The Less-Dead Read online

  My father doesn’t say anything for a long time. Finally he looks up. His eyes are glassy. “I wish I had an answer, Warren, but I don’t. There was a time, not too long ago, when I thought I knew everything, but it seems I know very little. I’d say it’s between you and God now. But please, don’t try to hurt yourself again. That’s certainly not the answer.”

  A few seconds later, the guard walks into the room. “Visiting time is over,” he barks. “I need to escort Mr. Banks back to his cell.”

  Slowly, Banks stands. He shakes my dad’s hand first, then mine. “Thanks for coming.” He follows the guard to the door, but before leaving the room, he turns around. “There’s something I forgot to mention, Noah. It’s about the man who left with Kyle. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but I can tell you one thing. He was carrying a Bible.”

  {nineteen}

  “LOOK, I know you’re pissed off at me, and you have every right to be. It’s just … I really need to talk to you.”

  I’m at church, sitting directly behind Aubrey, whispering into her ear. Her father, Pastor Simpson, has just finished his sermon; I watch as he briskly walks up the aisle past us. Now the worship team take their places onstage and are about to sing their last sappy inspirational song. “Everyone, please rise!” commands the leader. “Let’s praise the Lord together!”

  Carson is next to me, right behind Kat. Immediately, he bolts up from his chair and joins in, belting out the chorus, “Jesus, you’re all I need!”

  “Aubrey, please don’t ignore me,” I say. Her hair brushes against my cheek. God, she smells good. I glance down and remember kissing the curve of her collarbone that fatal afternoon in the woods at the youth retreat. “I’m sorry about the night at the Red Room. The song—it was a mistake.”

  Slowly, she turns around. Her face is flushed. I’m hoping it’s because she feels the same chemistry as I do, but I doubt it. “A mistake?”

  “Yeah, a big one.”

  The congregation sings, “You shed your blood for me …”

  “Explain,” she says.

  “Paid the price so I can be …”

  “Here? Now?”

  “In your fold eternally …”

  “Yes.”

  While the rest of the church sings the chorus, I say, “Okay. The song I wrote was the exact opposite of how I feel. I thought you might see through it, you know, to the cryptic message. It was … well, it was my friend Will who gave me the idea.”

  The song ends. As people are saying their last Amens, Aubrey looks at me. I can tell she’s holding back tears. “I’m sorry, Noah,” she whispers. “Carson told me what happened. It must have been awful. I just … well, I was angry before, but I should have called you. Are you okay?”

  “Actually, I’m not.”

  She glances around the church. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah.” As the congregation begins its “meet and greet” session, she brushes past Brandon and motions for me to follow. I do. Brandon doesn’t look too happy about this turn of events, and I can’t say that I care.

  When we reach the aisle, Aubrey grabs my hand. Everyone is staring at us now. My guess is that about half the congregation knows it was me who found the body of the third gay foster boy The media didn’t release my name, but word travels fast in King of Glory. From the corner of my eye, I see Pastor Simpson. I can tell he’s not meditating on Jesus’s shed blood right now; I think he might enjoy shedding some of mine instead. We race past him and out the door.

  Aubrey and I stand together in the woods at the greenbelt, gazing at what’s left of Will’s campsite—the charred fire pit, a small knot of rope left from the makeshift clothesline, the stub of Hawk’s cigarette, the big rock where Will and I sat and composed my anti-love song. Meanwhile I fill Aubrey in on the past three crazy weeks of my life. She listens intently, barely saying a word.

  When I finish, we’re both quiet for a long time. I hear the familiar sounds of water rushing over the rocks, cicadas chirring. It’s oddly peaceful. Aubrey was the one who decided we should come here. She wanted to understand exactly what I saw the morning I found Will.

  Finally she says, “Noah? Where was the body?”

  “I’ll show you.” I take Aubrey’s hand and lead her to the spot. It’s covered with leaves and twigs, like nothing ever happened. “Right here. Will was facedown. For a second I wasn’t sure he was dead, but then I knew.”

