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Author's Note: Details on the inspiration for this story at the end. I will return to Las Plagas as soon as I am able.
He assumed she had seen a particularly horrific phrase on one of the protester’s signs, but the next thing she said to Greg was, “Look!”
He was so baffled by her request that his eyes snapped open and to his utter surprise, he saw no signs at all. He saw nothing, save for a sea of white linen and smiling faces. His jaw dropped.
“They look like angels,” he whispered to Sara, who he felt nod by his side as she, too, stared at the line of people standing just before the fence keeping back the protesters. They were dressed in white gowns and wore wings that towered at least seven feet from the ground, hiding the hate and indignant rage that flurried behind them. Even though they could still hear the provocative calls of the zealots beyond the fence, the path from the car to the court seemed tranquil somehow, almost holy.
Greg gestured for Sara to wait and moved to one of the angels. She was the only one who wasn’t smiling and her eyes were close. Her face was etched in a beautiful portrait of serenity. She had dirty-blonde hair which was pulled back into a ponytail, and two neat, dyed-red strands framing either side of her face. She had a small frame, that might have looked fragile or delicate, were it not for her massive wings that made her seem rather imposing. She couldn’t be older than eighteen, though her face looked like that of a woman in her mid-twenties, and her presence felt as if her soul was as ancient as the Pyramids of Giza. Her chest noticeably moved up and down with every breath, as if she were sleeping. Greg almost hated to disturb her, but he had to know.
“Excuse me,” he said, but she didn’t reply. “Hello?” he tried, but she still didn’t acknowledge him. He lightly touched her arm and her eyes snapped open, a vivid blue which pierced him liked spears, and he wondered if he had broken a grave taboo, in waking an angel.
And then she blinked, and smiled sweetly at him before reaching up to her ears and pulling out the ear plug, like a teenager pulling out the earphone from her mp3 player and returning to reality.
“Would you like to be one of Jeff’s angels?” she requested, her voice youthfully cheerful, reverent and wise at the same time.
Greg blinked. “Is that what you’re doing?” he inquired, breathless.
She smirked. “Isn’t it obvious?” she replied. “I think Ghandi would have approved. ‘I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.’ Well, not all of them. Not Jeff. Not his family.”
“Who are you?” Greg asked. He thought that maybe she was just an activist, who sympathized with Jeff’s cause and took up the sword in his name, so to speak.
“My name is Lisa,” she said, still smiling despite the people yelling right behind her that she could now hear. “Jeffery Webster was my very best friend. I was there with him through everything. I wish I could have been there for him through what happened to him all those months ago. But I’m here for him now.”
The name rang a bell, and suddenly the pieces fit. “You’re the girl he was going to go to Peru with. Climb the Andes, see Machu Picchu.”
“Yup, that’s me,” she chirped. “Would you like a gown and wings? We have extra sets in the van.”
Greg looked at the line of people standing side by side, holding hands, not saying a word to the protesters. “Did you do this?”
She nodded. “I started a website, when it all happened,” she said. “Posted things like photos and papers Jeff had written, poetry and plays, notes from his online journal... He liked to write, and thank god, because people are reading it. And he’s still touching people. And so I posted an announcement asking for volunteers in Las Vegas to stand with me in counter protest. I called it the ‘God’s Children Campaign,’ because that’s what we all are, you see. The responses I got were phenomenal.” She got excited now, her child-like enthusiasm shining through. “Everyone wanted to help out, though not all of them could make it all the way here. But I do have a girl here all the way from New York.” She glanced coyly down the line and a brunette turned her head, blushed, and turned away again. Lisa giggled and looked at Greg again. “Nothing’s official yet, but she asked me out to dinner and I hope to get a kiss before the evening’s out.”
Greg’s jaw was still open. “All these people... here for Jeff.” And the thought warmed him, like nothing other than Sara’s touch could do.
Lisa nodded vigorously. “Some of us knew him in life, others just want to support his memory. But in one way or another, Jeff has changed us all. He brought me and Carla together.” Lisa glanced again at the brunette and her smile turned into a grin.
“Greg?” Sara was touching his arm, and the warmth in his heart reached boiling temperatures. “We’re going to miss the trial, honey.”
When he had woken up that morning, Greg hadn’t been sure if he could have faced sitting there, listening to Adam condemn the men who murdered his brother. But after this, he felt he could face anything. An angry Ecklie, an arrogant Hodges, The whole James family, Natalie Davis, Gil Grissom and the Devil combined.
