A Wake-Up Call

Jon glanced toward the hospital. “Maybe this tragedy with Wes will serve as a wake-up call for Senator Bellardi." After some silence, Jon gestured toward Wes's letter on the computer and asked, "So what are you going to do about this?" Stevie sighed resignedly. "I have to talk to Senator Bellardi." "What will you tell him?”

“Everything. Wes needs him now more than ever. The senator has an opportunity to make things right. That's more than we had with Dougie. And he has a responsibility to tell the people of North California what happened. After all, they've stood behind him with their prayers over the last three weeks. Senator Bellardi must know the truth, Jon, and he must share it with his constituents." She took a deep breath. "I'll... tell him right now," as she headed into the hospital.

"Robert, I have something very important to show you, something Senator and Mrs. Bellardi must know about Wes' . . . accident.” Stevie showed him the email. "I'm so glad you brought this to my attention, Stevie." “I'd like to be here when you talk to him, especially since Wes sent the letter to me."

"Stevie," Robert said, his voice soft but adamant, "it's imperative that we keep this information confidential for now.”

 

Too Busy for Family

"Stevie, I don't want to add to your burden," Jon began, "but you need to hear something before you see Shawna again." Jon described his late-night conversation with their very soaked, very distraught fourteen-year-old daughter cuddling a wide-eyed black kitten. Jon related Shawna's feelings of abandonment in the midst of her mother's busyness with the campaign. He told about their daughter's search for acceptance among members of the "Young Women's Leadership Club." Stevie cringed at the description of the Halloween party.  The harsh reality of Shawna's pain cut into Stevie deeply. Waves of conviction and remorse prompted another outflow of tears.

"Shawna said she tried to talk to you, but you were always too busy," Jon concluded. “Is she blowing things out of proportion?" Stevie was tempted to respond to Jon just as she had repeatedly rationalized to herself when putting the campaign ahead of the kids: I'm doing it for them. I'm committed to making North California a haven against the world's version of tolerance. As soon as Senator Bellardi wins the election, everything will get back to normal for the kids and me. "No, she's not exaggerating. I have a lot of making up to do."

 

Champion's Hollow Message

"I'm really disappointed in Senator Bellardi," Stevie said. "I thought he and Wes had a good relationship. Here's the champion of family values in America, and he's too busy for his own son. He sounds like any deadbeat dad who puts a career ahead of his kids. What kind of message does that send to the people of North California: 'Do as I say, not as I do'?"

"It bothers me greatly that the senator seemed so unaffected by Wes's disappearance. I understand the importance of the campaign, but there are more important things in life than elections." Jon's voice was soft when he responded. "It's interesting you would say that, Stevie, because I heard almost the same words just a couple of hours ago—from our daughter."

Messed Up

Jon drove into the hospital parking lot at two-thirty in the morning, barely fifteen minutes after Stevie woke him at the motel with her phone call. While she waited for him to arrive, a large gray sedan delivered Senator and Mrs. Bellardi to the hospital entrance.

Stevie handed the computer to Jon, feeling only a little embarrassed about getting him out of bed in the middle of the night. Jon had gone back to the motel after getting the kids to bed. He insisted on coming over, something she had hoped he would do.

Jon read Wes' letter without a word, then set the computer on the console between them. "Tell me what you're thinking about all this," gesturing to the text still on the monitor. Stevie spoke softly. "I'm devastated about Wes. I had no idea he was so messed up inside. It's like losing Dougie all over again."

"We haven't lost him yet, Stevie," Jon said. "He's still alive." "But from the sounds of this letter he doesn't want to be. Wes gave up, Jon. How can he survive without a will to live? What does he have to look forward to?" Jon did not respond.

The AntiCrist Plot

The rest, as they say, can be seen on the eleven o'clock news. I tried to change Dad's mind about being king. (I thought the AntiCrist plot turned out to be some of my best fiction. I had no idea it would work so well. You can use the idea for a novel if you like.) But, as always, the kingdom is more important than one little introverted, gay kid. So I'll just step out of the way and let the king be king. Who knows? Maybe when I'm gone he'll realize how much he loved me. Or maybe not.

