom replied. The both of you are like David and Jonathan. I mean, thats the only reason were so close to the Scales in the first place. She paused. Did I misunderstand you? Andy smiled. Never mind, he whispered. That night, it was born. Like booming tendrils, the self-awareness clung to Andys mind. Hed known Josh for nearly a decade, and for the past several months, they had become wordlessly linked. He hadnt realized how much he looked forward to seeing Josh until that final night at the Imperial Winchester, how much he clung to the memories of them goofing around at the Myrrh Creek, watching Portshires dullest movies at the local theater just to rant about how dull the movies were, and even the simple, quiet nights when they sat side-by-side in a cozy room and did homework together. I love you, Josh had said. After that, every detail of interaction was magnified in Andys head. Sometimes, Joshs arm would unconsciously brush against his. Sometimes, Josh would wrestle Andy into a headlock and ruffle his hair. Sometimes, Josh would relapse into one of his grand, senseless monologues about a world gone dark, often explaining how his superpowers of cheeseburgers, coupled with Andys superpowers of dorkiness, would ultimately save mankind. In Andys head, the stream of time became inching trickles; he would remember the heat from Joshs touch, the easy, relaxed smile in Joshs face, the memory of his voice its own reality, close by, almost breathing into his ears. He understood he was losing control, growing toward some obsession, but he didnt care. Josh would cringe and probably hate him if he knew the kind of thoughts swirling in Andys mindbut he didnt. Right now, it was enough to hear Joshs voice, see his face, his smile always laden with impending mischief. And in a place like Portshire, it was more than enough.

It was everything. Andy saw the journal for the first time in the fall of twelfth grade, when he took his longest trip yet out of Portshire to New Haven, Connecticut. He went with his mom. She had accepted that he would apply to faraway colleges like Yale long ago, but that reality had hit her in a new way, prompting her to take a trip with him, pre-application, to experience the Ivy League for a day. Naturally, Andy had harbored a few fears over the potential outcome of the sojourn, but his mom was satisfied. Saint Thomas More is absolutely beautiful! And the tour guide was catholic; thats always a good sign It was late evening; ink had blotted the sky, pulling a curtain of darkness over New Haven. Bulbous light from street lamps glowed onto the faces of wandering passersby. Cheryl moved on from Yales perceivable spiritual strength to its academic resources while Andy tuned her out, captive to his own thoughts. He had jumped at the opportunity to go to Yale, but they had been in New Haven for only two days and he already missed Josh. Hed sent the latter several texts, probably too much, and Josh had proved annoyingly lax in replying. Well? said his mom, nudging him gently. He stopped walking and looked up at her. What? They werent at the hotel yet; why had she stopped? She pointed at the window-display items of what appeared to be a college-stationery shop. Those small, pink purses look beautiful. I promised Mikayla Id get her a little purse. Andy smiled, shaking his head. Why? Well, she replied, heading towards the entrance, she always complains about having to hold offering money in her hand. If I get one of these small purses, she can finally let me rest. Andy sighed as he trailed in after his mom. As she spoke to a short, balding man in the room, Andy got out his phone and stared. Josh hadnt texted him yet. He wouldnt be at practice at this time, would he? What? Cheryl was saying. Thats outrageous! Andy slid his phone back into his pocket, looking around dully. And then he saw the journal, sitting midway across a row of books, a dark leather strip running vertically across the center of its face. To the side of the strip was a keypad of numbers and a small digital display screen. Wow, Andy said, picking it up.

absolutely ridiculous! his mom was still saying. Thats probably why theres no one here. Come on, Andy. Lets go before the restaurant closes. Well just buy the purse somewhere else. Please, madam, the bald man implored. Andy held up the journal. This looks really cool, mom. Can I get it? She stared at him for a moment, looking strangely bewildered, and then she smiled in a loving, I-give-up way. Sure. Remember we have to wake up early tomorrow, said Andys mom from the bathroom. There was suddenly the sound of running water. The bus leaves on the very second, and the last thing we need is a repeat of MetroPan. That was a one-time incident, mom, said Andy wearily. He was curled up on the hotel bed, struggling with the strip wound around the journal. After a few teeth-tearing attempts, he managed to get it loose. The strip fell, and as Andy turned the journal around, something else did too. It was a small sheet of paper, which explained just beneath the words, Patent Pending, how the journals code system worked. He tossed this aside and flipped to the journals first page. It bore only two words, centrally aligned: LITTLE TRUTHS. Little truths? Andy mumbled. He reached for one of the hotel-branded pens on a nearby table, and flipped to the next page. On top of it, there was a small line next to Date, but the page itself wasnt lined. This was a weird book. Little truths, Andy repeated. For one second, he glanced out the window. A humble crescent shape looked back at him. He thought of Josh, and began to write. He always began with a small stroke, a delicate, almost deliberate curve. He was never sure that starting curve was required, but it was always present, in his head, in the glaring image. He could always see it somewhere; he could always pull it out, dragging it onto paper, and slowly, tenderly, he could build up from it. The same little curve every time giving birth to a thousand different images. When he drew, nothing else mattered. He existed in that single dimension, lines and circles intersecting, shades and shadows blending, the tip of the lead pencil humming, dancing. Finally, sometimes over hours, sometimes over days, the picture was complete, matching the image that had lingered relentlessly in his head. And for a long time after he got the journal, that image was always a lie. A fantasy. It was always Josh. Josh was always his.

