The Less-Dead Page 7

  Meanwhile Carson stoops down and pets Hercules. He peers at Doomsday, who’s still hunched over his book in the distance. “Quindlan?” Carson says. “Were you joking before, about Doomsday being a professor?”

  Quindlan stops drawing. “That’s no joke. Doomsday taught at UT for almost twenty years.”

  “So what happened?” Carson says.

  “Well, after a while the past finally caught up with him. When he was a student here, his fiancée was killed by the UT sniper.”

  I turn around. “Oh my God, you’re kidding.”

  “Sadly, no.” Quindlan points to the tower where the sniper, Charles Whitman, shot several students back in the late sixties. Carson and I both know the story. Just about everyone in Austin does. “Her name was Mary. She died right here on Guadalupe. It’s almost like Doomsday’s been keeping vigil.”

  “That’s heavy,” Carson says.

  “Yeah, most people think Doomsday’s just some crazy old man. The truth is, most of us around here have a story to tell.”

  “What about you?” Carson says. “What’s your story?”

  “Me? Oh, nothing, really. Just down on my luck. Lost my job a few years back and things kind of spiraled downward fast. Came to Austin from up north about six months ago and met Doomsday and Will. I decided to stay put for a while. They’re like my family now. Anyway, let me finish this map.”

  “Sure.” I turn around. When Quindlan is done, he hands me the paper. I take a look. It’s a map of the Barton Creek Greenbelt.

  “Will’s at the greenbelt?”

  “Yep. Camping out. It’s a good place to be lost.”

  The sketch is meticulous. Every gate and milestone is marked. A small X shows where Will has set up camp.

  “I just didn’t expect that,” I say. “Anyway, thank you.”

  “Noah, before you leave, I need to talk with you.” Quindlan glances at Carson. “Alone, if that’s okay.”

  “Um, sure,” I say. “Hey, Carson, I’ll be right back.”

  Carson nods and takes a seat on the church steps; Hercules happily jumps onto his lap. “No worries, man. Go ahead. Me and Hercules will chill out here for a while.”

  Quindlan leads me to the side entrance of the church, opens the door, and ushers me inside. We take seats on the back pew. There are a few people praying in the front row, but the place is mostly empty and eerily quiet. I’m wondering what Quindlan can’t say in front of Carson.

  He shifts in his seat. “Noah, this might be a little awkward for you, but are you aware of how Will feels about you?”

  “Uh, well, if you mean …”

  He nods.

  “Yeah, I figured it out. Actually, Carson caught on first and told me.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Well, it’s the first time a guy’s had a crush on me, but I think I can handle it. Why?”

  “I just wanted to make sure. Will’s a sensitive kid, and I don’t want to see him get hurt. Anyway, I’m glad you’re open-minded. Not everyone is. Like Doomsday, for example. He and Will are friends, but Will doesn’t share the fact that he’s gay. There’s no point, really.”

  “But he shared it with you?”

  “Yes. And he told me what happened at your house Monday night—the way your father reacted.”

  “Right. My dad. Chased him off.”

  “Well, yes and no. Will’s pretty independent. He has a hard time accepting help from anyone. Plus, he was really upset about what he heard on the news that night. About the second murder. He wanted to find out who the boy was. As it turned out, he knew this kid too. It shook him up badly.”

  “Oh, God. Who was it?”

  “His name was Paul Mateo. He was a kid Will knew when they were younger. Will said Paul used to get picked on a lot. It’s really sad. Seems like this killer not only hates gay people, but preys on helpless kids too. Hopefully the guy they arrested is the one.”

  “Warren Banks,” I say, picturing his mug shot on TV. There’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “He used to go to our church. He was my sister’s Sunday school teacher.”

  Quindlan nods. “I know. Will told me.” There’s an uneasy silence between us. “Noah, I understand how you feel about your father. I grew up in a family like yours.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Before, when Carson asked what my story was, I didn’t tell you. I have a hard time talking about it. You see, my father was the founder of an evangelical ministry called God’s Warriors. His mission was to bring the gospel to teenage gang members in the South Bronx. And, well, he did a lot of good things, helped kids get off drugs and off the streets, but he was pretty hard-core about his beliefs. When he found out my brother was gay, he basically wrote him off. A year later we found my brother in the bathtub. He’d slit his wrists and bled to death. He was only seventeen. After that, I left home. I was eighteen.”