Well, I'm nearly out of vodka, and the bewitching hour approaches. So I'd better quit rambling and get on with the dramatic climax of my story—even though I had really hoped for a different ending. You're a nice lady. I hope you find many young writers to mentor. Sorry it didn't work for me.

Your friend, Wes

Stevie could withstand the surging emotional tide no longer. She set the computer aside and let the tears flow.

A Gay Problem

Stevie, I have a major problem: How does a gay boy tell his straight, conservative father that he's gay—especially when that straight, conservative father is busy running for king of a straight, conservative state? Major, major problem: After the election, the new king intends to put gay boys like me in their place: out. Talk about a hindrance to open, honest, father-son communication!

So how does a scared gay boy win the love and understanding and (dare I say it?) blessing of his father? It can't happen, especially if the father becomes king. But if the father is somehow convinced by a mad, illiterate political terrorist not to become king—well, I think you get the idea.

My dad is a remarkable man, Stevie, and I love him like any adoring son would. Unfortunately for me, I came along when his career and political ambition were a bit higher up the priority list than a little snot-nosed heir. (In case you didn't know it, Dad was forty-one when I was born.) You probably thought we were the perfect family, but Dad and I never "bonded" (if that term is still in vogue). Is that why I'm gay? Who knows? Who really cares?

(To Be continued).

 

Gay and Scared

So how do I say what I want to say? I guess I just say it. I'm going to blow myself to kingdom come tonight because I'm a scared little gay boy who can't come out of the closet. Let me define a few words: 1) Gay, as in homosexual. That's right, your protege, Wes Bellardi, is (or was, by now) an avowed, practicing homosexual. Surprised? I'll bet you are. 2) Scared, as in scared of AIDS. Several of my friends already have it, and three of them have died. One of those three was my lover at one time. (Sorry if that ruffles your conservative Judeo-Christian feathers.) So far I haven't tested positive, but every time I get a sniffle, I wonder. It's a horrible way to die, Stevie. Believe me, I know. I've watched it happen—close up and personal. 3) Closet, as in hiding place for almost three years. Closet may also be translated dungeon, prison, outer Mongolia, or wherever the soon-to-be-crowned king of North California will send people like me during his reign.

 

Here's the way it is, Stevie. I suspected I was gay back in high school. When I got to Berkeley, I was sure of it. Was I born this way? I honestly don't know. I just never felt right about myself until I changed how I thought about my "orientation."

(To Be Continued).

Out of the Closet

Dear Ms. Van Horne—Stevie: I'm kidding about the secret. I've had a little bit to drink tonight—actually more than just a little bit. By the time you get this, it won't matter what you know or who you tell. My little game will all be over.

What can I say? First, you need to know that none of this was your fault. You didn't know what was going on in my head. You busted your tail trying to cultivate me as a writer—and friend. I know I didn't show it, but your attempts at friendship did not go unnoticed—including the free lunches. Thanks.

Second, since you were square with me, you deserve to know what's going on. If you want to tell anybody, that's your business, I don't care. I just don't care about anything anymore.

So how do I say what I want to say? I guess I just say it. I'm going to blow myself to kingdom come tonight because I'm a scared little gay boy who can't come out of the closet.

(To Be Continued)

 

Keeping a Secret

“I think I'll head home and check on my kids,” said Stevie. “I'll be back in an hour or so." She fished in her purse for a piece of scrap paper and a pen. "Will you call me if you hear anything before I get back?" "Sure," Ernie said, "But in the meantime, if you talk to anyone, please don't tell them what I've confided to you. I don't want to upset Dan and Patricia. And if Wes ... doesn't make it, then, well... perhaps they don't ever need to know. It may be just as well for all concerned if AntiCrist dies with him."