He had gotten increasingly better at drawing lifelike forms of Josh on paper, capturing everything from the small bend of his pointed nose to the delicate sideburns that ran down either side of his face, almost meeting. From those gentle almond eyes to that specific, endearing curl of his mouth that suggested an innate wildness. And Josh was always doing something. Drawing took more time, so he wrote more often. It was therapeutic. Somehow, Josh seemed more distantor was that imagination? He didnt know, but it helped to write about it, about the huge moments of ecstasy that kept him afloat each time he was with Josh, about the stale, cold leanness of time whenever Josh seemed faraway. There was an evolution in the way he thought of Josh, a change present and vocal in the very words he wrote, in the transformation of images drawn as the pages flipped left to right. What had started out as a warm, almost cloying, appreciation for Joshs presence had been stripped of its soft layers, getting somehow edgier, rawer. Now, sometimes, he imagined what it would be like to lean in close. There was Josh, somewhere in his mind, reclining on a wall, saying something. And he would lean in, just as he had with Jason Lander. Except that the smile on Joshs face wouldnt fade. Except that Josh would hold him, tenderly. Except that Josh would lean in too, throwing the distance between them out of existence. And finally, their lips would meet. The world would sink away; only Josh would exist, perhaps as he always had, always would, always Sometime in the spring semester of twelfth grade, a few months before Andy received letter of acceptances from Yale and three nearby colleges, he received a less dignified text from Josh: Hey dawg, meet up at the crib ASAP. Andy stared at the text, grinning unabashedly. Why are you smiling? asked Mikayla, appearing from nowhere. Andy jumped. None of your business! said Andy, his heart recovering. Hows your girlfriend? Mikayla crooned. I dont have a girlfriend, Mikayla, Andy snapped. You shouldnt even know what that word Liar, liar, in hell fire, she sang and ran out of the room. Andy closed the door, shaking his head in annoyance. He sent Josh a reply, showered quickly, and took the twenty minute walk to Myrrh Creek, what Josh called his crib and Portshires source of endless legends. Stacks of rocks formed a crude, staggering tower, from the bottom of which stretched a small, murky pool of water. At the top was an extensive bed of stones and lean, withered trees. Andy found Josh here, the latter clutching a small basket and a mat.

God, Josh, you know were not s Andy began, and then he stopped, suddenly noticing the girl a short distance away, her arms wrapped around a tree as though trying to rip it right out of the ground. She let go when she saw Andy, waving at him. Andy waved back uncertainly. Is that Cynthia from choir? he asked Josh, as she approached them. Father Bens daughter? Yeah, said Josh, grinning. Real babe. Shes my girlfriend.

Chapter 10 ANDREW Collins was in his room, tryingand failingto get some sleep when his phone rang. He sat up at once, his heart ricocheting. Josh was calling. For the first few seconds, all Andy could do was stare at his phone. Hey Josh, he managed upon answering. Hey bro, Josh replied, his voice faltering on the second word. Are you home? Yes but Great; Im outside. Your doors locked. Can I come in? We need to talk. About what? Juststuff. We kind of have to do it face-to-face. Josh, what Just open the door, Andrew, dammit! There was a faint pound. Look, we really need to talk. The call ended. Andy stared at his phone, breathed in deeply. Ill just get this over with, he told himself. His legs were quivering. Joshua Scales was moving about fervently in micro-circles, his fingers rapidly curling and uncurling, his legs rapidly bouncing up and down. His thoughts flew through his head at flash speed, each one screaming in his mind. When the door began opening however, he stopped moving and tried to put on a calm face. His best friend Andrew stared at him. Andrews face was pale, cautious, wary. Its fucking true, thought Josh, an unusual slice of pain flying up his body like a gyroscope.

Come in, said Andy. Hows your dad? Hes fine, Josh replied, walking in. Andrew shut the door. Umthe doctors say hell be fine. He might be in the hospital for a little while but thats just for observation. God will see him through, said Andy, surprised at how strong his own voice sounded. He had his back pressed against the door, his eyes fixed to Joshs expression. There was distress in therewild, panicky, actively eating distress. Amen, said Josh. He had been pacing around like an oscillating spring but suddenly stopped, staring right at Andrew. Their eyes met. From the others gaze, each felt his own pain, his own fear, an ugly strum of emotion mirrored in revealing eyes. Ill just go right out and He faltered, his voice breaking. He swallowed. Ill just go right out and say it; Andy, are you gay? Andy felt himself recoil, felt his back push harder against the door. The question shouldnt have been surprising or unexpected, but it stunned him. The expression of utter fear framing the question, the directness. Something dying, a small, embryonic piece of hope Andy had harbored, a hope he hadnt even realized had been fluttering around, a hope that somehow, friendship would overtake prejudice, that memories built from a past decade would unite, overriding everything else. Joshs question bore no memory of the past, only a gripping fear of the present. And Andy had been prepared to say yes. As hed walked down the stairs a minute ago toward the front door, hed been ready to somehow pull in strength from the same place that had let him question and accept himself. But now, he was so aware of the weakening, overwhelming loss a single word, a single reply could heave. He couldnt do it; he couldnt say yes. The seconds coldly passed by. Andy merely stared, his lips afraid to incur that loss, yet unwilling to lie. Lying should have been easyJoshs expression was almost a plea for it. Please Andy, it bawled. Please lie. Please lie. Please lie. But this wasnt a moment he had really prepared for. This wasnt a moment he could have really prepared for, neither by imagination nor by endless thought nor by prayer. So all he did was stare, saying nothing, his reply already giving out the answer he was so afraid to voice. Joshs expression of distress hardened. It was suddenly an unbearable blend of angerone that impossibly bordered on hateand frustration. His teeth seemed clenched, the bones of his jaw jutting out. Andy opened his mouth. How could he explain it? How could he possibly say it?

