The Less-Dead (7 page)

“Oh, thank you, but please don’t go to any trouble. Really, I’ll be fine.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” my dad says.

Melanie passes Will the spaghetti; he heaps it onto his plate. She laughs. “You’re pretty hungry, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m always hungry.”

She hands him the pot of sauce and watches as he ladles it on top of the spaghetti. For her enjoyment, he shovels a huge forkful of food into his mouth and chews.

“So, Will, tell us about yourself,” my dad says. “Are you a junior?”

Will swallows his food and takes a sip of water. “Senior,” he says. “I’ll be eighteen pretty soon. When I graduate, I’m planning to head out to L.A. Well, if I can save up enough money. I’ve got a friend there, and hopefully a job lined up.”

“Really? That’s wonderful,” my mom says. “What kind of job?”

Will hesitates for a moment. “Uh, it’s with the L.A. Youth Connection. They work with foster kids. A guy I know runs a program for … well, for teens with special needs. He wants to raise awareness, promote tolerance, provide counseling, stuff like that. If he can work something out, I’d be his assistant. It wouldn’t pay much, but that’s okay. I’d be doing something I like. Something I believe in.”

“Sounds like a worthy cause,” my dad says. He takes a
bite of French bread, chews, and swallows. “But tell me, Will, does this group also provide spiritual guidance for these teens? And maybe a good church for them to attend?”

I stop chewing and glare at my dad. I want to throttle him.

“Because I feel that’s very important,” he goes on. “It’s noble to want to help, but in my opinion what these teens really need is God.”

“Maybe they already have God,” Will says.

“Well, yes, of course that’s a possibility, but considering their backgrounds …” My father trails off. The Bible Answer Guy has officially put his foot in his mouth.

Will looks at me.

I set down my fork. “So what are you trying to say, Dad? That the L.A. Youth Connection should hire a group of evangelicals? Make sure all the foster kids go through the five-point plan of salvation?”

“Noah, please,” my dad says. “That’s not what I’m—”

“Or maybe we should send them all free Bibles, and make them listen to your show?”

“That’s. Enough. Noah.”

While my father glares at me, Will says, “Listen, I’m sorry, Mr. Nordstrom. I didn’t mean to cause a problem. And I should probably explain something. You see, the group I hope to be working with promotes tolerance for gay teens.”

Oh, great. Here we go.

My dad blinks. “I see.”

My mother glances around nervously. She reaches across the table, takes Will’s hand, and gives it a squeeze. “Well, I
think that’s just wonderful, Will. And I want you to know our church welcomes
everyone.”

“That’s for sure,” Melanie says. “Last Sunday there was this smelly guy talking to himself, sitting right behind me. I’m pretty sure he had
lice
. They didn’t even kick
him
out.”

Will laughs. He pushes some spaghetti around on his plate. “Mr. Nordstrom? I … hear what you’re saying, but don’t evangelical Christians believe that homosexuality is a sin?”

“Well, yes,” my father says. “But we’re all sinners—in need of the Lord.” He pauses for a moment and clears his throat. “Will, I should explain something too. You see, the problem I have with a secular group like L.A. Youth Connection is they assume gay teens are certain of their sexual orientation. My question is, how can a teenager be sure he’s gay at such a young age? Maybe he’s confused and needs counseling?”

I can see where this conversation is going, and I don’t like it. Will takes a deep breath. I nudge his foot under the table and shake my head.
Don’t, Will. Don’t open this can of worms
.

“I know what gay is,” Melanie says. “It’s when a boy wants to marry another boy. That’s
so
weird.”

Will chokes down a laugh. “Well, it
is
different, Melanie, but it’s not
that
weird. Not as weird as, say, space monkeys or mutant ninja turtles.”

Melanie thinks this one over. “I guess.”

“Anyway, to answer your question, Mr. Nordstrom, most gay kids know they’re gay from a pretty young age. The
problem is when people tell them it’s wrong. Or say it’s a sin. That’s usually when the kids need counseling. L.A. Youth Connection believes that gay teens need to accept themselves for who they are.”

“Wait a minute,” Melanie says. “Are
you
gay, Will?”

“Melanie!” my mom scolds.

“What? It’s just a question.”

Before Will can answer, I say, “Mel, enough already! Can we just eat dinner? Can we stop talking about this?”