  “And the note with the Bible verse? Where was that?”

  “Right there. Beside Will’s head. Tucked under a big rock. The rope was next to it.”

  “And what about … ?”

  “The carving? I saw that too. Will was wearing a T-shirt I’d given him. You know the one. The Kinks’ 1985 tour. The front was stained with blood. I lifted it, and the cross was there. You can tell the killer took his time. It was no rush job.”

  “Oh, God. You must have been so scared, Noah.”

  “I think I felt more shock than anything. It took some time to sink in.”

  Aubrey shudders. “I just don’t understand how anyone could be so sick. I saw those people on TV—from the Westboro group. I had no idea they existed. And they call themselves a church. The whole thing’s insane. And to think that Warren Banks left King of Glory and joined them. I just don’t get it.”

  “Me neither. Especially after talking to him in jail. He seemed pretty tortured, but it’s hard to imagine him killing anyone. Anyway, the police don’t know for sure if the Westboro church is involved, or if Warren Banks is guilty of the first two murders. At this point the killer could be anywhere.”

  Aubrey thinks this over. “You’re right. I mean, it’s possible that one man killed all three boys—Kyle, Paul, and Will—and that the police have no idea who it is.”

  “It’s possible.”

  It’s a relief to finally talk things over, and I’m glad Aubrey’s with me, but still the guilt hangs over me. Especially here, the place where I blew Will off, the place where he died. I run my hand across his book, tucked away in my front pocket. “Hey, Aubrey? Did you know that our church had one of those Exodus groups? I mean, before I told you all this stuff.”

  She sighs. “Yeah. I knew.”

  “And what do you think of it?”

  “I hate it. I think it sucks.” She looks at me. “The truth is, Noah, I used to believe everything my father taught. But I don’t anymore. I never told you this, but I met this guy Danny in theater arts. He was my mime partner, and we got to be pretty good friends. When he found out my father was a pastor, he told me that he used to belong to the youth group at his church. Only, when he came out this year, told the group he was gay, they were horrified. They decided to have a prayer meeting for him, and when he didn’t show up, they told him not to come around unless he was willing to change. It’s just so wrong. I don’t think Marty would ever do something like that.”

  “You’re right. He wouldn’t. Carson told me Marty doesn’t agree with the church’s view that being gay is a sin. He thinks the youth group might be able to bring about some kind of change.”

  “Really? That’s great.”

  A lock of hair has fallen into Aubrey’s face. I reach over and tuck it behind her ear. “Aubrey, there’s something I didn’t tell you. Something about me and Will. You see, when we first met, I didn’t know he was gay. But after we hung out for a while, I realized he was, well, into me. Actually it was Carson who figured it out. Anyway, I thought I was okay with it. Will knew I was straight, and it’s not like he was expecting anything in return. But it turns out, I wasn’t okay. The last time I saw him, right here in the woods, he said something and I took it the wrong way. I’m really ashamed of how I acted toward him. I was going to apologize at the Red Room, but he never showed up.”

  Aubrey takes my hand. “I’m sorry, Noah. Try not to dwell on it. I’m sure Will knew how you really felt.”

  “That’s the problem. I’ll never know.” I bend down, pick up a ro
ck, throw it as hard as I can. I hear a thud in the distance. “There’s something else I did. Will gave me a book to write my songs in. Inside the cover, he wrote an inscription. It was like a poem. Anyway, some guy at school took it from me, read it aloud, started calling me a queer. I punched him in the stomach, and afterward I threw the book in the trash.” I pick up another rock and throw it. “I’ve been calling my father a hypocrite, and now look at me.”