Josh pulled in air and exhaled. An instant later, he was screaming. Andy, dont! Just dont stare at me and fucking say nothing! Youre not gay! I fucking know you! Youre not gay! Andy felt his throat clog up. You know me? I know you, Josh. I know the lines on the palm of your hand. I know your fears. But you dont know me. You never fucking did. Im at the hospital, half-out of my mind, Josh went on, his face still hard. My dad is in there, broken. My mom cant stop crying. Im pacing around, frightened as fuck, trying to be strong for everyone. I call Cynthia so she wont freak out, and then s he just begins unloading on me. That book? That fucking journal of yours? She called it a fagbook, said you have pictures in there. Pictures of me! Naked! Writing shit. Drawing shit! On the last word, he kicked at a nearby table. Andy, fuck, I dont care what she says! Just tell me its not true! Standing there, utterly still, utterly frightened, Andy thought of Cynthia screaming. Like I was attacking herlike I was a killer Its true Josh, said Andy, the words pouring out in a soft whisper. His ch est shuddered. Yes, Im gay, but you have to understand You cant! screamed Josh. You cant be gay. He hit his right hand against his forehead multiple times, his expression heartbroken. His eyes were wide, staring at the floor. Trance-like, he mumbled quickly, repeatedly. You cant; you cant; you cant; you cant; you cant. Just talk, thought Andrew in despair. Ever since I can remember Josh, I He stopped speaking at once, pressing even harder against the door, his thumping heart playing trumpets, banging on drums, swinging and shrieking on jungle vines. Josh was walking rapidly toward him. And now, somehow, he had gotten a hold of Andys shirt, grabbing it with both hands, and was shaking him like a toy rattle. Wheres the fag-book? he screamed. Tears were pouring down his face. Josh! cried Andy weakly. This moment was the apotheosis of every fear, every nightmare, every horror he had harbored in his mind. Please! Wheres the fucking fag-book, dammit! Josh Josh pulled Andy toward himself and slammed him against the door. He screamed at Andy, spit flying out of his mouth. His hands, still clutching tightly at Andys clothes, were shaking. Remember Chuck Hanson from eleventh grade, Andy? Remember that

fuck? Remember how I confronted that bastard and swore on my life, on my fucking life, that you, YOU, were the very best person Portshire ever had, Portshire ever would. Faggots burn in hell, Andy. Faggots burn in hell Andys frightened despair was an instant rage, and his hand was flying before he was even aware he was about to act. His right palm struck Joshs neck, shoving him backward. Josh reacted a second later with his right fist. Andy was hit in the throat; he flew back, striking the door again, sliding to the ground. As he coughed, the air around him contracting and shattering, Josh towered over him, screaming, This isnt you, Andy! It isnt fucking you! Youre not a fag! He hit me, thought Andy, streaks of pain overwhelming him. He felt himself pulled into the sudden madness of the evening. He staggered to his knees, glared at Joshua and yelled, Im gay, Josh! Im a fag! I dont care if I burn in hell but dont fucking tell me what Im not. All these years, all Ive ever done is care about you. All Ive ever done is love you and I DONT NEED YOUR LOVE! screamed Josh, and he kicked hard, the shoe on his right feet catching Andy in the stomach. Andy fell on his back. Josh continued to kick, with his left foot and then his right, again and again, screaming the same words over and over. I dont need your love! I dont need your love! Andy squirmed, rolled around, trying to block the kicks with his hands but Josh just kicked at his hands then. Once, Andy managed to stand on his hands and legs, crawling just a few inches away from the door, toward nowhere, toward anywhere, toward escape, when Joshs leg lashed out again, catching his mouth, shattering a tooth. Andy fell again, barely aware of the blood trailing out of his mouth, of the tears trailing out of his eyes. There was a sudden bangthe front door flew open; Cheryl Collins ran in, looked around, screamed. Josh stared at her, the tears still on his face. What are you doing? she shrieked, her hands clutching her hair, her handbag falling. Andys a fag, said Joshua, bitter resentment in his voice. Hes gay. What are you doing? shrieked Cheryl a second time. Get out! Get out now! Josh was about to. Andy held his leg. Josh looked down at him, glowering; Andy looked up, broken.

Without another word, Josh broke out of Andys light grip, strode past his mortified mother, and walked out of the house.

Chapter 11 THE St. Pauls Senior Committee on Town Affairs was in session in a small, well-lit room, housed in a building right next to the chapel, when a heavy knock rattled the wooden door. Six people seated around a table turned to it as Quinn Kuiper, a tall stocky man, poked his head in. Quinn, whats the problem? asked Father Ben. Your daughter, Quinn replied. She wants to see you. She says its extremely urgent. Concern filled Bens face. Alright; let her in. Moments later, Cynthia was in the room. Sweetie, you know were in session now, said her mom, Cecilia. Whats wrong? Mr. EbenEben Scales. Hes in the hospital We heard, said Randolph Lander. Weve been praying for him and for Farnsworth as well. Is this why? No, she went on. I thoughtits just that things like this dont happen here in Portshire. Were a blessed town. Even so, we are not immune to the dangers of the world, to accidents, said Cecilia. Cynthia nodded. I know, mom. But what if it was Gods wrath? What if He was angry with us? Itheres a homosexual in Portshire. Andrew Collins is gay. Dazed looks rippled through everyone seated. Cynthia, thats a rather serious accusation, said Randolph tightly. Why? She told them about the journal, about the pictures, about the words shed seen. I knew this would eventually happen, snarled Randolph. This kind of sin is completely unacceptable, Father Ben. We need to address it immediately. Is any sin acceptable? asked Julie Huells.

