It was almost two weeks following the rescue of the children from the orphanage that Wil received the call that would change his life forever. Responding to a frantic report made by two college kids from upstate—and confirmed by the local police in the area—Wil and Frank made the hour-long drive together.
Frank’s sleepover—in the guestroom—two weeks ago had set Wil’s mind to churning. By the next morning, he’d half convinced himself that he hadn’t actually awakened the previous evening with the taste of liquor in his mouth. Which, if he had, would imply things he wasn’t sure he was ready to face. Yet he consistently came back to that night, and the dream, wondering how much of the dream had been dream and which parts had been inspired by events taking place in reality.
Frank kissed you that night and you know it. If so…how enthusiastically had he returned the kiss? In the dream, he had been as into the kiss as Frank had been, eagerly sucking his tongue like it was a sweet lollipop. Had he done the same outside the dream? Was that why he had such a strong flavor of scotch in his mouth—because he’d literally sucked the liquor off Frank’s tongue?
Wil had become obsessed with these questions. All he had to do for an answer was ask Frank, but he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. His biggest question was—what if he’d waken up while they were kissing? What would have happened then? Would Frank have still spent the night in the guestroom or…Wil’s bedroom? It was futile to deny that the uncertainty of the answer gave him an extra-powerful twinge in all kinds of places. He didn’t know how he felt about where all this was taking him. He wouldn’t feel ashamed to discover he was gay, and almost wished he was because what better partner could he ask for than Frank?
His greatest fear was that he would convince himself he was gay, confess such to Frank, become involved romantically…then discover he had been wrong. It would crush Frank and he couldn’t take that chance. He had to be one-hundred-percent certain of his homosexuality before he even hinted to Frank that he might be gay. He just didn’t know how to gain that certainty.
Frank was driving, which forced him to keep his eyes on the road and at the same time allowed Wil the freedom to let his mind wander and…wonder about these things that had suddenly become so important to him.
All such thoughts evaporated when they turned off the rural road and the “meat wagon” as it was so eloquently coined jostled over the uneven gravel drive, thick with slush and mud.
Wil leaned forward and stared out the front windshield as they emerged from the trees and the large structure loomed ahead, backdropped by the gray winter sky. This was the place. This was the hellhole that had imprisoned the children. Wil knew that once he set foot in the place, he would never be the same.
He didn’t know what, exactly, awaited them on the inside, just that it was straight out of a horror movie. There were dead bodies, that much he’d been told, but the rest…he was told he had to see it for himself to believe it.
Frank parked behind the two police cruisers and shut off the vehicle. The engine ticked as they sat there and stared at the ominous place. “Ready for this?” Frank looked at Wil.
“Something tells me I’ll never be ready for what’s in there.” The carnage within was the result of the cowboy and his men’s vengeance on monsters who raped and abused children. He expected this scene to surpass what they had found in the warehouse.
The two men exited the vehicle and were met by an officer as they started up the path. Wil paused and looked at the pole in the yard; dark discolorations marred the weathered wood.
“It’s blood,” the officer said.
“How do you know?” Frank asked.
“Deduction.”
Wil frowned. “What do you mean?”
The officer—a young man in his mid-twenties—motioned toward the entrance. “Come inside and you’ll see.” His dark eyes were haunted, and Wil suspected they hadn’t been before he’d come to this place.
They followed the officer inside and were immediately struck by a horrid stench. The young cop hardly seemed to notice it anymore as Frank and Wil covered their nose and mouth with their hands. Wil’s eyes stung with the pungent odor as they walked down a narrow hallway and the smell strengthened.
The officer paused at the door, on the other side of which voices hummed. “Welcome to hell, gentlemen,” he murmured hollowly and opened the door.
Wil and Frank exchanged an uneasy look then followed the officer inside. Neither of them was prepared for the carnage nailed to the wall. Wil had been right; it was worse than the warehouse slaughter. Much worse.
“Fuck…” Frank breathed, taking the word right out of Wil’s mouth.
As Wil looked around, taking in the atmosphere and conditions in which the children had been forced to live, he felt no pity for the sacrifices displayed before them. On the wall was a scripture written in the dead men’s blood. Chapter and verse. Luke 17: 1,2.
“I looked it up,” the officer said and handed his phone to Wil.
Wil stared at the words of the scripture, glanced at Frank, then read aloud in a hollow murmur, “Then said he unto the disciples, It is impossible but that offenses will come: but woe unto him, through whom they come! It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea…” Wil raised his eyes to the three men nailed to the wall. “…than that he should offend one of these little ones.”