Stevie swallowed the lump in her throat. "Don't worry, I won't breathe a word” she said, standing to leave. Ernie's theory, though arguably believable, was still conjecture and purely circumstantial. She was not about to discuss it with anyone until she determined it to be fully true. With all her heart she prayed that something would turn up to prove him wrong.

When Stevie reached her car she decided to check her email. She glanced at her list of incoming mail. Nothing that could not wait until later, except... Wait, what was this? She recognized Wes's email address. The date and time listed on the letter was October 31, 11:15 p.m. The subject line read, "Can You Keep a Secret, Stevie?" Desperately trying to control her trembling hands, she opened the letter. As she did so, she remembered her words to Ernie about writers having trouble verbalizing their feelings. Maybe the answers we're looking for are in here, Stevie thought. She took a deep breath and, as rain continued to pelt the roof, she began to read.

AntiCrist: The Dark Side

"How could a twenty-year-old kid like Wes fool the police and the FBI as AntiCrist for so long?" Stevie asked. "For one thing, he's very smart. For another, he was very lucky to go undetected for so long.

Stevie could hardly bring herself to say the words, but she had to ask. "Are you saying that... that Wes, pretending to be a political terrorist, tried to get his father to quit the campaign? Ernie answered, "That's what it looks like right now unless it was an accident. Maybe Wes thought he could escape the explosion in time and something went wrong."

Stevie asked, "What would be the point of blowing up the houseboat? And why would Wes—if he really is AntiCrist—send a message saying Wes was dead if he wasn't planning to ... to commit suicide?"

Ernie answered, “I don't want to believe that he was trying to kill himself. Maybe Wes was going to disappear—for a time, for good, I don't know—to make his dad think he was dead, to punish him for not caring enough about him to withdraw from the race." Ernie sighed, “Stevie, you're the one who's been working with him for the past few months. Is there anything—anything at all—that you can think of that might explain some of this?" Stevie said, "That's just it. Wes doesn't talk; he keeps to himself. For the life of me, I haven't been able to get past his hard outer shell.”

The Person We Know

"The terrorist attacks against the Bellardi campaign were Wes' work also. He slipped out his bedroom window and firebombed his parents' home while the security guards were rotating locations. Then he jumped back into bed and pretended to be asleep. He also firebombed headquarters and shot up the place with a deer rifle and long-range scope. "I'm the one who taught him how to use a rifle," Ernie added remorsefully.

Grasping for one final reason to discount Ernie's incredible scenario, Stevie protested, "Wes is just a kid—a university literature student, a promising writer. He's not a mad bomber or a political terrorist. He didn't even care about the campaign. It was all I could do to keep him on task."

"You're talking about the Wes you and I know. This AntiCrist stuff all came out of the dark side of his head, a side we didn't know existed."

AntiCrist's Access

The evidence against Wes was mounting, but Stevie simply could not believe what she was hearing. Ernie explained that Wes also had keys to the GMC pickup and the barn. Trash in the cab of the pickup suggested that Wes could have hidden out in the barn for several days after the ranch was closed down. Then he had access to the house at night for food. He also could send AntiCrist messages from from his notebook computer.

Wes had, in effect, kidnapped himself. He messed up his room and spread around a little blood from a self-induced cut. Then he hid in the floor of the attic, which was stocked with a little water and food. That was how the mysterious kidnapper got in and out of the house undetected. He was in the house all along, staying there until it was closed down. AntiCrist's message arrived several days after the kidnapping, when Wes could send the messages with no one detecting him.

 

AntiCrist's Mounting Evidence

As much as she wanted to flee, Stevie sat and listened to Ernie. He laid out the evidence, working from the present to the past. The houseboat that exploded belonged to the Bellardis. Yes, Matthew Denherder would be the first suspect at that point but, as Ernie had explained, he had since spoken to Matthew in New Zealand.