This isnt just a sin, said Randolph. Its the demon prince of sins. Its an abomination. Its the rebirth of Sodom and Gomorrah. Relax, Randy, Ben told him. After committee tonight, we will Randolph rose at once. Pardon me Father, but we dont have that kind of ti me. There is evil in Portshire, twisted lust, unnatural desire. Gods anger is surely upon us. He headed for the door. Where are you going? Cecilia yelled after him. To pray! he replied, and walked out of the room without looking back. Randolph is still undone by his impatience, said Cecilia, frustrated. I know, Father Ben replied, but it is a serious affair. We need to finalize our discussions for the bazaar and the Gregory Parish in Winchester, but after that, well visit the Collins and try to talk to young Andrew. Andrew said Julie, mostly to herself. Hes beenso perfect. I cant believe this. The devil is at work here, said Ben. But we have to remember. The way to fight sin is not with hate, not with condemnation, but with love and prayer. We can cure Andrew of this spiritual defect. He looked up at his daughter. Thanks dear, for coming to me with this. You can wait for us outside. Chapter 12 ANDREW barged into his room, wiping blood off his mouth. His mom trailed in after him, still distressed. What do you mean yes, Andrew? What do you mean yes? He whirled, his face a mask of rage. I mean, yes, Im gay! Ive been gay for as long as I can remember. It took me a long time to admit it to myself, but I am. Josh couldnt deal with it and thats why you walked in on the bastard kicking me. What do you mean he couldnt deal with it? his mom screamed, tears running down her face. You cant be gay, Andy. I know you. You just cant Thats what everyone keeps saying! Andy snarled, his arms flying around. No one knows me. No one has ever known me. Ive kept this secret with me for years, and all Ive ever heard in this God-forsaken town is how unnatural it is, how Im going to hell. Josh called me a fag, kept kicking me. Youre telling me that Im not, but how would you know? Andrew, I

Im gay and I dont care about hiding it anymore! I dont care about keeping it secret, about hating myself, about people hating me! Andrew, we can fight this. Andrews expression of pain and distress hardened instantly. He reached under his pillow and got out the journal. Cheryl stared at it, mortified, thinking of that quiet, harmless night in Connecticut when he had asked her to get it. Had hehad he been gay then? Now, he was staring at her. She looked at his face, bruises around his swollen lips, dried blood on his cheeks, tears etched around his nose. His eyes weak, watery. She couldnt understand it, his anger, his pain, his words. She couldnt understand how in five minutes, her world had shifted from thinking of preparing dinner to dealing with this. Staring at his face, she realized that maybemaybe she didnt know him at all. Theres nothing to fight, Andrew told her bitterly, and walked past her, out of the room. For a second, she stood there, suddenly taking in the fullness of the situation, completely clueless on what to do, to say. And then she spun around, chased after Andrew. She caught him in the ground floor sitting room, near the front door, just about to leave. Baby, please, she whispered. With a trembling hand, she wiped the tears off her face. I love you. For a secondjust a tiny, evanescent momentshe saw a look of surprise on his face. Before she could really process it, it was gone, replaced by the broken bitterness. I love you too mom, he mumbled, his voice cracking. But I just cant handle my life right now. He left. Randolph Landers house was located atop a small slope at the end of Myrrh Street. It overlooked a collage of thin trees and an extensive rocky landscape, across which streams of water ran. When Randolph got home, he found his wife in the backyard. She was standing over a barbecue grill, pushing around several pieces of coal with a stick. Hey honey, she said, planting a kiss on his nose. Whats wrong? I guess you heard about the Farnsworth He shook his head. Its something else. He held her left hand with his right and pulled her into a hug. She made a small sound of pleasure, dropping the stick.

You sure youre okay? she asked him, her arms rubbing his back. Oh no; did Doctor Guitron get back to you? No, no, he mumbled. Im fine. Im sure the test result will be fine. I just walked out of the St. Pauls meeting. I had to. Where are the kids? In Jasons room, she replied, letting go of him. Its still bible study time, so theyre all reading. Was just about to call Marie over so she could help me out with this. She motioned at the grill. Why did you leave a? Andrew Collins is a homosexual, said Randolph. Chloe Landers mouth fell open in stun. What? Andy? Andy Collins? That cant be Well, its true. He is. Cynthia, Reverend Bens kid, she found out. Long story. But honey, its just like I told you last night. About my dream. About the Signs of the end time, she mumbled. Yes, I remember. But Randy This is a sign, he cut in. I just knew that there was a significance. We have to get rid of this infection before God visits his anger on us. Im not sure the accident this morning was just an accident. I think it was judgment. But we cant do anything We can pray. His voice was a whisper now. His fingers gently rubbed at her cheeks. His eyes were full of concern. Well pray right now, and then well address the infection head on. Chloe took a few steps back. She pursed her lips and stared at the ground, the way she always did when trying to think difficult situations through. And how are we gonna do that? Randolph looked up, as though hoping to see Gods special inscriptions scrawled in majestic letters across the pink evening sky. I dont know.

Chapter 13 THE music wasnt helping. In the room Joshua Scales shared with one of his brotherswho was away with two other siblings at an academic camp in Winchestera red Sony boombox blasted out some of Don Moens best songs. When he really listened, the gentle, amplified melodies usually

strummed at his soul, helping him to relax. But right now, the songs werent helping. They actually seemed to clash with his own thoughts Of Andy, screaming, Im gay, Josh! Im a fag! Of how a line of blood had dripped down Andys face, down his chin, onto the tiled floor. Of Andrews mom suddenly present, screaming at him to get out. He had driven back home, bursting into the house crying. He had kicked at the air and stood quietly by a window. He had mumbled streams of rapid, senseless words to himself and had lain on the bathroom floor, quietly thinking. Now, he was behind his study desk, his hands holding his head. He didnt want to think; he just wanted to relax. He wanted to listen to melodies of heaven, of divine soothing powers and a listening God. But the unneeded thoughts came, in pulsing fragments, in broken words, in images, in bright memories. They struck out, clashing with the music, filling him with growing despondency. Andys a fag. How could that make sense? How could it? Hed known Andy since second grade. Hed loved Andy since second grade. He was about to turn off the music when his phone rang again. Without looking, he knew it was Cynthia. Shed called several times in the past hour and had left a novels worth of messages but he hadnt tried to reach her. Not just yet. He looked wearily at his phone and jolted. It wasnt Cynthia; it was Andy. God. He answered but said nothing. Hello? said Andy from the other end. He sounded as though hed been running miles for the past hour. Josh said nothing. Hello? Silence. Look, Josh, we need to talkI dont know if youre home, but I saw your car parked outside. Im standing in the backyard Get the fuck out of there. No, said Andy. Not until we

