The sun had long set, and we were both stuffed fuller than our sacrificial bird. We sat by the fire, and he poured our post dinner scotch as I started in with my story. He didn’t say much during the telling, just offered up the occasional clarifying question. He stared at me in rapt attention when I told him about the incident at the Browns’, but mostly, he just let me spin down until I had him caught up to the present.
“You claim you are in love with this woman.” His features looked harsh in the shadows cast by our evening fire.
“I don’t claim it, I am.” There was no hesitation in my tone.
He arched an eyebrow. “And she loves you in return?”
I gave one single nod. “Yes.”
“Henry…” He shook his head with a deep sigh.
“I know what you’re going to say—”
“Do you? Are you certain? Because I’m at a loss where to begin listing my concerns.” McDougal’s worry was as evident as his disapproval. “You’re a bright man, Henry…but it seems that you’re making decisions with the wrong part of your anatomy.”
I opened my mouth and snapped it back closed. I couldn’t respond to that. It made far too much sense to argue with.
“You know the difference between right and wrong, old chap. You’re long past the age of reason. You must report this violence to the constable. Such incidents are not covered under the seal of confession. You witnessed it before your very eyes. As for the rest…I am sympathetic. We’ve all slipped, O’Neil. Every one of us in one way or another to a certain degree. But we don’t just alter our life’s course in pursuit of tail, no matter how attractive or accessible.”
“I can’t betray her.”
“Do you think the same is true of her?” The devil on my shoulder roared at his implications. McDougal had turned his back on me, staring into the dying fire. “How do you know she won’t tell them you’re responsible for this man’s murder, should the situation change?”
“You would think differently if you met her.”
“I don’t need to meet her to know she’s an opportunist.”
“She’s a victim of circumstance, nothing more.”
“Prone to fickleness and flight. And her morals…of all the women to throw your future away on, you choose one who lies with anybody for enough coin.”
“She has no other means. Once we are free of this place—”
“You’ll what? Leave the church and become a laborer? What skills have you, Henry, outside of the clergy? Without your collar, you’re a well-born gentleman without property or holdings. You are not thinking clearly, my friend. This woman has you by the—she would likely sell you out for a better opportunity, mark my words. She sounds like a survivor to me, pure and simple. And you, my good sir, are her most recent in a long line of marks.”
I wept then, openly. He sought to console me, assuming I was grieving my romantic notions. I wasn’t. I was ashamed that I’d envisioned striking him repeatedly with the fire poker resting steps away from where he stood.
“My dear friend,” he continued. “I shall go and see this girl. Ascertain her intentions. Offer her my counsel. If she is as true as you say, you will have my blessing to be free of this life. The Lord wants you to have the life you were meant to have. This calling is not for all who seek it.”
“Bless you, Mac,” I said, my face flushed with guilt at my violent thoughts. I felt the weight lifting from me as he changed into plain clothes, and left with instructions on where to find my beloved.
I paced for hours, gnawing at my nails and watching the swinging pendulum of my grandfather clock.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The ticking sound echoed in the silence of the lonely rectory, taunting my jangled nerves. When the clock struck midnight, I could no longer stand the anticipation, and yanking my coat from the hall tree, I hurried out into the crisp evening to track down the missing Bishop. With long strides, I made short work of the twisting alleyways that lead to the bordello, and retracing my steps, I approached the back door. To my surprise, there were no guards on duty. I could only assume they demanded the holiday off. I lifted my foot to step inside, when I heard familiar voices approaching. Stepping back into the shadows, I waited and watched.
“You really are exceptional. I can see why Henry’s smitten. Are you sure that’s enough?” McDougal rounded the corner, buttoning his trousers. Eve followed close behind, counting her coin.
“More than generous, Your Excellency,” she responded mechanically.
He spun to face her and backed her against the wall, cupping her breast. “And you’ll get on the boat tomorrow without contacting Henry again.”
She gave him a curt nod. “If it pleases you, Your Excellency.”
I retreated, my chest on fire, my head pounding. My tears blinded me along with my rage, and I stopped halfway back to the rectory, retching and vomiting all over my boots. When I recovered enough to function, I changed course, hastily entering the cathedral. Desperate, I sought the Holy Ghost’s hand to stay my own.
I was nearly through every bead on my rosary, when I heard the door creak open behind me.
“Henry?”
I ignored McDougal, also ignoring the stench of bile wafting off of myself. I ignored the wind whistling outside before the door shut firmly behind him. The only thing I couldn’t seem to ignore was my fractured heart failing in my chest.
His boots approached, nearing like a processional toward my place at the altar.
God, tell me what to do. Give me the strength to control myself. Help me find the words.
“Henry?” His hand came down on my shoulder. I could smell her scent on it.
