The Less-Dead Read online

  “Yes. I remember. You also said your brother killed himself because your father condemned him for being gay.”

  “Yes, well, I must admit, I embellished a bit. I never had a brother. I added that small detail to win you over. To make you believe I was sympathetic toward Will. And it worked, didn’t it? But you’re getting ahead of me, Noah. Let’s backtrack a little. There’s a part of my story I left out. You see, years ago, when I was sixteen, my father had an idea. He wanted to house some of the boys who’d been addicted to drugs and kicked out of their homes, so he renovated an old apartment building. He even used our family’s savings to fund the project. Once the place was up and running, he spent a lot of time there. In fact, after a while, my father rarely came home at night. Like any other kid would, I became angry, jealous. I loved my father. I wanted to know why these street kids were more important to him than me. Than his own family. So I sneaked out of the house one night and went to the apartment building. I found him in bed with one of the boys. There was a gun lying on the dresser in the bedroom. I took it. My hands were shaking but I pointed it right at the boy. My father tried to reason with me. Told me it wasn’t what it looked like. Right! He wrestled me to the ground and the gun went off. My father took the bullet in the chest. Killed him instantly.”

  I look at the gun trembling in Quindlan’s hand. “What does this have to do with me? Or with Will, Kyle, or Paul?”

  “Everything,” Quindlan says.

  “No,” I say. “Your father did something wrong. Something evil. He took advantage of young boys. Kids who trusted him, looked up to him.”

  Quindlan nods, but he seems lost in his own thoughts. “A week after my father’s death, my mother downed a bottle of pills and never woke up. I was the only one left.”

  “That’s a tragic story,” I say. “But it’s not a reason for you to kill innocent people.”

  “Well, they’re not exactly innocent, are they, Noah? We both know what the Bible says. Homosexuality is an abomination in God’s sight. Punishable by death.”

  “No. That’s not true. You’re wrong. People like you use the Bible to justify their own hatred.”

  “Well, that’s why you’re next, Noah. Because you’ve been taught the truth, but you’ve rejected it.” He picks up the note. “In my opinion, you’re no better than the others. Their sin is your own. You’ve pitched your tent in Sodom. Blood must be shed.” Quindlan points the gun at my head and keeps an eye on me while he reaches down and grabs the rope. From the corner of my eye, I see the foot of the prosthetic leg. If I can just get Quindlan distracted for a moment, I can jump out of my seat, grab the leg, and swing.

  But all I can do right now is keep him talking.

  “So you’re the one who wrote the poems, the clues, in Will’s book?” I say.

  “Yes. And if you noticed, I was very precise. Each poem was written so that you would see a pattern, Noah. And of course, you figured out that the fourth murder would be today. November tenth. But you needed more clues, so I called in to your father’s show. I was thrilled when I was able to speak with you on the air. Everything went according to plan. You even called me today, just like I knew you would. Like I said, God was speaking to me the whole time. He told me a cleansing had to be performed, and I was the one to do it.”

  “No, that wasn’t God,” I say. “That was your own sick mind.”

  “Be careful what you say, Noah. Blasphemy is the unforgivable sin.” He fingers the rope. “Now, shall we continue?”

  I glance again at the prosthetic leg. “No. I want to know something else. How did you even know I would go to Will’s campsite? How did you know I would take his book?”

  He shrugs. “That’s the beauty of it. I didn’t. It was a test. I was testing God to see if you were the next boy to die. Like I said, I’m very precise. Do you know the story of Gideon and the fleece?”

  I swallow hard. “Yes, I do. Gideon put out a sheep’s fleece on the ground at night. He told God that if the fleece was wet with dew in the morning, and the ground dry, he would obey God’s order to kill the enemy.”

  “Exactly. Will’s book was my fleece, Noah. I set it on the ground. When you took it, I knew you were the one. And when you figured out all the clues inside, and when we spoke on the air, well, your sentence was set in stone. Of course, your murder carries a much bigger risk for me. You’re not one of the less-dead. A thorough investigation will follow your murder. They won’t quit until they find the killer. I know that. But I’m prepared. Actually, I’m looking forward to it. Your murder will be broadcast all over the country. I have many entertaining evenings ahead of me, watching the news while the police try to solve the crime. Your friendship with Will will be perceived as sexual, illicit, I’m sure. And I believe that once people understand the abomination of homosexuality, they will be thankful for the cleansing. Do you believe in fate, Noah?”

