Page 59 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

I blink at Meadows. “Pretend?”

He smiles mischievously at me. “I meant what I said. I like you, Matthews. I like seeing you all lovestruck when you’re withyour Daddy, and I was sick of the way he was dragging his feet. You’re a good boy, and you deserve to be loved, so I lied and said I was going to kill someone in the congregation so I could slip this guy the serum. I wanted you to be happy, and I won’t apologize for it.”

I’m dumbfounded. Actually dumbfounded and without words.

“Dare?”

I turn to look at Miles. “Yeah?”

“You were going to let him kill someone in the church?”

My cheeks go warm. “Maybe just a little.” Miles sighs and flings his hands up in exhausted frustration. “I know. I’m a bad, bad boy, sir. You can punish me later.”

Meadows stands and motions toward the door. Worried Daddy might pull me over his lap and spank me in front of Meadows, I launch up and follow behind. The agency’s walls are made of concrete, and they’ve been painted black. Little lights protrude from the walls, giving the whole place an unnecessarily creepy vibe. It’s just so unnecessary.

Meadows leads us toward the lower levels, and as we walk down the concrete hallway, Miles’ hand finds mine, and he intertwines our fingers. When I give his hand a squeeze, he returns it to me, even tighter. As I brush my thumb against the side of his hand, I look over to catch him blushing. He’s like a nervous virgin and seeing him like this—almost like an anxious teenager suffering from puppy love—makes up for all the bad stuff that’s happened today.

The longer the tunnel goes on, the more enthralled Miles becomes. He peeks into half-opened doors, ignoring Meadows’ many calls for us to keep up. Eventually, we reach another retractable wall. This one leads to an elevator that carries us to the bottom floor. Miles leads us past Ms. Broussard’s robotics room—a room I’ve been forbidden from ever entering, which, ugh, rude—toward the very end of our underground lair.

When we enter the room, I’m taken aback. The incinerator is already roaring, and Dad’s body is laid out on the conveyor belt, ready to be burned. Pastor Collins’ body is already at the end of the conveyor belt, the inferno inside blazing his skin until it’s blackened. Fucking eww.

My mom is towering over Dad, glaring down at his lifeless frame. “I’m glad,” she tells Mal, who’s standing protectively at her side. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

Mal nods. “I know. And that’s okay.”

Mom shakes her head. “He’s probably up there with God already, doing his best to demean me before it’s my time. I bet he’s trying to get in good with Jesus, too, telling him all sorts of lies about me.” She pokes my father’s corpse in the chest. “Good luck with that. God don’t like ugly, and you’ve got the ugliest heart I’ve ever seen.”

With that, my mother whirls on her heel and marches out of the room with Mal following close behind. Meadows says he’ll give me a moment to say goodbye.

I try to open my mouth but nothing comes out. There are so many things I’ve wanted to tell my father. I’ve dreamed of telling him that I was a proud gay man, and nothing he could ever say or do would change that. That no matter what forms of conversion therapy he throws at me, my sexuality is innate, and it’s never going to change. My heart is racing a mile a minute, pleading with me to tell him that I hate him for the hate he’s always had for me. I hate him for turning my mother into a submissive wife, stealing her life away. I hate him for the homophobic, transphobic, and racist slander he’s spewed across the dinner table every day for the last twenty-some-odd years. I don’t tell him any of these things, I just stare at his body like a scared little boy.

“I’m not sorry for killing you, Brother Matthews. You were always kind to me, but I saw the way you looked at Darren. I sawhow much hate festered in your heart.” Miles looks up, staring into my wet eyes with his. “I haven’t always protected him in the way he needed me to, but that ends today. I’ll protect him from here on out.” He bangs the side of his fist against what I’m assuming was meant to be the button for the conveyor belt beside the body, and not my dead father’s windpipe. “Crap. And I’m sorry for hitting you just now.” He slams his fist against the button. Looking at me, he gives me his trademark Father Daddy protective glare. “No one is ever going to hurt you again. Not as long as I’m around.”

“Miles,” I whisper.

He nods. “From here on out. Me and you, buddy. It’s me and you.”

My jaw trembles, and I have to look away. Unfortunately, when I do, I’m greeted with my father’s lifeless face. His eyes are closed, and for the briefest of moments, it almost looks like his chest rises and falls.

“Sweet Jesus,” Miles says, sounding horrified. “Is he . . .” Our eyes lock, and I feel just as panicked as he looks. “Dare? What do we do?” He eyes the button again and quickly smashes it, stopping the belt from moving. Dad isn’t stirring, thank God. Maybe our eyes are just playing tricks on us.

There’s a big green button at the end of the conveyor belt. Every muscle in my body is screaming out for me to press it, but I can’t move. I can’t even twitch a finger. If he’s still alive, that means there’s still a chance for him to hurt me. Still a chance for him to drag me out of this building, kicking and screaming, back to my childhood home.

“He’ll kill me,” I whisper to myself, not really meaning the words for Miles. “If he’s still alive, he’ll really kill me next time.” There isn’t a doubt in my mind.

“Darren?”

I look up at Father Daddy. “Yeah?”

“No. He won’t.” Once the words are out, with a shaky hand, Miles presses the button again. There’s a loud buzz, and as my father’s chest rises again, the belt begins to move. As flames wrap around my father’s head, Miles says, “No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

My knees go a little weak at the words, but he catches me before I fall. He always catches me. “Promise?”

Miles cups my cheek as the iron door closes and the flames roar to life, and he gives me a tender kiss as muffled screams escape the oven. “Mine.”

chapter twenty-one

I’ve killed a man. Twice. The same man, but still. The worst part is, there’s no doubt in my mind I would do it again. It’s been two weeks since it happened, and just the thought of BrotherMatthews’ red face with his hands around Darren’s throat sends spikes of rage digging up and down my spine.

---