I have nothing to say to you! snarled Josh, banging on the table. I Andy cut him off, letting out a stream of anger-framed words. Just fucking shut up, Josh! Shut up and listen to me! Weve been best friends for ten fucking years! Ten years! In all that time, all Ive ever cared about is you! I didnt care about kissing you Josh flinched. Seeing you naked. Sometimes, those things crawled up in my head; sometimes, Id get a little carried away. But all I wanted, all I ever wanted, was to see you happy. Was to be your friend. It was ENOUGH that we were friends. It was ENOUGH that when you wanted to go play with a bunch of rocks at your crib, or watch an awful movie, or even study, youd pick me first. It was enough that you spent the whole fucking summer ignoring me, as long as I had at least one good day of hanging out to look forward to! Andys words were pouring out faster, the anger more palpable, pain infusing every syllable. Josh listened, his fingers squeezing hard on his cellphone, his teeth clenched again. Im gay! I was born gay as far as I know, and why the fuck should that matter? You find out, and after everything, you hit me. You kept hitting me It was clearly Andy was crying again, and now, he seemed to struggle to speak, his voice falling. I dont know whats worse, the fact that I hate myself again, that I hate life, that my mind is a fucking mess, or the fact that we were ever even friends. Josh rose at once; his chair fell, clattering dully on the ground. Don Moen sang about faith. Josh flung his phone. It struck his wall poster of Amy Fitzgerald. He ran downstairs. Whenever Andy typed in the code for his journal, locking it, two curved metal pieces ran from the front cover to the last page, binding it shut. Two minutes ago, he had unlocked the journal and had ripped out all of its pages, crumpling them into balls and throwing them onto the primrose garden in the Scales backyard. Now, sweating heavily, his clothes caked with dirt and mud accrued over the last half hour, he flung his phone as well. It struck the crimson door that led into the Scales kitchen. An eerie second later, the door flew open and Josh emerged. The glare of the kitchen lights behind him shone around the edges of his body. For a moment, he seemed more shadow than man, more illusion than reality. For a moment, his outline seemed to glow. For a very fleeting moment, the thought might have sped through Andys mind that Josh was heartbreakingly beautiful. Josh looked around, at the crumpled balls of paper on the grassy ground, and then at the cellphone just an inch away from his foot. Finally, he stared at Andys face. Andy stared back.

For almost a minute, no one said anything. They simply stared, and there was a lot less pain mirrored, a lot less anger. Each saw in the others face a mirror of confusion. It was easy to feel like the world had pulled itself out of its primordial hinges and currently spun on a new, strange axis. Youyou hit me, Andy finally said. His voice was steady, and there was a telling blankness to his expression, the message cryptic. Yes, Josh replied. His voice was smaller, less steady. He shook his head. Im sorry. That you hit me? Yes. I shouldnt have. Im also sorry that youre a fthat youre gay. Andys expression hardened. Well, Im not sorry. You should be, Josh told him gently. What good did it ever do you? What good did being straight do you? Andy replied tonelessly. Im not in danger of hell, said Josh flatly. He took a few steps closer. Look, Andy, I know you. You can fight this; you can change. Youve never known me, Josh. I dont know how this happened, but Im glad it did, because I feel free. I dont want to change. Im not going to change. Youre going to have to accept me. Josh raised his voice a little more. You want me to choose between you and God? Because thats a fucking Josh! It was Lucys voice, coming faintly from somewhere inside the house. Josh! Are you home? Where are you? Josh turned around, staring into the kitchen for a second, and then he faced Andy again. It was remarkable how much his face had transformed. A lifetime ago it had been hateful, defiant. Now, it looked pleading. We can save you. Ill be at the crib, Andy replied. Come find me when youre ready to talk, to really talk. Sanctimonious bullshit was never your forte. Just leave, Josh replied, walking into the kitchen and slamming the door shut. He met his mom halfway up the main stairs. There was more color to her face, but no less distress than earlier.

Mom, said Josh, forcing a weak smile onto his face. Wheres Mary? Shes been bawling all day, she replied, walking down. Natalies keeping an eye on her now. On your father too, bless her heart. The doctors say hes fine, doing fine. He actually woke up for a little bit and spoke to me. Her voice was low, almost musing. Id have been by his side right now, could actually get the chance to cut his toenails. But Cheryl calledtheres some bad news with Andy. Pockets of heat danced over Joshs face. Bad news? Did Cheryl say anything about me? Lucy frowned. Why would she? Anyway, we have to go see her sweetie. Ill explain everything on the way. Josh sighed. You wont have to. Five out of the six members of the St. Pauls Senior Committee on Town Affairs were already standing outside the Collins Residence when Lucy and Josh arrived. Father Ben was patting Cheryls shoulder. I dont even know where he is, she moaned. He justhe just left. We have to help him, said Josh urgently, running up to them. Several faces turned toward him. I know where he is. Randolph Lander was thinking about his dream and clutching a rosary when his phone rang. It was Father Ben. Father, said Randolph. Randy, theres a likely chance Andrew Collins is at the Myrrh Creek. Are you home? Randolphs eyes were wide. Yes, I am. Chloe and Iwe just finished the mysteries of light. Hes at the creek you say? Very possibly. Im on the way there with my wife and the rest of committee and we should be there in maybe six minutes. But if hes really there, thats just right around a stony corner for you. I want you to try and find him, encourage him to wait for us, to listen to us. In the depths of my soul, I can feel salvation for this lost child. He will listen. Randolph nodded. Amen, father. Of course. He rose. On my way. And Randy, one more thing. Control yourself. Randolph frowned. I dont quite understand what you mean.