I saw red, and when I regained myself I was lying on top of him, crushing him with my weight as he flailed beneath me. I thought of his last sermon I’d attended, the one about the angel of death sweeping through and killing all the first born of the non-believers. I no longer believed in him, in our friendship, in the woman who possessed my heart. The time for cleansing was upon me.
The last vestiges of life left his eyes as I squeezed. I regarded him distantly, though my eyes were just inches from his. The sounds he made were curious, like a beast rutting for food. I wondered if that was what he sounded like on top of her right before he spilled his putrid seed. He was trying to say something, and mildly curious, I eased up a moment.
“What’s that?”
“G-god,” he managed.
“No.” I hardly recognized my expressionless, calm response. “Just one of his avenging angels.”
“E-eve,” he choked out. “She wanted enough to take you with her.”
I pressed on his pulsing throat with such force my hand cramped. I smiled into his vacant gray eyes. I wouldn’t have believed him if he told me the hills were green.
“Don’t worry about her. She’ll pay for her sins too.”
Eve’s muffled shrieks clear my foggy nostalgia, and following her wide eyed gaze, I realize she’s just spotted McDougal, sprawled in an awkward, unnatural position on the other side of the altar. The communion goblet is upturned between his eyes, sanguineous liquid covering and surrounding his pale face like a sticky halo. He has hunks of bread over both eyes and pieces spill out of his mouth. I still may not have given him enough of the sacraments to get him into the kingdom of heaven, but it won’t be for lack of trying.
“I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more…” I say, hefting Eve, who is now wise enough to kick and scream, a wild animal caught in a noose who knows they have everything to lose. Still, her slim build is no match for my raw strength, and I have little trouble getting her to the baptismal font. The very same one where I welcomed her daughter into the family of God.
She makes quite a ruckus, trying to communicate, so I rip her gag away.
“Henry, my love…” she sobs. “I did this all for us. Please…you don’t have to do this. I love you, and I know you love me too!”
“You don’t kn
ow love, Eve. But you will very, very soon. All know love in the kingdom of heaven.”
She’s sobbing soundlessly now, and the silence is a relief to my weary soul.
“Fear not, my beautiful sinner. I’ll wash you clean,” I tell her, and raking my hands into her wanton curls, I thrust her head under the Holy water…and hold her there. Our eyes meet, and a single tear escapes me as I watch her eyes, wondering if the events of her life are flashing before them.
The splashing is significant. Between all this and the splattered wine I’m already wearing, I’ll have to change.
When her thrashing finally ceases and she’s limp in my arms, I gingerly lay her on the stones, my fingers closing her lids with the utmost care. I look down at my clothes, covered in vomit, and wine, and tainted Holy water, and realize there’s no point in changing. I’ll simply go back to the Lord in the manner in which he placed me on this earth. I kick off my boots and unfasten my trousers on my way to the candles.
“…and to avoid the near occasions of sin.”
With a candle in each hand, I approach the tapestry. Shepherds are watching their flocks at night, and they stare up at a magnificent star in exultation. I light the canvas on fire, watching the star radiate, wondering who this candle was lit for, and if that poor soul was worthy of someone else’s prayers.
The other candle works to set McDougal on fire. He melts like wax, and I watch, satisfied.
I unbutton my shirt the rest of the way, and I retrieve two more candles. Smoke has already consumed the confessional and the crucifix at the altar, which isn’t far from the vanishing canvas. As the cross catches fire, Christ looks more like an avenging angel than himself, and I find the messiah more relatable than ever before. My eyes begin to burn due to the ashes and smoke, but I can see the stained glass bubbling in the heat, and it crackles as it buckles.
Eve is now on fire, and I barely recall setting her ablaze. I’m surprised to see her burn so efficiently, considering how wet her death had been.
As the heat of the flames from the last candle singe my beard, I throw my head back, my face raised to the heavens in exaltation. I can already feel the laborious weight of my countless sins lifting from my weary shoulders. It’ll be over soon, and we’ll all be together again.
“Amen,” I whisper, seconds before my own screams begin.
Blood Brothers
MURPHY WALLACE
Prologue
GRAHAM
They say twins create their own language when they’re babies or toddlers. When one gets hurt the other one feels pain. They exhibit strong mental connections. Since the day we were born my twin brother, Griffin, and I have had a deep connection, both mentally and physically. We have been inseparable.
I’ve known I was gay since the time I was eleven years old. No, my favorite color wasn’t pink and I didn’t want to wear dresses or play with dolls.
You know that feeling you get when you have a crush on someone and you spend every waking moment thinking about them? And when you’re not around them, no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about them?
That’s the feeling I got when I thought about my friend Eliot. When I told him that I was gay and I had a crush on him, he didn’t make fun of me. He wasn’t mean or grossed-out. He didn’t run and tell everyone at school. He just shrugged his shoulders and said, “I know.” Then, he laughed and said, “But I’m not, so keep your ugly ass over there”. And that was it.