Will looks down at his plate.

“I think that’s a good idea, Noah,” my mother says. “Please, let’s enjoy dinner. And mind your own business, Melanie.”

Melanie frowns and sticks her tongue out at me. I give her the evil eye.

“I apologize, Mr. Nordstrom,” Will says. “I shouldn’t have brought any of that up.”

“No, it’s fine,” my dad says. “No harm done.”

My father studies me from across the table as we eat in silence. In defiance, I stare right back at him.

Suddenly he clears his throat. “Well, I certainly hope you make it back to L.A., Will. It sounds like the perfect job for you.”

Yeah, let’s hope he moves back to L.A., right, Dad? Out of sight, out of mind
.

“Thank you, sir.”

After dinner, Will offers to clean up. My mother protests, but he insists. “Please, it’s the least I can do, Mrs. Nordstrom. I’d like to help.”

Finally she gives in, heads to the adjoining family room,
and takes a seat on the sofa next to my dad. He turns on the news. Meanwhile Melanie runs upstairs to finish her homework.

Will and I work together—I clear the table while he loads the dishwasher—and we don’t say much. As he rinses off the last plate, he says, “Noah? Are you sure you’re cool with me being here?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. Your parents are really nice, and Melanie’s great, but things got a little tense over dinner. Plus, you seem kind of freaked. Maybe I’d better leave?”

“No. You’re not leaving. And I’m not freaked.”

I hear my mother gasp from the family room. I look up, peer more closely at the TV, and see a familiar face on the screen. A mug shot. It’s Melanie’s former Sunday school teacher, Warren Banks. Below the photo are the words
Suspect in Murder of Gay Teen
. I shut the refrigerator, walk into the room, and motion for Will to join me. Instead, he stands there frozen, watching from a distance.

“John?” my mother says. “I don’t understand. How could this be?”

I turn up the volume. The newscaster continues.

“Warren Banks, suspect in the murder of Austin teenager Kyle Lester, is a former member of King of Glory Christian Center—a local independent church. Earlier this year, Banks left King of Glory and joined an Austin branch of the Westboro Baptist Church, whose main headquarters is in Topeka, Kansas. The Westboro church is widely known for its Web site, God Hates Fags dot-com. Banks is twenty-five years old and a former employee at a software company.”

I glance back at Will. His eyes are glued to the TV.

Now, beside the mug shot of Warren Banks, News 8 is showing a clip of a group from the Westboro Baptist Church marching and holding up signs that say GOD HATES FAGS! FAGS HATE GOD! AIDS CURES FAGS! AMERICA IS DOOMED!

The newscaster goes on. “According to police reports, Kyle Lester was last seen alive with Warren Banks outside Urban Legend, a downtown bar on Sixth Street. The owner, Herb Underwood, claims that Banks was a regular customer. Banks has pleaded not guilty to the murder, and right now police are awaiting DNA results.”

I take a closer look at Banks on the TV screen. The only time I ever spoke to the guy was when I picked up Melanie from Sunday school class. Drily, he’d tell me the Bible verse she was supposed to memorize for the following week so she could get a star next to her name. To me, he was just another church nerd. Never in a million years would I have thought,
Murderer
.

“But what complicates matters further in this case is that another body was found this morning near Town Lake—a teenage boy who had been in the foster care system. Due to his age, his name is not being released. According to police, this boy had been killed in the same manner as Kyle Lester. Apparently he’d been strangled with a rope, which was found at the crime scene. A cross had been carved into the flesh of his chest. A note had been left using letters cut from newspaper—part of a Bible verse condemning homosexuality, one similar to the note found with Kyle Lester. ‘Leviticus 20:13—If a man lieth with mankind, they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.’”

My stomach plummets. Another murder. Another gay foster kid. It could have been Will.

“Coroners are determining the time of the teenager’s death. If the boy was killed before the arrest of Warren Banks, Banks will be a suspect in this murder as well.”

News 8 goes on to their next story, something about a hazing at a UT frat party.

I walk over to Will. He’s staring straight ahead, the color drained from his face. “Will, are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I just … I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Me neither.” I take a deep breath. “There’s something I should tell you. That guy, Warren Banks, the one they arrested, he used to go to our church.”