Ben sighed. Yes you do. The call ended.

Chapter 14 WHEN the face of darkness fell on Portshire, it chased away the roiling heat, bringing a gentle wind in its wake. At Myrrh Creek, the winds presence on nature was not palpable, except for the occasional fallen leaf, rolling quietly over the surface of stones. Andrew could feel the wind, gently grazing his skin, softly rubbing against his ears, as if trying to whisper the secrets of faraway lands. His body was spread over the bed of stones, their little rough contours digging into his hands and back. He stared up at the night sky, a dark-blue sheet devoid of stars. The moon hid shyly behind slowly shifting clouds. Had there been stars that night? The night he wrote the first little truth. He didnt think so but he couldnt be sure. There had been a moon though, a delicate gleaming crescent. For a moment, he had regarded it, and then he had turned to the white page, the emptiness begging to be filled with words. He had begun writing. This is weird. No idea why I bought this book. I guess it looked pretty cool, with the code on the front and stuff. I think I was hoping to see some sort of secret written in tiny letters somewhere here. Id read it, the hotel door would fly open. A bunch of men in dark suits would barge in, holding rifles. Id try to fight them but probably get killed pretty quickly. Josh says my hands arent good for anything except eating Spaghetti. Smug bastard. Hes probably right though. I mean, my New Year resolution was to gym twice a week at least. I think I managed four times the first week. Never seen a weight since then. Yale wasamazing, I guess. Beautiful campus. Lots and lots of cute boys. There was the one with the yellow shirt and the keychain, reminded me of Peter Bishop. Except shades cuter. He looked like a tourist though, so even if I get into Yale (ha!) Ill probably never see him. I might be stuck in Portshire all my life. But thats not as bad as it sounds. Not if I was stuck with Josh. Hes so crazy. Still cant believe we snuck into the convent and didnt get caught. Of course, the way Sister Samantha kept staring at me in church, I think she knew and I think she was burning me to hell with her nun-eyes and super-nun powers. And its all Joshs fault. The things you get into with Josh. Food fights; little escapades into forbidden places. Hes amazing. Handsome. Funny. Asshole. Kinda everywhere too. I feel like maybe he can read this. Invisible man. Josh, are you here? Hiding somewhere? Invisible? I can see you,

cmon. I can feel your presence. I can almost smell that putrid odor you call deodora nt. Grow up, Josh. Get a new one. And when are you gonna text me back? Ive sent you, what, 8 messages now? Youve sent one. AND IT SAYS LOL JOSH. Thats all it fucking says. Boy, Im losing it fast, arent I? Well, I dont care. If youre here, near, dear, just send me a text already. Please. Oh well, Ive fulfilled my quota of insanity exhibition for the day. Time to see if theres any decent TV channels here. Yada-yada. Everythings gonna be fine, he told himself. It gets better, he mumbled, staring at the sky. Small streaks of tears ran across his face, but he felt too tired to lift a hand and wipe them. Theyd probably just come back anyway. It gets better, he repeated. Andrew? He jolted, sitting up straight at once, looking around. He saw the shape almost immediately, took three crawling steps backward and rose. Fifteen feet away stood Randolph Lander, Jasons dad, slowly covering the distance between them. He held a flashlight in his right hand, its light pointed at Andys chest. What do you want? snarled Andrew. Stay away from me! Salvation Andy, Randolph told him gently. Salvation. Stay the fuck away from me, Andy replied weakl y, running his hand over his eyes and nose. I dont care about salvation. Randolph chuckled. Language, young man. Who would have thought? Andy the Star, Portshires role model, using that kind of language. Andrew stopped moving. He watched as Randolph slowly closed the distance between them, his feet making no sound. And believe it or not, said Randolph, staring down at Andy, its not about you. Its about the book of Revelations. Its about the end times. Its about the dreams Ive been having, the same ones about the Anti-Christ in Portshire again and again.

Andy, weary as he was, managed a smirk. You think Im the Anti-Christ? I think, Andy, that hes using you, your kind. I think that Gods righteous anger will fall on us, on every father, every mother, every child in Portshire because of the enormity of your sin. I think that theres a chance for redemption. The Second Comingits almost here. But just before then, just before the clouds part and the gates of Heaven open up to us, you have the hope of salvation. But like I said, its not about you. Its about this town. Andy let out a cold laugh. You think because of me, God can punish this town? Yes Andy. Portshire is a body, and youre like an infected hand. If we dont cut you out, or cure you, your disease will spread to the rest of us. He poked Andy with a finger. How can you choose to disrespect God so much? How can you choose to be gay? Andy shoved Randolph with his right hand. I did not choose to be gay! he snarled. I was born this way, and if your God is going to punish me, punish Portshire, punish whoever, because of something I have absolutely no control over, then maybe your God is a fucking hypocritical son-of-a Shut up! Randolph snarled, striking Andys left eye with the butt of his flashlight. Andy screamed, bending over, clutching his eye with both hands. An instant later, he lashed out. His body had achieved a state of frustration and weariness that made his reaction, swift and rage-filled, seem almost involuntary. His right fist flew out twice, striking Randolphs chest and face in the same millisecond. Randolph staggered backward, moaning, his fingers uncurling, letting go of the flashlight. Andy struck one more time, his elbow whirling upward, then falling, catching the back of Randolphs neck. The soft wind sighed. The sound of water from several feet below trudged its way up the tower of rocks, into the ears of Randolph and Andrew. Randolph, standing atop this tower, struck once more by Andys unrelenting hands, fell. Four vehicles came to a halt a few feet away from an intersection of two roads, one paved and smooth, the other stony. Cheryl got out of hers as quickly as she could. As Father Ben and his wife got out of their shared Toyota, the latter pointed at a vehicle that had already been sitting here for a few minutes. Randy, she said. Oh God, Cheryl mumbled, watching two police officers get out of one of the cars. Please tell me hes here.