  I look at Quindlan. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. God, I wish …”

  “Things were different? Me too.”

  “I’m just so sick of Christians, or people who call themselves Christians, being so hateful,” I say. “They judge everyone who doesn’t fit into their stupid mold. So, if you’re different, if you’re gay, well, then it’s a sickness, a wrong choice, a sin. It’s so screwed up.”

  “I agree,” Quindlan says.

  “That night, before Will left, I got so angry. I challenged my father. I said, ‘What would you do if I was gay, Dad?’ He couldn’t even answer me.”

  “I understand, Noah. Some people choose their beliefs, no matter how wrong they are, over their own families.”

  “Yeah.” I look at Quindlan. “I’m really sorry about your brother.”

  “Thanks.”

  Suddenly I feel a stab of guilt, remembering how good it felt to punch TJ Dumont, watch him fall on his ass. All because he called me a queer. Why didn’t I just ignore the moron and walk away? Why didn’t I keep Will’s book instead of throwing it into the trash?

  “Come on,” Quindlan says. “You’ll want to find Will before it gets dark.”

  {ten}

  CARSON AND I follow the rocky path through the dense woods filled with juniper and oak trees. When we reach the twin waterfalls, the smell of burning wood grows stronger. We follow it and find Will. He’s far from the beaten path, sitting in front of a small campfire. He leans forward, squinting at us. “Noah? Carson? What are you guys doing here?”

  Before either of us can answer, I hear a rustling in the woods. We stop. Footsteps draw closer. Suddenly Hawk appears right in front of us, carrying a bundle of wood and sticks. He looks like he just stepped out of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. “What the hell … ?” He glares at us like we’re trespassers. “Who told you we were here?” He sees the map in my hand and snatches it. “Who drew this?”

  “Um, Will’s friend Quindlan,” I say.

  “Quindlan? Damn that idiot. What’s he thinking?” He turns to Will.

  “Hawk, dude, calm down,” Will says. “Noah and Carson are cool. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty to worry about. I told you, Will, I never should have given Noah that note.” He gives Carson and me a disgusted look, then marches to the fire and tosses in the map. The paper flares up quickly, then dies, smoldering. Not exactly the reception I was expecting.

  “Don’t mind Hawk,” Will says. “He overreacts to everything. Come here, sit down. I’m glad you guys found me.”

  As we weave our way over to Will, Hawk throws the wood into a pile, plucks a rope from the ground, pulls out a pocket knife, and cuts the rope in half. Mumbling to himself, he proceeds to tie one end of the rope to the branch of a tree.

  We take seats on either side of Will. “So you guys met Quindlan and Doomsday, huh? What did you think?”

  “I think they’re both pretty nuts,” Carson says. “Especially Doomsday. Quindlan’s all right, I guess. His dog’s pretty cool. Anyway, I’m glad Quindlan drew us that map. We’ve been
worried about you.”

  I watch Hawk from the corner of my eye. He’s tying the other end of the rope to an adjacent tree. When he’s done, he plucks a wet towel from a nearby branch and hangs it on the line to dry. I look around the campsite. A jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread sit on a tree stump. A gallon of milk is chilling in a bucket of ice. A sleeping bag is spread out on the ground. Hawk is taking care of Will. Making sure he has everything he needs. I consider asking how things went in jail, but I figure that’s not a good idea.

  “Will?” I say. “Quindlan told me you knew the kid they found near Town Lake. I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah. Paul Mateo. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he was one of the first kids I got to know in foster care after my parents died. We were both, well, different, which is why we became friends, but Paul got teased a lot. The other kids called him faggot and queer. I feel bad now because I never stood up for him. I guess I was afraid those same kids would turn on me, too. Anyway, I found out that Paul had been hustling on the streets. Right before the murder. I had no idea.”