"But I saw them at campaign headquarters the morning of the bombing," Stevie protested, desperately grasping at straws. "Wes thought it was strange they were there and—" Ernie interrupted, "A lot of people were there".  "All right," Stevie said. "So maybe it wasn't Matthew Denherder. But that doesn't mean it was Wes. It could be any one of a dozen kooks or even someone from Juanita Dunsmuir's campaign.”

Again, Ernie shook his head. "I wish I could believe that, I really do. The FBI just hasn't come up with any possible suspects, especially anyone who would have access to the Bellardis' houseboat. Not only did Wes have that access, he knew how to pilot the boat, and he knew the air horn signal that would quiet any suspicion in the marina. Plus, after he faxed AntiCrist's last message to the office, he had an hour to get out to the lake before the explosion occurred.”

Psych Ward Scenario

Hearing those the words—"Wes Bellardi is AntiCrist"—Stevie's opinion of Ernie changed instantly and dramatically One moment he was a wise, tenacious ex-cop, loyal friend of the Bellardis, and a sudden soul mate on the topic of Wes Bellardi. The next moment he was an escapee from the St. Vincent's psych ward, on a par with someone who claimed that the president of the United States was an alien infiltrator from another galaxy. Believing that Wes Bellardi could be the terrorist plaguing his own father's campaign was flat-out crazy.

 

The shock must have registered on her face, because Ernie touched her hand gently and said, "I know this sounds very very bizarre. But you know how intelligent Wes is, and you also know how closed he is, almost secretive. I believe there's a whole world inside that brainy head of his that we know nothing about."

Stevie did not want to hear it, any more than she had wanted to hear that her son, whom she knew infinitely better than Wes Bellardi, had died of a drug overdose. Drugs could not be a part of her son's world, she had thought, until she was confronted with the truth. Truth is good. Truth is right. But the truth sometimes hurts, and Stevie did not want to be hurt again.

 

AntiCrist Revelation

If Matthew Denherder was not AntiCrist, then who could it possibly be? It seemed that, other than having finally found Wes, they knew no more than they had when this AntiCrist thing first started. Ernie said, “Something has been nagging me about Wes for several weeks now, but it wasn't until I spoke with Matthew Denherder in New Zealand that it all began to come into focus. I suppose I should have figured it out when I saw Wes burned and bleeding in the chopper but ... well, I guess maybe I just didn't want to believe it."

"What is it?" Stevie asked. Ernie studied her a moment longer, as if reevaluating his decision to tell her. Finally, lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, "They're out at the lake searching for another victim right now— AntiCrist. They're also searching the shoreline near the explosion, thinking he probably got away. But they're not going to find him—not in the water, not on the shore, not anywhere— because ... because Wes Bellardi is AntiCrist. With all my heart, I wish I were wrong. But I know I'm not. “

Likely Suspect

Stevie frowned. "I remember seeing the Dendherders, the Bellardi caretakers, the morning of the bombing at campaign headquarters. Wes seemed surprised to see them there." She paused. "You don't think they could have had anything to do with any of this, do you?"

Ernie shook his head. "No. Not now, anyway. I did earlier, though. In fact, that's what led me out to the lake in the first place. Maybe Denherder felt he was living off charity or something and the resentment grew. Then when I got out to the lake and found the pickup parked behind the Denherders' place, I was sure Matthew Denherder was AntiCrist. And when I found out that the Bellardis' houseboat had left the docks only a short time earlier, I was sure Matthew Denherder had taken Wes out on the boat to await his midnight deadline and then finish him off. In fact, right up until about an hour ago, I was absolutely positive that Denherder was AntiCrist."

Stevie frowned. "What changed your mind?" "I tracked down Lucy Denherder's sister's name and phone number in New Zealand and called them. Not only is Lucy there visiting, so is Matthew. I spoke to him."