Randolph was on the ground, and Andrew was sitting on his chest, his fisted hands squeezing Randolphs shirt. You leave me alone now, Andrew told him, slowly enunciating every syllable. I have no time for you or your fucking hateful God. Randolphs arms had been roving around in an almost meaningless struggle, until Andys last words drove them into roving with concerted effort. It happened quickly, too quickly to comprehend. Too quickly to stop. Randolphs left hand encircled a stone the size of an apple. He swung hard. It crashed onto the back of Andrews head once, twice. Andrew had been trying to stand, and his hips had just lost contact with Randolphs body when the stone struck. He fell forward, his face grazing stones as his body propelled forward, working against immense friction. Suddenly, there was nothing for his face to graze, nothing but air. His arms flailed. He screamed. His upper body weight did the rest. Andrew Collins fell through a few hundred feet of nothingness, landing face-first onto a slab of rock. His eyes, nose, teeth, forehead shattered at once. Blood flew. For two seconds, his fingers moved. After that, they never moved again.

Chapter 15 A SECOND always changes. Sometimes, it passes by slowly, every millisecond dragged out, every self-contained moment progressing to infinity. Sometimes it simply whips away. A moment lost. A chance gone. Sometimes, it loses its quality of quantity; it just vanishes, whirling time into a black hole, into a senseless, empty black hole. Cheryl Collins was in that black hole. She had been sucked in when she had seen Randolph strike at her son, when she had seen Andy fall to his death. And she never really got out. In that nameless, timeless whirlpool of existence, only pain existed, a crazy, senseless, numbing pain. It sat beside her in the car that shrieked its way to the hospital. It ran along with her as she broke through the doors of Portshire Medical. And whether she was screaming, or merely sitting still, quivering or merely scratching wordlessly at walls, nothing felt real. Nothing except the loss. Except the reality that had destroyed hers. The reality of death. Finally, somehow, time found her sitting quietly on a bench in a corridor that reeked of medicine. For a moment, she just sat. And in the next, that unreal, numbing window of empty time opened up, betraying her, letting in reality.

Hes dead. Hes dead. She rose. Her hands flew. She fell to her knees. She screamed. Joshua Scales sat on the floor of the doorway leading out of the kitchen and into the backyard, his head tilted to one side, resting on a wall. His fingers fiddled with each other in urgent speed. His face, its expression trance-like, was still pasty red, still etched with the ghost of tears less than ten minutes dead. His mom had persisted in trying to get him into the house, pleading, rubbing his shoulder. He hadnt budged, hadnt said a word. Finall y, she had given up saying, If you want to talk, just find me. Josh sat by himself for over an hour, staring at the dim shapes of flower petals and hedges. He barely moved until a hand touched his shoulder. Slowly, he turned. It was Cynthia. She looked uncertain. How are you doing? she asked, sitting beside him. Josh returned his gaze to the unmoving objects in his backyard. I killed him. Its my fault. Cynthia cringed. What? You cant say that. Mr. Lander wouldnt have known where Andy was. Shouldnt have known. Josh, it was an accident. She rubbed his arm. It was. He said nothing. Besides, she went on, your mom needs you. Shes up in front of the TV, staring at the blank screen, and she looks like a ghost. Imagine whats on her mind, with your dad at the hospital and with this whole mess about Andy. He said nothing. Josh, we need to consider one more thing. Remember how Mr. Lander kept saying that the end times were near. And how Portshire broke down after Morpheus was exposed. The heat with Winchester. The accident this morning. And now, Andys death. Dad said he spoke with Betty Farnsworth and from what her husband told her, that accident was no accident at all. Maybe all these sick thingsmaybe its retribution for sin. Andrew Collins wasnt the friend we thought he was and Josh exploded. He rose to his feet snarling, Shut up! Shut up now! Cynthia stared at him in open-mouthed shock.

Youre not one to talk about sinners, Cynthia! he raged. So just shut the fuck up. Remember what happened last month? At That was a mistake and you know it! she screamed, hurt. Nothing happened. Because of me! Because of me, Cynthia. I stopped us from doing it. If I hadnt, if I fucking hadnt, weyou know what, just get the fuck out. Cynthia was crying now. She stood up, stretching her arms toward Josh, but he recoiled. Leave me alone, he snarled. She looked at him for a few seconds, lowering her outstretched, quivering hands. Two seconds later, she was gone. Later that night, Cynthia would sit outside the door of her room, staring at the words her mom had encouraged her to write on its surface. She would sit there for hours, trying to find something she couldnt understand. In the center of my soul is a lions heart, blessed by God Almighty, the King of Kings, the Lily of the Valley, El-Shaddai. From sin, I recuse myself. From the grasp of Satan I flee. Under the shadow of the Almighty, I am cloaked, guarded. The Eyes of Evil shall search but not find. In a blessed love with Joshua Scales, I pledge my faithfulness, bound to him in innocence, in obedience to the Lord. Worldly seeds shall not conquer us. Before the dawn of our matrimony, our hands and hearts shall commit no sacrilege. To every sinner I face, I shall stand firm, embracing him as the Lord did the Gentiles. I shall welcome him with open arms, inspiring in his heart the word of the Lord. For only with love do sinners turn away from darkness, embracing the full depths of piety and chastity, and only with love shall I treat them. By midnight, Devon Collins finally found his wife. Her car was parked in the local football field close to Mill Street. She was perched on the ground, her arms hugging her knees. Hey, he said, approaching her. What are you? WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN! she thundered, rising and taking large, furious steps toward him. She ripped off her necklace and flung it at his chest. I CALLED YOU HOURS AGO! OUR SON IS DEAD; HES DEAD! WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU? She was now close enough to hit him, and her hands lashed out, palms striking his chest weakly.