Whatever was waiting for him inside that courtroom, he was ready.
Lisa and Sara had prepared him for Armageddon.
“It’s my understanding that Jeffery’s brother Adam would like to say a few words on behalf of the family now. You do understand, Adam, that this is not required from you, it is entirely optional.”
Adam rose to his feet the row in front of Greg and Sara. “I know, your honor.”
The judge nodded. “Then you may proceed,” he said, and Adam stepped up to address the court.
He looked at Greg before he spoke, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were focused on something off to his right, something Greg couldn’t quite see.
“Over the past year, a lot of you here have gotten to know my brother as a victim, or a sinner, or both. But you don’t really know him. Can you really know someone, posthumously? But I want to try and tell you about him anyway.
“My brother, Jeff was better than me. I can’t think of... any gentler way to say it. He was better at baseball, he was better at trying new things, and he was better at...” He looked at Greg again. “Being good to his friends.” He looked at the court now. “He was better with forgiving people than I am. When he was twelve, he got the lead in the school play. He was the best damn Oliver Twist I’d ever seen. And then he went to college, and he majored in theater and international relations. He said that art could change the world. He would be in Peru right now, climbing the Andes, if it wasn’t for you, Mr. Howard.”
Adam looked down and seemed to collect himself before he continued. “He died out there all alone because of you and your friends. Only he was never really alone. A part of me always went with him, everywhere he went. A part of me would have gone with him all the way to Peru. You killed that, too. You didn’t just kill one person, one homosexual. You killed his mother, who cried when she saw his old little league trophy as she moved his things out of his apartment. You killed his father, who wrapped a present for him and put it under the Christmas tree this year and never opened it. You killed his brother, who looked up to him as if Jeff were the oldest child. You killed his best friend, who stands outside like a ghost with angel wings to prove that love and compassion doesn’t care if you’re gay or an adulterer or a gambler or a murderer...
“Maybe you thought you were doing the world a favor by ridding it of one more gay man. But Jeff wasn’t my gay brother. He was my brother, who happened to be gay. And I was damn proud of him. Regardless, of whether you are right or not in your beliefs of the evil of homosexuality, Mr. Howard, you, too, have sinned. And so have I. And dammit, so have us all. And you are not God. And you will not tell me that I am wrong based on your set of values. And you will not kill the part of Jeff that goes with me, everywhere I go.
“I want you dead,” Adam snarled through gritted teeth. “I would celebrate your execution day annually. And if it were up to me...” He looked at his parents and his lip quivered. “I would ask for the death penalty today. But Jeff, ever the pacifist, wouldn’t want that. Like I told you, he was better than me, and...” He paused. “I should try to be more like him. And so, Mr. Howard... I have a gift for you today. It’s something Jeff might have given you, if he could have. You and your friends will get to leave this courtroom today knowing that you will spend the rest of your lives in prison. I give you life, Mr. Howard, in the name of one who no longer has that gift. And every day you wake up, and every night you go to sleep, remember that Jeff can’t. Every time you laugh, or have a birthday, remember that Jeff won’t. I hope you live a long time. And that you thank Jeff every day for it.”
He took a deep breath and swallowed before stepping down. The court slowly began to breathe again, and the Judge spoke and clapped his gavel. People were getting up and moving, but Greg’s heart was so heavy, it anchored him to his seat.
Sara took his hand lightly and kneeled down next to him. She brought his hand to her lips and softly kissed it, drawing him out of his daze.
“He didn’t...”
“Sh,” Sara hushed. “I know. I heard.”
“What made him...”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Greg frowned. “I think... it’s over.”
“It’s never over,” Sara said. “But it’s at peace now.”
And she was right. The inner turmoil that had been swirling around in Greg’s stomach like a bad hangover was still now, like the placid waters of a deep sea. He knew that underneath the calm waves were the graves of sailors lost to the unpredicted storms of circumstance.
But the waters were quiet now.
He looked at her and smiled, and realized that Mrs. Webster had been right. She was his angel.
Someone sat down beside him. “You look a little lonely there, kiddo.”
He glanced up fleetingly, but was uninterested in conversation. “Nah, I’m OK,” he lied.
The man, who was a bit older than him with brown hair, smiled at him. “My friends and I noticed that spat that happened a while ago involving you.”