  “Hustling?” I say. “You mean …”

  “Right.”

  No one says anything for a while. Hawk is standing quietly by the clothesline. He’s been listening the whole time.

  “Hey, Will?” Carson says. “How did you find out it was Paul? I thought the police weren’t releasing his name because he was under eighteen.”

  Will opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything.

  Meanwhile Hawk strolls over and sits opposite us. He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. “Be careful what you say, Will,” he mutters.

  Hawk and Will lock eyes for a moment; Will nods, then turns to us. “The undercover detective I’d been working with, the one who had me wear the wire, he told me it was Paul Mateo who was murdered. That’s one of the reasons he thought I should disappear for a while. If Warren Banks isn’t the killer, then the guy’s still out there. And if he is still free, he may have been following me, too. Anyway, the detective also told me that the police just hired a criminal profiler. A guy from the FBI. They’re trying to cover all their bases. The case is close to being solved. At least, that’s what he tells me.”

  “But, Will?” I look around the campsite. “How long can you stay here? I mean, I understand about disappearing, but this place doesn’t look safe to me.”

  “I won’t be here much longer,” he says. “Turns out my social worker found me a home. She says it’s a good one. When things blow over, I’ll move in. Plus, Hawk’s been helping me out. Even lined me up with a job, waiting tables at Kerbey Lane. If everything goes well, I’ll make it to L.A. right after I graduate.”

  I look at Hawk, wondering what kind of trouble he’s in and whether he’s here in the woods with Will because he’s hiding out from the police. It’s highly possible. “Eh, you give me too much credit, Will,” Hawk says. He takes a long drag and blows a smoke ring.

  “So, enough of this morbid stuff,” Will says. “You guys got my note. Are you ready for Saturday night?”

  “We’re ready,” Carson says. “Thanks for setting up the gig, Will. Really, we owe you one.”

  “No problem. Turned out the Red Room had an opening and the owner took my word for it that you guys were good.” Will looks at me. “And now, I get to keep my promise to Noah. Remember? I’m going to help you write that song for Aubrey.”

  “Tonight?” I say.

  “Of course. You’ll need to sing it for her on Saturday. Come on.” He stands up. “Do you have the book I gave you?”

  “Oh … no. I didn’t bring it.”

  “That’s all right, I’ll get mine. Hey, Hawk, keep Carson company for a while, okay? Noah and I are going to write a song.”

  Hawk eyes Carson and blows another smoke ring. “Sure thing.”

  Will leads me several yards away to a big limestone rock. We take seats atop, and Will pulls out his notebook. “Now, tell me ten things you hate about Aubrey.”

  “What? Ten things I hate? I thought this was supposed to be a love song.”

  “Well, in your case an anti-love song might work best. Especially if Aubrey needs some persuading. Words can be more powerful if you write the opposite of how you feel.”

  “Sorry, Will, but that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Oh, it does. Come on, give it a try.”

  Will and I brainstorm, and when we’re done, I have the bare bones of the strangest song I’ve ever written. A few lines of the chorus, too. “So if Aubrey never speaks to me again, I can blame you, right?” I say.

  “After Aubrey hears the song, she’ll be begging for more.”

  “Now, that I highly doubt.”

  “Trust me, Noah. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve had my heart broken a few times.” Will looks at me and smiles sadly. “And I know what unrequited love is like.” There’s a tense silence between us. I feel my face growing hot. Suddenly I realize that my knee is touching Will’s. I pull it away. “Listen, Will, I can’t—”

  “I know.” He hangs his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was really stupid.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  I’m about to hop off the rock, but Will stops me. “Noah, wait, please. God, this is so awkward. Let me explain. You see, when I first saw you on the Drag, playing guitar and singing, you reminded me of the guy I told you about—the one I was seeing. The guitarist. We were together about eight months. Our breakup was pretty rough, and I’m not even sure I’m over it yet. Anyway, the day I met you I took a chance, and when I figured out you were straight, which didn’t take long, I still wanted to be your friend. I just like you. That’s all.”

  I’m sitting on the edge of the rock. My whole body is tense. “Okay, whatever. I … I really need to go now.”

