The Revelation Of Man

CHAPTER 1

It was a dark, sad October day. Rain was pouring and a cold mist rose from the ground. The funeral procession made its way through Rockville, then Chevy Chase and finally to Silver Spring where Ray Coles, a 12-year FBI veteran, father of three and my son will be buried. However, as I expected, no one from the Bureau except Charley McFane is at the cemetery. No one else from the Bureau had the guts to show their last respects to Ray. Not his commander, any of his partners through 12 years of service, his Academy instructors or even his damn secretary would show their faces at my son’s funeral. Not a soul, except Charlie and I. But I expected Charley, given the circumstances of Ray’s death.

It’s sad enough that the Bureau wrote off Ray, but neither his wife, nor I should say ex-wife, nor his kids are here. Their father, a damn good father, was dead and they aren’t even at the funeral. It was heartbreaking. In addition to Charley, Larry, my son’s lover, if that’s what you can call him is here. When I first met Larry, I was still in shock at the rapid turn of events that happened in my son’s life. Ray went from being special agent Ray Coles, a decorated FBI field agent to being Ray Coles, a bouncer at Lemon, a gay disco in Miami. At first, I tried to blame Larry for ruining my son’s life. My son was divorcing his beautiful wife of nine years, Rachel. He was losing the right to see his three boys grow up. And what were my three grandsons supposed to think? Suddenly, a wonderful, caring father, husband and career Federal Agent just decides he’s gay. My God, what was I supposed to think? My son gave up his career by openly walking into his commander’s office one day and announcing that he was gay. His reasoning was to be public about his sexuality so he could not be blackmailed on the street. That was Ray, always trying to put honor and duty first. As I well knew, the Government was not quite so honorable. Having spent an entire career in government service, 10 years Marines, 20 years FBI, I knew the bureau had no room, no time, and no willingness to recognize a homosexual agent. My son was fired that fateful day. It was also that day, that oh so horrible day of July 6, that Ray came home from the office, crying, and told Rachel that his career with the Bureau over because he was gay.

Ray was an outstanding High School and College athlete. He was good at any sport he tried and competed in track & field events at both the State and National levels. He even held several FBI Academy track records. He was handsome, charming and smart. It was always Ray’s aspiration to join the Bureau. It’s rare in the Bureau to have a father and son team. The career is so unsettling for a family life. Given the odd work hours, continuous travel and emotional traumas, not too many offspring become interested once the reality of the work life settles in. But Ray wanted it, breathed it, and seized it. I was so proud when Ray followed in my footsteps. My God, what happened to my son?

Of course, Rachel was shocked and angry. Who could blame her? Ray was willing to give up the love of his life, nine years of marriage, three sons and a promising future all to go to Miami and explore his newfound homosexuality. Six months later the divorce was final. Throughout this ordeal, I continued to love and support Ray, but I could never understand him. What was a father supposed to think? Thank God his mother didn’t live to see this happen. We lost her three years earlier to cancer.

And the boys, those poor, sweet, wonderful boys. Would they ever understand? How does someone after 39 years of life just wake up one day as a homosexual? At first I thought maybe Ray was gay all along and worked hard his entire life to hide it. But now I honestly and truly believe that is not what happened. As I look back over his life there were just no signs. Ray always loved women. I remember when he was 15 his mother caught him getting a blowjob from the 16-year old neighbor girl. His mother was so mad she wouldn’t speak to him for a week. I was actually kind of proud. Anyway, after that it seemed like Ray went from one girlfriend to the next at least until he met Rachel. Even by his own admission, this event was something that just awakened in him one day. It grew stronger and stronger. He could not explain it, he could not stop it, it just happened. Rachel got custody of course and to Rachel’s credit, she never told the boys what happened. Ray Jr. who is nine, suspects that something very wrong happened. The other boys, John and Matt, are too young to think anything.

So what am I supposed to say to Larry? My son’s lover? I still can’t imagine the two of them engaging in a sickening homosexual act. This is my son we’re talking about! Before any of this happened, I took the normal view of homosexuals. Normal for a 62-year-old retired FBI veteran. As long as they keep it to themselves and in the closet, what harm was there? I mean we always suspected that some people in the Bureau were possibly gay. There are those agents, both male and female, who never marry or appear to go out on dates. Given the professional nature of our work, those suspicious thoughts were never expressed openly.

But when it’s your son, the shame, the embarrassment and shock sent me into a tailspin. The fact that Ray was so open about his newly discovered sexuality was even more distressing. As I said, Rachel was an angel for being able to keep the truth away from the boys.

I knew Rachel would not be here at the funeral. She had been through hell the past year and a half. She hated Ray and for that I couldn’t blame her. Coming here would be an all too painful reminder of what she had lost, how her wonderful life had been devastated by Ray’s ultimate betrayal. But deep down it hurts that she isn’t here. I know how much she once loved him.

Larry came over to me to express his sympathy. Larry looked healthy. Although I did not ask, it didn’t appear that Larry showed any symptoms. Symptoms of AIDS. Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. A disease where viral cells attack the body’s immune system leaving it vulnerable to any and all types of infection. A disease transmitted through bodily fluids. A disease prominent in the homosexual community. A disease that I admit, I will never understand. But it wasn’t AIDS that killed Ray. He died by his own hand. A revolver jammed in his mouth. One shot fired to blow away his life and misery. I just don’t understand. Larry and I stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Neither of us knew what to say. Finally, I put my arms around him and hugged him. He was crying. Here I am comforting my son’s lover. That repulsing thought was fleeting. My thoughts turned back to the funeral. Ray’s casket was being placed in the ground. This is not the time to be bitter. It’s time to say good-bye to my only son. As I said good-bye, I promised Ray that I would spend the rest of my natural days on this earth trying to make sense out of what had happened.