 

Denherders Suspicion

Ernie described the last two and a half weeks as a living hell, having failed his friends Dan and Patricia by allowing Wes to be kidnapped. He detailed the days and nights of searching the ranch inch by inch for something with which to redeem himself. "But your diligence paid off," Stevie interjected. "Had you not kept looking for clues you might not have gone to the lake, and Wes might not have had a chance. At least he's alive right now."

Ernie studied the woman's face thoughtfully for a moment. Then he leaned closer and spoke with the obvious intent of secrecy. "I need to tell you something about Wes. It's something that's been nagging at me for a while, but I just couldn't pin it down. When I discovered the truck missing it occurred to me that possibly the Denherders, the Bellardis' caretakers, had borrowed it for some reason. But then I was told they were on vacation—out of the country, as a matter of fact. That seemed rather odd to me, as close as they're supposed to be to the senator and all. You'd think they'd stick around for the election."

 

Reminiscing

"Did I hear someone say you're the one who found Wes at the lake?" Stevie asked. Ernie shrugged and nodded. "It's a long story, but I was aboard the search-and-rescue helicopter, searching the coves and inlets for the boat where we believed Wes was being held captive. We saw a flash of light in the rain and . . . there he was."

"My boy and Wes practically grew up together. He's kind of like a nephew to me. How well do you know him?" "We met in July, and I worked closely with him in the communications department of the campaign." Originally, that was all she intended to say, but instead she found herself pouring out the whole story to someone she sensed knew the real Wes as she did, not simply Wes Bellardi the senator's son. She told about Wes's uncanny resemblance to Dougie, which meant she had to tell Dougie's tragic story, including the sense of failure and the redemption she experienced mentoring Wes.

 

Wes in Critical Condition

"That was the FBI agent monitoring communications at campaign headquarters," Robert reported shortly after midnight. "He said they received a message just a few minutes ago from AntiCrist," Robert explained. "All it said was, Time's up. Your son is dead. Enjoy your rain as king. AntiCrist.'"

Shortly after the coach arrived at campaign headquarters, Robert received a call from the hospital. "Wes has been found. A houseboat exploded out on the lake, and Wes was in it. He's alive, but he suffered severe burns, internal injuries, and head injuries. He's headed into surgery right now, hanging by a thread.”

By the time Stevie arrived at the hospital, the police had cordoned off the surgery wing because of the growing swarm of media. No statement would be made until morning at the earliest. All details of the explosion were withheld. First reports from the scene merely stated that Senator Bellardi's son was critically injured in an alleged assassination attempt by the terrorist AntiCrist, who was still at large. Wes remained comatose and bleeding internally. He would surely die if they did not get inside and stop the bleeding. Senator and Mrs. Bellardi would arrive within the hour by helicopter. AntiCrist had more than likely swam to shore and disappeared. There was nothing to do now but wait and pray.

There’s a Victim

It was shortly after midnight, and the Sheriff's search-and-rescue helicopter was cruising just below the rain-laden clouds over every back inlet they could find in the area where Ernie had last seen the Bellardis' houseboat. Ernie had been so sure he could direct the chopper right back to the houseboat. A flash of light in the corner of his eye caught his attention. "What was that?”

The captain angled the chopper toward the flash, dropped toward the surface of the water, and opened up the throttle. "There!" Ernie said excitedly, pointing ahead. Something is burning." In seconds they were over the burning houseboat at about eighty feet. We're too late, Ernie thought.

The houseboat listed in the water at about forty-five degrees. Burning debris littered the surface for a radius of three hundred feet. "I see a victim," Ernie announced. If there's only one victim, who is it? Ernie worried. If it's Wes, where's Matthew? Did he manage to escape and make it to shore already? "Hope that's not our boy, Ernie. Looks like a fatal to me,” the pilot said. A voice came through the headset. "The victim is alive—barely.

The victim was completely covered when the basket reached the doorway. At first he thought the victim looked African-American. Ernie directed the light into the grotesque face of the unconscious victim. Recognition rocked Ernie like a blow to the stomach. "It's the senator's son."