35
ELLIOT
The basement reeks of mold and disinfectant. I’ve lost track of time since they locked me here since the single window is covered with heavy black fabric. Hours have passed, maybe a full day. My wrists burn from the rope, and thirst scratches at my throat.
The door creaks open. Pastor Williams enters, Mother following him like a dutiful disciple. He carries his worn Bible, its pages marked with dozens of colored tabs.
“Let us pray for our brother Elliot’s soul.” His voice booms in the small space as they position chairs across from me. “Leviticus 18:22 tells us, ‘You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.’”
Mother nods, her eyes gleaming with a fervor I’ve never seen before. She looks... satisfied as though my suffering brings her joy.
“Your soul is in grave peril, son.” Pastor Williams leans forward, his breath hot on my face. “The homosexual lifestyle is Satan’s most clever deception. He has blinded you to natural order.”
“I’m not deceived,” I croak, my voice raw from earlier screaming. “This is who I am.”
Mother’s face hardens. “That man has poisoned your mind. You were normal before him.”
“Indeed,” Pastor Williams nods. “Romans 1:27: ‘The men abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another.’”
They take turns, a grotesque tag team. The pastor quotes scripture about fire and brimstone while Mother describes the eternal torment awaiting me.
“Your soul will burn forever,” she whispers, almost lovingly. “Is that what you want, Elliot? To suffer eternally for temporary worldly pleasure?”
Pastor Williams places his hand on my forehead, pressing painfully. “The devil has his claws in you, but we will cast him out!”
As he prays loudly, Mother watches me with cold eyes that hold no maternal love—only the satisfaction of righteousness. Her lips curve slightly upward as I flinch from the pastor’s increasingly aggressive touch.
“We have days ahead for your cleansing,” Pastor Williams says. “Satan will not win this battle.”
Hours pass with their relentless prayers. My throat burns from thirst, my stomach twisting with hunger. When Pastor Williams finally stops mid-verse, I allow myself to hope they’ve given up.
I’m wrong.
“Prayer alone won’t cleanse such deep corruption,” he says, nodding to Mother. She wheels in a small TV on a metal cart. “You need to see the truth about this lifestyle you’ve chosen.”
The screen flickers to life with grainy footage. Men with lesions covering their faces. Hospital beds. Emaciated bodies. Funeral homes stacked with coffins.
“This is the homosexual reality,” Pastor Williams narrates as Mother stands with her arms crossed, watching my reactions. “Disease. Suffering. Early death.”
I close my eyes, but Mother slaps me hard across the face.
“You will watch,” she hisses. “Every minute of it.”
The images grow more graphic—doctored photos ofgay nightlifeshowing depravity that I know is manufactured, interviews withex-gaysclaiming they found happiness through conversion.
My stomach cramps violently. “Water,” I rasp. “Please.”
Mother’s eyes flick to Pastor Williams, who shakes his head. “Fasting purifies the body to receive God’s truth.”
When my head begins to droop from exhaustion, they blast gospel music through portable speakers. When that stops working, Mother dumps ice water over my head.
“No sleep until you reject sin,” Pastor Williams explains. “Sleep allows Satan to whisper to you.”
The hours blur. Day becomes night becomes day. The fluorescent lights never switch off, drilling into my skull. The videos loop endlessly—the same awful propaganda cycling through as I drift in and out of consciousness.
The room spins. My lips crack and bleed. I’ve soiled myself at some point, the stench mixing with the basement’s mildew. I can’t remember the last time I had water.
“Just say you’ll change,” Mother whispers during one of Pastor Williams’ breaks. “Just say it, and this stops.”