  “Noah, you made a mistake, but you’re not a hypocrite.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not so sure. Anyway, thanks for coming here with me,” I say. “Thanks for listening. And I really am sorry about the song.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t be. I’m beginning to understand it better now. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  We hike to the twin falls and take seats, side by side, atop the flat limestone bedrock. It’s a warm day. Aubrey kicks off her shoes and puts her feet in the water. I run my hand over Will’s book again. There’s a lump in my throat. “Aubrey? There’s one last thing I need to tell you. Actually, there’s something I need to show you. But before I do, would you promise me …” I can barely get the words out.

  “What? Noah? Promise what?”

  “It’s just … I don’t want you to think I’m crazy. Carson already does, and half the time I think he’s right. Anyway, here.” I pull Will’s book from my pocket. “This was Will’s. He wrote poems and lyrics in it, some other stuff too. I found it near his body, tossed aside in a pile of leaves. I didn’t give it to the police as evidence. I lied, said I didn’t find anything.”

  “Whoa. That’s not good.”

  “No, but right now, that’s the least of my worries. You see, I found other things in this book—poems—but I don’t think Will wrote them. I think they’re clues.”

  “Clues?”

  “To the murders.”

  Her eyes widen. “Show me.”

  I scoot a little closer to Aubrey and open the book. After she reads “Potter’s Field,” I tell her about Hawk’s note, the John eight Bible passage, and the cemetery phone number. “And the freaky thing is,” I say, “it’s all written on the page from the day I met Will, the day I sang that Lead Belly song for him and he wrote it down.”

  “Wow, that’s odd.”

  “No kidding.”

  Next I turn to the entry dated September ninth and show her the poem “For Kyle.” “Will wrote that poem right after Kyle died,” I say, “but look here, in the margin. There’s something else.”

  Aubrey takes the book. I watch her lips move as she silently reads “One Small Act of Kindness.” She looks up. “Noah, this is scary.”

  “So you believe me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Okay, good. And you don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “No, of course not. But tell me, is there anything else in here? Are there any other clues?”

  “I don’t know. I was afraid to look.” I’d be embarrassed to admit this to any other girl. But not Aubrey.

  She stares at me for a while, then lifts her feet from the water, scoots back, and sits cross-legged. Little puddles form on the rock in front of us. She starts flipping through the pages. “All right. Think back, Noah. Try to remember. What day did the police find Paul Mateo’s body?”

  I don’t have to think at all. If I’d had the guts, that’s what I would have looked at next. But I didn’t. “It was a Monday,” I say. “October eleventh.”

  Aubrey turns a few more pages. “Here it is. There’s a poem with no title.” She reads:

  “So much depends upon

  a white boy,

  singing a slave song on the dirty steps,

  eyes closed, strumming steel,

  a lost soul, like me.”

  She looks up. “Noah, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “That’s … well, a poem Will wrote about me. I’m the boy on the steps, singing the song. It’s about the day Will and I met on the Drag. He wrote the poem on October eleventh, which is the same day the police found Paul’s body.”

  “It’s a good poem,” Aubrey says, biting her lip.

  “I know. But, Aubrey, is there anything else on that page?”

  Slowly, she looks down and runs her finger along the margin. A few seconds later, her eyes meet mine. “There is.”

  I lean over and take a look. I see another poem in the light, shaky handwriting.

  Playing God

  Are some lives worth more than others?

  Is death more satisfying when it comes

  to the least of our brothers?

  Victim number two had no soul,

  but turn the page and you’ll see,

  victim number three was gold.

  “Noah? What does it mean?”

  I read it over again. “Victim number two must be Paul Mateo. Will knew him when they were younger. He told me that Paul got teased a lot—kids called him faggot and queer. Will felt bad because he never stood up for Paul. Anyway, they lost touch, but Will found out that Paul had been hustling on the streets right before he was murdered.”

  “That’s so sad,” Aubrey says. “I can’t believe kids, right here in Austin, live that way.” She glances down at the poem. “Noah, what about …”

  “Number three? That must be Will. Gold.”

  “The poem says to turn the page,” Aubrey says.