  “No,” I say. “There’s no such thing as fate. People make choices. That’s what I believe. Like you. You chose to become a police officer, but then you chose to abuse your authority. You’re supposed to enforce the law, protect people, but instead you murder innocent boys. That’s a choice, not fate.”

  “Hmmm, choices.” Quindlan snaps the rope.

  I don’t have much time.

  I lunge for the prosthetic leg, but Quindlan is fast. He grabs me and turns me around, and I feel the rope dig into my neck. I’m coughing, choking, pulling, kicking. The walls begin to spin.

  Suddenly I hear a dog barking. Loud knocking on the warehouse door. “Mr. Quindlan! Mr. Quindlan! Are you in there?”

  It’s Doomsday. And Hercules.

  “Dooms! Not now!” Quindlan yells. “I told you not to come here!” The rope loosens.

  It’s my only chance. I break free, lunge for the leg, grab it, and swing with all my might. I hear a loud crack, a moan, and a thud. Quindlan falls to the ground. I’m about to run, but next comes an explosion; my ears ring, and the warehouse door flies open. Hawk runs in. And then I realize that Hawk blew the lock off the door with his gun.

  “Noah!” he yells. “Hurry, get out! Now!”

  I run outside. Doomsday is there, and together we watch from the door. Quindlan is struggling to get up now, but Hawk quickly grabs Quindlan’s gun and handcuffs him behind his back. Next thing I know, sirens begin to blare, and there’s a swarm of police cars circling the warehouse.

  Hercules barrels into the building. He sniffs Quindlan, licks his face, and begins to whine.

  Doomsday turns away. He’s shaking. “How could he do this? Mr. Quindlan was my friend. My good friend.”

  Three police officers race past us and into the warehouse. They take over.

  “Noah?” Hawk runs over to me. “Hey, are you all right?” He examines my neck and winces.

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” My voice is hoarse. I can barely speak. It feels like someone has kicked me in the throat.

  Doomsday moans. He covers his face with both hands and begins to sob.

  “Hey, Dooms, it’s going to be all right,” Hawk says, putting his arm around him. “Thanks to you, we got here just in time. And look, Noah’s going to be fine.”

  I look at Hawk. “What’s going on? How did you know I’d come here?”

  Hawk reaches into his pocket and takes out a badge. “I’m a police officer, Noah.”

  “You?”

  A loud siren wails and an ambulance pulls up in front of the warehouse. “Yes. Now come on. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  {twenty-four}

  “SO YOU’RE the undercover cop who arrested Will? Asked him to wear the wire?”

  Hawk and I are sitting in my hospital room. He’s in a chair and I’m propped up in bed, wearing one of those pathetic hospital gowns. It’s the day after Quindlan tried to kill me. All I have to show for it are a few cuts and bruises, but my doctor says I’ve been through severe psychological trauma, so he kept me overnight for observation. As far as I know, I’m still sane.

  “Yeah,”
Hawk says. “I was the one. Will and I made a deal and he helped me bust up a pretty big drug ring. I never expected we’d become such good friends. But we did.”

  “It’s so weird,” I say. “The whole time, I thought you were a dealer.”

  He smiles sadly and taps his nose bolt. “Yeah, well, my boss has me work in the high schools because of my baby face.”

  Today Hawk’s Mohawk is dyed red, blue, yellow, and green—colors of the rainbow—to celebrate with the GLBT community in Austin. The killer is finally off the streets.

  “And what about Quindlan?” I say. “Do you know him well?”