  “Yeah, sure, I understand.”

  Will rips the pages from the book and hands them to me. I shove them into my pocket, jump off the rock, and walk back to the campfire. Will trails behind.

  “Hey, you’re back,” Carson says. “Hawk and I were just discussing my recipe for apricot-hash jelly. He thinks I need to add a little cayenne pepper. Give it a Cajun flavor.”

  When I don’t laugh, Carson gives me a strange look. He peers behind me and sees Will. “So … did you guys write the song?”

  “Yeah, some of it,” I say. “Carson, it’s getting late. We need to head home before it’s pitch black.”

  Carson looks back and forth between me and Will. “Is everything … okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I say.

  Will doesn’t answer. He just stands there with his hands in his pockets.

  “Will? You’ll be there Saturday night to hear us play, right?” Carson says.

  “Um, I should be.”

  “You’d better be. Come on, dude. It’s our debut.”

  Will shuffles his feet. “Yeah, well, Noah’s right. You guys should head home.”

  Carson watches us. “Okay. Well, you be careful out here. And keep in touch.” He bumps fists with Hawk, then Will, and the two of us head for the clearing.

  “Noah, what happened back there?” Carson says. “Why are you acting so weird?”

  “Nothing happened. Just leave me alone, all right?”

  “You didn’t even say goodbye to Will.”

  “Shut up. I don’t feel like talking right now.”

  He sighs. “Fine. Whatever.”

  We hike in silence. It’s getting darker by the second. Halfway to the entrance, we hear rustling in the trees. We both freeze, and suddenly Hawk appears in the bushes. He flips on a flashlight and hands it to me. “Thought you might need this.” The beam casts shadows on his face, making his freakish appearance even more ghastly.

  I swallow. “Thanks.”

  He nods solemnly. “Listen. Both of you. Don’t come back here. It could be dangerous. Someone might follow you.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re not coming back,” I say.

  “Good.” Slowly, he lifts one side of his
shirt, revealing a holster. Tucked inside, a gun. “Believe me. Will’s safe.”

  {eleven}

  “DUDE, COME on, jump!”

  It’s Friday, and Carson is going to the movies with Kat and the King of Glory youth group tonight. He’s still grounded for stealing the DPCP’s Lexus Wednesday night, so the two of us are sneaking out of his second-story bedroom window. Carson has already taken the plunge. Now it’s my turn. I teeter on the ledge.

  “Remind me again,” I say. “Why am I doing this?”

  “Because you need to get out of the house, dude. You’ve been moping around for days, and honestly, you’ve been a real pain in the ass. Besides, I need a ride. Just aim for this bush. It’ll break your fall.”

  “Break my leg’s more like it.”

  I stare at the bush Carson is pointing to. It’s an over-grown holly with red berries and spiked leaves. Besides breaking my leg, I’m going to get impaled. I take a deep breath, jump, hit the bush, and roll into the grass. A painful experience, but I’m alive, and that’s good enough for Carson.

  “Come on, let’s go.” He pulls me to my feet. “Kat’s waiting for us. And you’d better not chicken out. You better ask Aubrey to our gig at the Red Room.”

  “Yeah, right. If I can pry her away from Brandon.”

  When we arrive at the theater, I see the usual zealots outside the box office, waiting to buy tickets. We’re about to see the new inspirational film Spears in the Jungle—a true story about three American missionaries martyred by some pissed-off aborigines. Just wait till the DPCP hears about this one.

  At the front of the line is Brandon. Tonight he’s wearing a shirt that says Satan Sucks. Behind him are Aubrey and Kat. “Come on, there they are!” Carson runs to the front of the line. Like a sucker, I follow.

  Brandon, Kat, and Aubrey stare at me like I have two heads. In fact, all the zealots are giving me strange looks. “Um, Noah?” Aubrey says. “You’re bleeding.” She taps her right cheek.

  “What?” I touch my face. That damn holly bush. I turn to Carson. “Why didn’t you tell me I was bleeding, you idiot?”

  He shrugs. “Sorry. I didn’t notice.”