He put his arms around her. She convulsed, her arms falling to his waist, trying to pull him close. Her face buried in her husbands chest, she wailed. Devon had tried to be strong, had tried to file away his shock, his horror, his hatred of Randy Lander, his pain, at least for this moment. He couldnt. Not with these strangled, dejected cries, not with the way she had screamed at him. He convulsed too. Holding her close, he cried too. How are we gonna tell Mikayla? They were sitting side-by-side in front of her red car and she sounded very tired. Neither was certain how much time had passed. I dont know, Devon replied. I just dont know dear. Shes His voice trailed off, his expression sickened as an image of Mikayla shrieking filled his head. Anyway, well have to go back to the hospital. Well have to arrange for He felt the tears coming again and stopped talking. Thethe last time he fell sick, said Cheryl, her head on Devons shoulder. That was months ago, just after the chicken pox scare. I remember, Devon replied, his words pouring out with effort. The fever was bad. He had to take a lot of injections, was holed up in bed most of the time. Missed school for two days. There was a small period of silence. Devon rubbed his left eye and said, I keep thinking of the last time I heard from him. Just a text. H e said, see you when you get home. His voice wavered. His resolve was falling again. I should have known somehow; I should have understood Known what? That he was a homosexual? That he was going to die? How could you have? They looked at each other. In his face, she saw defeat; in hers, pain. I honestly dont know how to handle this, she told him. I feel tired, I feel hopeless, I feel betrayed. I keep thinking of the last things he told me, that he loved me, that he couldnt handle his life anymore. I keep thinking of his body whenhis face when I know. I saw it too. We really have to go back. Whats the point? she asked. Whats the point of going back for his body when his soul isDev, Andrew was gay. I keep trying to understand how God can accept his lost soul. Its what hurts the most. I dontwhats, whats wrong? Devon had risen. Now, he was walking away. She rose too. Devon!

He turned around to look at her. His eyes were steely. Our son is dead because of stupid drivel like that. We should have known he was gay. We should have known, and we should have told him that it was okay. Cheryl was horrified. How can you say that? Devons glare deepened. How can call yourself his mother? Those words cut through her like a drill through sponge and he saw it. At that moment, the enormity of lifes misdirection was too much for him to care. Without saying another word, he walked away from the field. Cheryl watched him leave. There were no tears left to emerge from her raw eyes. Josh feebly picked up one of the crumbled balls of paper and smoothed it out. He exhaled and stared at the words. --but lies. And because you couldnt see it, I told you the truth. I told you that you trie d your best, that you were brave, that you cared about people, about music and that had to count for something. Ive always sucked at giving pep talks, but I could actually see you smiling. It was like you were actually listening, actually understanding that you had no reason to be insecure. I dont know. The whole day had just been this weird, awkward mess and I didnt know if you could tell from my expression that I was close to tears. Your mom finally came to pick you up. She said Big Eagle John had finally fixed up your car and you smiled like crazy. Its funny how you punched me in the shoulder and said, See you later, bud. I wanted to hug you. Oh well, right? And right now, I cant stop thinking about it, about how much you opened up to me. Its the best Ive seen you, not just since you started dating Cynthia, but in a long, long time. I know you said you hate gay people, but after todayI dont know. It just feels like if I told you, youd be shocked of course. But we really get each other and it ju st feels like somehow, you would understand. Heck, if Im lucky, maybemaybe theres really something more than friendship going on between us. Maybe one day, youll turn to me Josh and say, Ive always known, and maybe then, youll kiss me. But I really dont need that. As long as were friends, I dont need anything else.

Jason Lander was on the edge of his bed, unconsciously biting his nails when his mom walked in. She hugged him and he held onto her grip. Hows dad? he asked, voice quavering. Still locked up, she replied. Hes in pretty bad shape. He says it was an accident. Do you believe him? She shook her head. I have to. I cantI cant imagine hed kill poor Andy on purpose. But what if he did, mom? What if he did? His voice trembled very badly, and his grip around her tightened. If he killed Andy on purpose, whats he going to do to me if he finds out Im also He wont, sweetie, she promised him. He wont. It was three a.m. Josh had gathered as many pieces of Andys journal as he could find in the backyard. He saw pictures. Some of them were tender, lines and curves showing him and Andy hugging. A few were very explicit. I dont know, he whispered to himself, staring at the papers in his hand. The pain squirming inside his chest like a charged, toxic hot-air balloon wasnt going away soon. He sat in the kitchen doorway again. From there, he could see a sprinkle of stars anchored to the sky, like gold dust waved into existence with the shake of a fairys wand. Hed never talked about stars with Andy, had he? It hit him again, the streak of pain only associated with great loss, the clawing hole too massive to be filled. He felt the corners of his eyes burn, twitch. He shook his head, in which a small headache now resided. The pages he held almost fell. They didnt. He began to read. For a long time, he did.