  “Right. Go ahead.”

  I follow along as Aubrey reads aloud.

  “Gold

  The greater the sacrifice,

  The greater the reward.

  Number three, slain with a kiss,

  The others, a sword.

  “How weird. Number three, slain with a kiss? Do you think he’s referring to the way Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus with a kiss?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. This guy is so twisted.” I think about everything Quindlan told me—about the less-dead, about the killer’s wanting to rid society of evil, and about how he preys on gay foster boys. “He must believe he’s on a mission from God. But which god, I don’t know.”

  Aubrey reads the poem one more time. “Noah, what day did Will die?”

  “October twenty-third.”

  My heart drums as Aubrey flips through the pages. She reads silently for a moment. “This doesn’t make sense,” she says. “The last entry is dated November tenth. That’s ten days from now.”

  I lean over and take a look.

  Number Four

  This one’s tricky

  and requires some thought.

  Pay attention,

  look around you.

  The answer

  will be taught.

  “Will be taught? What does that mean?” I say.

  “I don’t know,” Aubrey says. “This one’s more like a riddle. Maybe it means you’ll get more clues.”

  “So it’s not over yet. And if everything ties together, it means there could be another murder on November tenth. Oh, God. Aubrey, I’m really starting to think I should show this book to the police.”

  Aubrey looks at me. “I’m scared, Noah. What will they do when they find out you lied?”

  “Arrest me, I guess.”

  “Is there any other way?”

  “I don’t know. I still have some time. It could be risky, but there might be someone I can talk to.”

  {twenty}

  I FIND Hawk at school the next day. He’s in the boys’ locker room, talking to one of the jocks I recognize from McCallum—the one who got expelled for selling his prescription meds for ADD. “I need to talk to you,” I say. “It’s important.”

  Hawk nods, motions for the jock to leave, then leads me to an empty row of lockers. “Noah, hey, what’s going on?”

  “I need to show you something.” I know this is a risk, but if Will trusted Hawk, then maybe I can too. Maybe Quindlan is wrong. I reach into my pocket and pull out Will’s book.

  “Oh my God. Where did you get that?”

  “The morning I found Will’s body, I found this, too, in a pile
of leaves. I know it was a stupid thing to do, but I didn’t hand it over to the police. They asked if I’d found anything else. I said no. I kept it.”

  Hawk stares at me. “Yeah, that was stupid. It’s called tampering with evidence. You could have been arrested, Noah.”

  “I know that.”

  “Wait. Didn’t you tell me that Will accidentally left that book at the campsite, and went back to get it?”

  “Yeah. That’s what Quindlan told me. It was the night me and Carson played at the Red Room. Supposedly Will went to find the book right before our show.”

  “And he never came back,” Hawk says. “So the killer must have followed him there.” He thinks this over for a moment. “Anyway, why are you telling me this? And why are you showing me the book?”

  “Because I wanted you to look at a few things written inside. Besides Quindlan and Doomsday, you’re the only person I know who was friends with Will. And this is going to sound really weird, but I found some poems in here—ones Will didn’t write—and I think they might be clues. To all three of the murders.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I wish I wasn’t, but yeah. I thought maybe you could help me understand.”

  Hawk glances around nervously. “The bell’s going to ring soon. Meet me after school in the parking lot. We’ll go for a drive. I’ll take a look.”

  “Noah, why didn’t you turn this book in to the police? What was your reason?”

  Hawk is flipping through Will’s book for the third time. We’re sitting in his car—an old Mustang convertible—parked on an empty side street far from campus. When we first arrived, I told him everything, and he studied each clue in the book for a long time. He even took out a pen and paper and jotted things down.

  “I don’t know. Part of me just wanted to keep it, and part of me was really angry. Will told me he wore a wire for the police after he got busted for dealing. The police used him. And when he needed their help, they weren’t there for him.”

  “Whoa. Hold on. Will told you about wearing the wire?”

  “Yeah.”