“Who here didn’t?” he asked, bitterly.
“No need to be so down!” said a new voice, a blonde man who sat down on his other side. “We understand what’s going on.” He smiled at his brown-haired friend. “Don’t we, Max?”
“Sure do, Jake,” said Max with a wide grin. Max patted him on the back. “See, we understand because we went through it too.”
He looked up, confused. “You... you did?”
“Of course we did,” Jake said, comfortingly. “What’s your name, little fellow?”
He hesitated, then slowly smiled. “Jeff,” he said. “And to be honest, I’m... relieved. You were freaking me out there a moment.”
“Hey, listen,” said Max, leaning forward. “It’s Jake’s birthday today and this place is a dive. What’s say we take you somewhere more exciting? We got some guys waiting for us in the car. It’ll be fun.”
Jeff held his breath. “I dunno, see, I have a lot to do tomorrow, and my brother might call—”
“We’ll take good care of you,” Jake told him. “After all, you’re among friends now.”
Jeff didn’t see the snake-like smiles and hungry looks that passed between Jake Bell and Max Howard. He saw the answer to his problem. He would be pathetic if he continued to mope all by himself here at this bar. And he would be even more of a loser if he went home so early, when the night was still young. He had found like-minded individuals. He had found friends. And he’d have a story to tell Adam when he called the next day, like Greg had assured Jeff he would.
So he smiled, genuinely excited to discover what kind of birthday plans Max had in store for Jake that they were willing to let him share. “OK,” he said to them, beaming.
The trouble is, no matter how tall of a pedestal Adam put his brother up on, Jeffery Webster had one tragic flaw. He trusted that there was goodness in every human being. And even if he had survived the attack, he would probably still have believed that. After Jeff’s death, Adam would have called it naive. But Greg, who shares a little in that belief himself, would have called it inspiring.
The End
Dedicated to Matthew Shepherd. Only the angels know your truth. God loves those who have lived good lives. The wicked are those whose hearts are clouded with hate, and whose eyes are blinded by hubris. God values love and forgiveness above all else. And you were well-loved by your family and friends. God bless you and your family, and may you rest in peace.
Dennis Shepherd's Address to the Court at the Sentencing of Aaron McKinney
My son, Matthew officially died October 12th, 1998. But he actually died the Wednesday before when you... You, Mr. McKinney, with your friend, Mr. Henderson... Left him out there to die by himself. But he wasn’t alone. He had his longtime friends with him. The beautiful night sky, the daylight, and the sun to shine on him one last time. He had the smell of Wyoming sage brush and the scent of pine trees from the snowy range. And he had God. I feel better knowing he wasn’t alone. Our lives will never be the same. We miss Matt terribly; we think about him all the time, at odd moments when little things remind us of him. When we walk by the refrigerator and see pictures of him. And at special times of the year, like the first day of classes at UW or the opening day of hunting season. We always wonder, what would have happened? What would he have become? How would he have changed his corner of the world to make it better? Matthew was not my gay son. He was my son, who happened to be gay. And I was proud of him. He became a symbol, some say. A martyr, putting the boy-next-door face on hate crimes, that’s fine with me. He would be thrilled to know his death helped others. Mr. McKinney, Judy and I believe that there are incidents and crimes that justify the death penalty, and even Matthew would agree that this is one of them. My son died because of your ignorance and intolerance. I can’t bring him back, but I can do my best to make sure this never happens again. I believe in the death penalty. I want nothing more than to see you die. However, this is a time for healing. This is a time to show mercy to one who refused to show mercy. Every time you celebrate Christmas, or the Fourth of July, remember: Matt isn’t. Every time you wake up, remember, Matthew won’t. Every time you breathe, remember Matthew doesn’t. You robbed us of something very precious. And I will never forgive you for that. Mr. McKinney. I give you life, in memory of one who no longer lives. May it be a long life. And may you thank Matthew every day for it.
End Note: For more information, private-message me or google "Matthew Shepherd." Obviously, Adam's speech resembles Dennis Shepherd's, which is why I included it. Additionally, on the day of Matthew's funeral, protesters (led by Fred Phelps) showed up to show their hatred of Matthew and how they believed his killers were just. In counter protest, Romaine Patterson, Matthew's best friend, organized the "Angel Action" in which everyone dressed in white with large wings that towered above them to hide the hateful words behind them.