That situation could have gone so much different than the way it had. If I would have lost his friendship over it, I don’t think that I would be as comfortable with myself as I am today.
The same can’t be said about Griffin. I’ve known he’s gay for a quite some time now. Once we made it to high school, I would see the way he would look at other guys in our grade. It was the same way that I used to look at Eliot. I think he’s known for a while too, but he’s in serious denial. He saw what I went through during high school. It was a really dark time for me. Being openly gay, I was bullied, beaten up, I didn’t make any of the sports teams that I tried out for and it wasn’t because I didn’t have talent. If it weren’t for Griffin and Eliot, I don’t know if I would have made it out alive.
I’ve never mentioned outright to Griffin that I know he’s gay. I’ve tried joking around about it with him to see what kind of response I’ll get. We’ve never kept secrets from one another. I want him to be able to tell me. Knowing that he is withholding such a large part of his life from me is heartbreaking.
We just started our freshman year at Hilliard University. It’s a mostly conservative, southern university filled with a lot of old money and pretentious kids with trust funds. We pledged the same fraternity and thankfully we both made it. As brothers, we’ve always had a very strong innate bond; that bond is what I am depending on to help me go through the whole college life. There is no one else I would want to experience this stage of my life with.
Siblings aren’t supposed to fall madly in love with one another. It’s wrong. It’s sinful. It goes against nature. We’re twins. Maybe we’re drawn to one another more because of that. Maybe we’re confused and mistaking closeness and brotherhood for love. Whatever the reason, we’re not like everyone else, but there is no one else I’d rather be.
Chapter One
Graham
“Dude, did you guys see that Tri-Delt chick earlier today? The one with the tight blue skirt and the black tube top?” Taylor asks the group of us as we’re getting ready for a party taking place later this evening. “She’s so fucking hot, I’m totally hittin’ that tonight!”
“Haha, keep dreaming, bro! There is no way a girl like her is going to let you put your wang anywhere near her. Even if she did, you’d never be able to get her off with a pencil-dick like yours!” Van responds to Taylor.
All at once, there is a collective “Burn!” and “Ooooh DAMN!!” from my frat brothers. Hoots and hollering come from the crowd as Van and Taylor start roughhousing with one another.
College life has been awesome so far.
“Man, whatever! You’re just jealous that you didn’t see her first.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t because she’d only have eyes for me. Wait until we get to that party tonight!”
“Can you guys please keep your heterosexuality to a minimum? I’m about to yak over here,” I shout, jokingly.
I am lucky that most of my brothers aren’t bothered by having a gay frat brother. There are a few who give me the side eye and tend to avoid the showers when I’m in there. One of the guys tried to implement a shower schedule so he would never be in there at the same time as me. The way I see it is, if my presence determines their behavior, that’s their problem. I’m going to keep living my life the way I’ve been living it these past seven years. There won’t be anything holding me back.
Griffin
I wish I was more like my twin brother, Graham. He’s a gay frat brother at a mostly conservative college in the south and he walks around without a care in the world. I worry about him sometimes. He is not the flamboyant type, but it’s definitely not a secret that he’s gay. Some of the guys around campus have been giving him dirty looks, calling him a fag, telling him he doesn’t belong, that he’s going to hell. We were lucky enough to rush and earn a pledge spot in this frat house. The majority of the guys have all been great to him and I have a soft spot in my heart for them.
“Hey, Graham,” I say to him. “Can you come and help me with something?”
“Sure thing, brotha,” he answers with a laugh as he finishes buckling his belt.
I lead him back toward our room and close the door.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Do you really think that it’s a good idea talking to them like that? You don’t think you’re taking it too far?”
He wrinkles his brow with an affronted look on his face.
“Griffin, you need to take a deep breath and get over this. I don’t give a fuck what people think. If they haven�
�t been offended by now, then I think I’m in the clear. You don’t hear me complaining when they all sit around, talking about how many girls they’ve fucked and when, do I? No, I actually engage in their conversations. We all laugh about it.”
“I know, I just worry about you. That, one day, you might piss off the wrong person and get hurt.”
“I understand that and, while it’s unnecessary, I appreciate your concern. You need to stop with this. I am comfortable with who I am. It’s you who isn’t comfortable in his own skin. It’s you who goes over the top trying to hit on girls. You don’t even try to smooth talk them and work your way in there. It's like you have to prove yourself to everyone by collecting all of these one-night stands like you're a fucking college boy Casanova. Do yourself a favor and stop pretending that you’re different than me. We can talk more about this when you’ve finally learned how to be happy with yourself.”
I stand there in shock as he turns his back to me and struts out of the room.
I’m not gay.
The party is in full gear by the time we get there. The music is blaring, you can’t look anywhere without seeing at least 37 red-solo cups in your view. Nearly everyone is making out with someone. Those who aren’t are playing beer pong or flip cup.
Love is Strange: A Taboo Anthology Page 6
