Eight Years Ago
Eight long years ago Connor McKinley kissed his mother on the cheek and settled down into his cowboy themed bedding. Mrs. McKinley pulled the covers up around his shoulders and left the room with a sweetly whispered "Goodnight, darling." His prayers were prayed and teeth brushed. He had school in the morning and Steve was going to teach him how to make fart noises with his armpit at recess. Connor didn't much like fart noises but Steve wanted to teach him and how could he say no to his best friend in the whole wide world?
His eyes drifted shut, thoughts of Steve and math homework in his head. Then he and Steve were on a raft all Huckleberry Finn style. The seas were calm and an island floated not too far away. From the raft Connor could see the ice cream parlor and the giant roller coaster and the dinosaurs. A couple of cowboys chased each other along the beach, laughter and gun smoke on the cool island breeze.
Steve was smiling at him and leaning back on his elbows. His swimmy trunks had sharks on them, those were his favorites the ones his mother refused to buy him that one time. Connor's had stars on them.
"Let's go swimming!" Then splash, they were in the water dunking each other and looking for mermaid treasure. Connor was treading like he learned in gym class when Steve got all close behind him. The red head tensed, expecting Steve to grab his shoulders and sink him beneath the waves.
He didn't sink him. His hand slid over the wet skin of Connor's shoulders the way he'd seen his father do to his mother that time at the beach. And then something even stranger happened. Lips. On his neck. Was Steve about to bite him like those vampires? What if Steve was actually a vampire and he was going to drain Connor of blood and leave him dead, or worse?
No needle teeth sank into him. Steve just left his mouth there, at the juncture of Connor's neck and shoulder, warm and wet and kind of nice feeling. He wasn't wearing trunks anymore. Neither was Connor. Then his hands sneaking around Connor's waist all tickle-y. Then-
Connor woke up hot and sticky and shamed. It happened, that thing they warned about at church. That thing where boys his age sort of stopped being boys and had to be men, dreaming about ladies in dirty ways that were sort of natural because that's where babies come from.
He crept into the bathroom down the hall from his bedroom. His father snored in the next room. He hadn't woken anyone with his dream. Connor grabbed a wash cloth and wetted it, wiping away all traces of his dream. He held it for a moment and then tossed it out the window. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want his mother to find the cloth.
Connor hadn't dreamed about any ladies. Connor dreamed about Steve Blade, his bestest friend in the whole world. Not his babysitter, like Ryan had. Not Steve's pretty older sister Sarah. Steve. They hadn't talked about dirty dream like his the day they told him that babies didn't come from a factory in China. He would have to ask his father.
Mind set, Connor let his eyes close once more. He started to dream again, back in the water with Steve. Only, some things had changed.
The sky was a bloody red, the same color of his father's steak at dinner, but it wasn't sunset. The noon-sun beat down on his head from directly above. The sea water was getting hot and bubbling. His skin ached.
"Steve? Steve, what's going on?" Connor reached his hand back, desperately seeking some solace in the unusual landscape. The hand he found lacked any familiarity. He felt wiry hairs and leathery skin and fingers tipped with claws. He didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to know.
But slowly, surely his head moved against his will. His eyes were wide with terror. The hand in his hand belonged to a creature so terrible and frightening that even years later Connor couldn't describe it to his therapist.
He woke with an earth shattering scream that roused his father and sent his mother into a blind panic. She clutched him to her breast like they did in the movies. His father paced as Connor described the two dreams. When he was done, the man sat in front of his wife and child, taking their hands in his.
"Connor, you mustn't think like that. You had a nightmare because you were sinning. Thinking about a boy like that is wrong, it's against Heavenly Father's will. That's why He punished you with that dream. Because you're not normal."
The next day, Connor avoided Steve at recess. When the other boy cornered him, Connor could only mumble that he didn't want to be friends anymore and that Steve was no longer welcome at his house or his lunch table. Connor sat alone every day. Steve would look at him and shake his head, turning to Ryan and making fart noises with his armpits to the enjoyment of his new table.
That summer, Connor McKinley went to camp like he'd always wanted to. He played with the other children, the children like him. He read the Bible and the Book of Mormon and prayed with them. He learned the phrase that changed his whole life, three little words. He learned to turn it off.
Until, eight years later, a fresh faced Kevin Price got off the bus in Uganda for his two year mission.