Will looks at me. Except for the TV droning, the room is deathly quiet. My parents are sitting there like statues. “And remember when I asked you about Kyle Lester?” I say. “Here’s why: a week before his murder there was a crazy guy calling in on my dad’s show, saying all this crap about gay people, and—”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I heard the show with Doomsday.”

My mother turns around. She’s crying. “Will, please, I want you to know that
our
church, what we believe, it’s nothing like that horrible Westboro Baptist hate group. I mean, there’s just no excuse—”

“I understand, Mrs. Nordstrom, really. You don’t need to explain.”

My dad puts a hand on my mother’s shoulder. There’s a pained expression on his face. I know Kyle’s murder still
haunts him. Now another boy is dead. And now he’s facing Will—a living, breathing gay teenager standing in his own kitchen. Someone he just shared a meal with. If he had to take that call over again, what would his answer be?

“Mrs. Nordstrom?” Will says. “Is it okay if I chill out in the guest room? I’d like to be alone for a while.”

“Of course, Will. Go right ahead. Let us know if you need anything.”

Will picks up his grocery bags.

“Hey, I’ll come by later, dude,” I say. “Maybe we can play a game of chess or something? Take your mind off things?”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks, Noah.”

After Will closes the door of the guest room, I take a seat opposite my parents.

My mom lowers the volume on the TV. “John, this is crazy. That guy was Melanie’s Sunday school teacher. And to think we had no clue.”

My dad nods slowly. “Yes, well, obviously Warren Banks is
very
disturbed and
very
good at hiding it. Still, it’s hard to believe no one from King of Glory caught on. They do background checks on all the people in the children’s ministry, so apparently his record was clean.” He sighs. “At least they’ve got him now. It won’t happen again.”

“I think we should keep in mind that he’s just a suspect,” my mom says. “He’s not necessarily guilty. Although it certainly seems that way.”

“There’s something I don’t get,” I say. “On the news, they said Warren Banks was a regular customer at Urban Legend. So doesn’t that mean … ?”

“That Banks is homosexual?” my father says. “It’s certainly
possible. He could have been fighting his… well, his demons, so to speak, projected his struggle on others, and become violent, but it’s also just as likely that he was a stalker waiting for the right victim. Someone like Kyle, and now this other boy. Whatever the case, they’re both heinous hate crimes.”

I sit there for a while, thinking about how screwed up all this is. Demons? Christian gay-bashers? If you ask me, John Lennon was right. Imagine a world with no religion. Maybe
that’s
heaven.

“Dad? Do you think that’s him? Do you think Warren Banks is the caller from your show?”

He sighs deeply. “There’s no way to tell, Noah. If you remember, he disguised his voice with some sort of digital device. The police have all the audiotapes of my show. They weren’t able to make a match.”

“I know it’s him,” I say. “I just do. When you put it together—what he said on your show, and the fact that Kyle was killed one week after he stopped calling. And now we find out he was a member of that crazy church.”

My dad is quiet for a long time. Finally he says, “Noah, even if Warren Banks was the caller, I didn’t have the ability to stop his crimes. Yes, what he said was hateful, but you know what the Bible says about homosexuality.” He glances toward the guest room and lowers his voice. “It doesn’t matter that you have a friend who’s gay. It’s still a sin. Period. I can’t pretend that it’s not. I’m not going to condone homosexuality on my show.”

“Really?” I say. “So let me ask you something, Dad. What if
I
was gay? Your own son. What would you do? Disown me? Throw me out of the house? Damn me to hell?”

“Noah, please,” my mother says. “Don’t speak to your father that way.”

“I’ll speak to him however I like. And what about the other Bible verse, Dad? The one that says, ‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged.’ Do you just toss that one out the window? You’re so busy pointing the finger. Have you even bothered to look at yourself?”

I’m seething now. I get up, march to my room, and slam the door. A minute later, Melanie pokes her head in. “Noah, what’s wrong? Why are you screaming at Daddy?”

“Go away!”

She makes a face, slams the door, and runs down the stairs. “Mom? Dad? What’s the matter with Noah?”

I grab my iPod, stuff the earpieces into my ears, and turn up the volume. I lie down for a while, then pick up my chess set and head for the guest room. I knock. “Will? Hey, is it all right if I come in?”