  “Not really. Quindlan and I worked narcotics together, and we were both close to Will. But I never fully trusted the guy. There was something about him that made my skin crawl. Anyway, the day you showed me Will’s book, I started to suspect he was the killer. It was just a hunch. I shared this with a few people in my department, but they thought I was crazy. There was no way to prove it, but I had the date—November tenth. So that morning I followed Quindlan, but he took off in a car and I lost sight of him. That’s why I came to school and asked if you knew where he was. When you said no, I found Doomsday on the Drag and he mentioned the warehouse off Manor. He’d been there once with Quindlan. He led me right to the place. So I called my captain and asked for backup.”

  On my nightstand is a plate of chocolate chip cookies Carson’s mom baked for me. I pick it up and offer the cookies to Hawk. He takes three, shoves one into his mouth, and chews. “Hey, these are good.” He nabs two more. I offer him the carton of milk left over from lunch. He rips open the top and chugs.

  “Hawk? Thanks. Seriously, dude, you saved my life. I’d probably be dead right now if you hadn’t shown up at the warehouse.”

  Hawk wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ah, don’t give me too much credit, Noah. I was just doing my job. Plus, you gave Quindlan a pretty good wallop with that fake leg. Totally knocked him out. You may have saved both our sorry butts.”

  “So, where is he now?” I say.

  “As we speak, Quindlan is being transported to the Travis County Jail.”

  “Where Warren Banks is?”

  “Yes. Banks will be released soon. And now that we have Quindlan in custody, and know more about his background, the police will be investigating his involvement in three unsolved murders of teenage boys in the South Bronx—all connected with God’s Warriors.”

  “Whoa. So this isn’t his first string of murders.”

  “Probably not. But it’s definitely his last. Oh, I almost forgot.” Hawk reaches into his front pocket. He hands me Will’s book. “For you, Noah.”

  “But… I don’t understand. Don’t the police need that for evidence? For the trial?”

  “No. Quindlan confessed to all three murders in Austin. We have him stone-cold. So, please, the book is yours. Will would have wanted you to have it.”

  Later that afternoon, a reporter from KUT calls my hospital room and asks for a brief interview. He promises it’ll be real low key—just him, jotting stuff down and recording our conversation on a mini tape player. My parents aren’t exactly thrilled about the idea, but I decide to do it.

  “So, Noah, I’ve heard some interesting rumors about the weapon you used to subdue the killer until the police arrived. A prosthetic leg? Is this true?”

  “Well, yes, it is. You see, my friend’s father owns a company, Prosthetics Inc… .” I go on to tell the reporter the story, and I sure hope the DPCP is listening.

  I find out from the reporter that everyone in Austin thinks I’m this amazing hero, some kind of badass vigilante, which is pretty funny when you think about it. I mean, I fell into Quindlan’s trap. Took his bait—hook, line, and sinker. Never suspected he was the enemy, never thought he could be guilty of such heinous crimes. Honestly, the whole thing makes me wonder if there’s a hell. Part of me hopes so. But then again, maybe hell is right here on earth. Maybe it’s a place inside a person. An evil, wicked place. A choice. It’s a scary, sobering thought.

  I answer most of the reporter’s questions, but I don’t speak much about the three victims—Will, Kyle, and Paul. I try not to think about them buried at the cemetery, in Potter’s Field. I try not to think about how I was able to escape but they never had a chance.

  “So, Noah, as you probably know, the GLBT community in Austin is relieved that the killer has been caught. Considering the nature of these crimes, your religious background, and the fact that you’re about the same age as all three victims, I believe both gay and straight people would be interested to hear your opinion regarding homosexuality and the church.”

  This is not a question I’m prepared for. I take a deep breath. “Well, lately I haven’t been a regular churchgoer. And before I met Will, I didn’t know any gay people. Not well, anyway. So I didn’t think too much about it. But after Kyle’s murder and after Will and I got to know each other, things changed. I thought about that issue a lot. I was angry with my family, with the church, for being so judgmental. But pretty soon I realized that I had some prejudices to overcome too. And believe me, that wasn’t easy to face. Meeting Will helped me see things more clearly.” I glance up at the reporter. He’s nodding like he understands.

  “Anyway,” I go on, “most evangelicals like to say, ‘Hate the sin, but love the sinner.’ But I don’t believe being gay is a sin; it’s just part of who a gay person is. The church should reach out to everyone, love and accept people for who they are. At least, that’s how I see it.”

