The Battle for Jericho by Gene Gant Read Free Book Online Page A

Glen. Mom is a nurse there in the neonatal intensive care unit. Dad has degrees up to his neck, including a PhD in Business Administration. Professionally, he is Dr. London Jiles. Mom only has her bachelor’s degree, but there’s a nursing shortage across the country. RNs are in high demand and command some correspondingly high salaries. I think it bugs Dad that Mom not only has a shorter commute but earns more money than he does.
    Of course, the shortage also means nurses work a lot of hours. Sometimes Mom misses dinner. And church. And little things like grade school graduation and basketball games.
    The person who answered said Mom was with a patient and couldn’t come to the phone. I left her a message. To cover all my bases, I also called Dad’s cell. I knew he had a class from three to four on Monday afternoon, so I left a message on his voice mail telling him I’d be at the library until six. I thanked Mrs. Kingston and handed the phone back to her, forcing myself to look no lower than the delicate little dimple in her chin.
    Actually, I was only in the library until four forty-five, during which time I finished my homework for American history. After loading up my backpack, I walked outside and down Baxter Boulevard, slowly, as if going to my own execution.
     
     
    A T TEN after five, Dylan parked his Camaro in the driveway and climbed out with a leather satchel in hand thick enough to knock down walls. He wore a gray suit, a gray dress shirt, and a black tie. His hair had been trimmed close to his scalp to blend in with the landing strip the doctors made when suturing his wound. The buzz cut and the suit made him look like a military recruiter, and it gave me a flutter in my chest. I was still a little scared of him.
    He seemed surprised to find me sitting on the steps to his porch. “What’re you doing here?”
    I stood up. “You told me to sleep on it and come back if I really want to go gay.” I spread my arms. “I’m back.”
    He brushed past me wearily and started unlocking his door. “Go home, Jericho.”
    “But you said—”
    “This isn’t a game,” he snapped, turning to me, a scowl on his face. “And I’m not in the mood to play.”
    “I’m not playing, Dylan,” I told him with a sudden seriousness that seemed to come from some part of me that was far older than my sixteen years. “I have to do this. I’m going to do this, whether you help me or not.”
    The burden was back on him now, and I figured I’d give him a few seconds to decide what he was going to do. He glared into my eyes, looking for the slightest waver. I didn’t even dare blink. Maybe half a minute later, he got this sly look in his eye, and he said, “You’re telling me that you’re ready to give up girls?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you believe in God?”
    “Yes.”
    “You realize that the ultimate goal of the gay agenda is to alter the institution of marriage as set forth by God and forever undermine society’s traditional moral values?”
    “I do.”
    “And by choosing homosexuality, you’re willing to risk not just the end of all sexual relations with the females you naturally desire, not just the loss of your family and friends, not just the condemnation of your church, not just discrimination by the local, state, and federal governments, but the everlasting wrath of the all-powerful and eternal Master of the Universe?”
    Gulp. “I am.”
    He studied my face for another thirty seconds before he finally unlocked the door. “Follow me. There’s some paperwork involved.”
    Paperwork?
    Dylan led me through his living room and down the hall to a bedroom he had converted into a home office. There was a small, contemporary desk against the rear wall. Dylan pulled out the chair and told me to sit.
    As I seated myself, he opened the filing cabinet next to the desk and hauled out a stack of white, legal-sized paper, which he plopped down in front of me.
    “What’s this?” I asked, afraid to even