  “And does your father, the Bible Answer Guy, understand your viewpoint?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a chance, in time, he might see things differently. Recently I found out there are some people in our church who are more open-minded. That makes me hopeful.”

  The reporter nods again. “That’s great news. And, Noah, one final question: now that the police have the killer in custody, do you have any plans for the near future?”

  I consider this for a moment. My eyes scan the room and land on Will’s book. “Yes, I do. My friend Will encouraged me to keep writing music. I have his book of poetry, and I’d like to use his poems as lyrics for my songs. I guess it’s just a small thing, but for me it’s a start.”

  That evening I go home. My mom cooks my favorite meal—lamb chops with mashed potatoes—and I watch Nickelodeon with Melanie. My parents are quiet and don’t ask too many questions. I’m grateful. Over the next few days, I sleep a lot. The story of Quindlan’s arrest is all over the news. I watch some of it, and when it gets to be too much, I turn off the TV. On my third night home, my father knocks on my bedroom door. “Noah, may I come in?”

  “Yeah. Sure, Dad.”

  He walks in and takes a seat beside me on the bed. “I drove out to Memorial Cemetery today. Will’s grave looked so bare. I was wondering if there was an inscription you’d like to be placed on his headstone. I’d be happy to do it.”

  I look at my dad. He’s tired. His face is thinner, like he’s lost weight. He’s reaching out to me, I know, but I’m not sure I’m ready. “Maybe, Dad. Let me think about it, okay?”

  “Sure. Just let me know.”

  A week later I go back to school, and on the following Saturday afternoon, my father asks me to take a drive with him. He says he has something to show me.

  It’s a beautiful day. The sky is blue and the leaves on the trees are red, orange, and gold. He parks the car outside Memorial Cemetery. In the distance I see a group of people gathered on the hill near Will’s grave. As my dad and I walk across the field, I see Aubrey, Carson, Melanie, and my mom waiting for us. Doomsday and Hawk are coming from the other direction. Marty and a few of the youth group zealots are there too. Even Pastor Simpson. He waves to us.

  Melanie walks over to greet me. “Hey, Noah. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, Mel. I think so.”

  “Good. Come and see.” She takes my hand and leads me to Will’s grave. A few days ago I told my father what I’d like inscribed on W
ill’s headstone. I read it now.

  WILL REED

  1993–2010

  YOUR WORDS SLICE LIKE A DIAMOND,

  A MILLION FACETS OF LIGHT

  My father comes up beside me. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes, Dad, I do. Thank you.”

  “Noah, I just want to say that I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past. Lately I’ve begun to see things in a different way. I don’t know all the answers, but I do know this: I’ll stand behind you. Always. No matter what.”

  I look at my dad. And then I do something I haven’t done in a very long time. I give him a hug.

  “Please, everyone, gather around,” Pastor Simpson says. To my surprise, he doesn’t begin reading from the Bible or ask us to sing a hymn. Instead, he says, “John, will you please say a word for us?”

  “Yes,” my dad says. We make a circle around Will’s grave. He continues. “Thank you all for coming. When Noah brought Will to our house a number of weeks ago, Will told us about his plan to move to California after he graduated. He wanted to work with gay foster kids, help them have a better life. My reaction was not what it should have been. I realize that now.”

  He pauses and takes a deep breath. “When we found out Will had been murdered, Noah was devastated. It tore us all apart. I wanted to do something. Something for Will. But I didn’t know what. And soon I began to realize that right here in Austin, there are so many foster children who, once they turn eighteen, are forced to leave their homes. Many have no support, nowhere to go. So I looked into some local programs and found one I’d like our church to work with. It’s called LifeWorks Austin. In a few weeks, a group of us will be getting some apartments ready for at-risk young people to move into. There are lots of opportunities, like teaching life skills, helping them find jobs, and assisting them with college. It’s a small way King of Glory can genuinely help the community.”

  My dad pauses again and glances around the circle. “Also, after some serious soul-searching, I spoke with Pastor Simpson about the Exodus Group. Our church has decided to discontinue the program.”