As always, the Minister said some comforting words to help gain a perspective of Ray’s life and hopefully his eternity in heaven. No matter what the circumstances, clergy always say those easing, comforting words at burials. I’ve been to hundreds of funerals throughout my career and regardless of their awful crimes, a clergyman will always say a heavenly word about that man in the box.

After the service, Charley came up to express his condolences. Charley is my best friend. We served in the Marines together and entered the Academy together. Through this entire trauma, Charley has been there. Good friends are for life. After the service, Larry took a cab to the airport for his flight back to Miami. Charley and I went back to my house to get drunk.

CHAPTER 2

After my wife past away, my retirement days were spent playing with the grandchildren and working part-time providing security consulting to several office complexes here in Montgomery County. My FBI pension, some meager savings and my wife’s life insurance provide me with a steady income. But now, what was I to do with my life? I’m 62 and in good health. I can’t sit around the house and mope about Ray for the rest of my life. It’s been almost three months since Ray’s funeral. I hardly see Rachel anymore or the boys. I’m starting to wonder if she thinks their exposure to me will somehow make them gay. What a horrible thought. In fact, through all of this, I still never came to an understanding of Ray’s suicide. Was it something in his childhood? Was he always gay but never admitted it to himself? Ray swore it was a gradual thing, over several months. He began to lose his attraction to Rachel and began noticing men in a different way. He tried to explain it to me but I obviously could not understand. Was it something that I did? I refused to join any counseling or organizations to help cope with the situation. I thought I could handle my own family crisis. The last one and a half years have been a living hell. Every day I wonder what went wrong. And the thought of my son having gay sex made me lose fifteen pounds and at least ten years off my life. Could it be something as simple as a vitamin combination that went wrong? Ray was a health food nut. I could only wonder.

It’s about time I got off my 62-year old butt and try to come to peace with Ray’s death. I’ll go to the library and do some reading on homosexuality. Maybe I’ll surf the net. Never did have time to understand what the hell this Internet hysteria was about. Now, all I have is time.

As I was getting dressed this very cold morning of February 7, the Today show announced that the United Nations Department of Population Studies has published their annual report of the earth’s population. What was newsworthy according to a very tired looking Ann Curry was that the earth’s population was continuing to slow dramatically for the third year in a row. She reported that the continuous funding of birth control by the United Nations to third world countries was now paying off. Some guy she was interviewing hailed the report as a chance that we will some day be able to reduce the famine on earth or some sort of similar bullshit. Ann then made some passing shot at the Republican Congress for trying to cut off UN birth control funding. I then shut the television off and headed to the library.

As I approached the library to better understand my life’s misery, I thought of the embarrassment of asking a librarian for books on homosexuality. There has to be an easier way. After living in denial, I owe it to my son to gain an understanding of his life, or what became of it. When I struck the courage and asked the librarian for assistance, much to my disappointment, she dropped those chained bifocals around her chest and gave me a silent stare for about 3 very long seconds. She then directed me to the stacks for what I was looking for. Before my very eyes, I was facing dozens of books dealing with homosexuality. Before I could reach out for any of them, I decided to find the newspaper of October 7th. For some strange reason, I wanted to read the news events on the day my son was buried. This time, I asked for no assistance and found the newspaper archives without any problem.

There it was. The Washington Post of October 7. I scanned the headlines reading about the usual events of the Federal budget, crime and business news. I finally got to the obituary column. Reading about other funerals that day may sound morbid but it was somehow comforting to think of other souls and their journey to the afterlife. While scanning the obituaries, I noticed a small column describing the death of a researcher from the National Institute of Health. Dr. Tim Lindsey died in a car accident. He left a wife and two grown children. For a moment, I thought for the family and how I would like to share in their grief. The article described Dr. Lindsey’s career as a top researcher in the field of genetics. Throughout the years, he had worked on various studies in the fields of agriculture and microbiology. The article concluded that the staff at NIH was shocked and saddened by the senseless death of a long term, and much respected researcher.

Here I sit at the Rockville library reading about the death of a complete stranger and I find myself completely engrossed. Of course, the Bureau submitted a respectful article to the paper describing Ray’s career. There was naturally no mention of suicide or Ray’s change of life.

I thought for a moment that instead of reading depressing books about homosexuals, I would try to read some research. Perhaps the death of this Dr. Lindsey will inspire me. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Get me out of this library in a hurry. I quickly walked toward the front door without looking up at the librarian. Screw her. I’ll go home and turn on that computer sitting in my den. Ray and Rachel gave me the computer as a retirement gift when I turned 60. I suppose Ray thought of it as some kind of cruel joke.

As I was making my way back home, the radio news announcer came on to say that a Hollywood film star has an announcement to make at noon today. This leading actor was to announce that he was gay. I thought to myself that I must have been going crazy. Ever since Ray admitted he was gay, it seemed like the news was filled with stories about homosexuals and their issues. I guess being so personally aware; I notice any news story about this God-awful subject.

CHAPTER 3

It was a good sermon; no it was a great sermon. The party faithful were standing, applauding and shouting when it ended. More importantly, they were crying when it ended. The power to move people and their emotions. I just have to sit here for a moment and soak it in. My congregation was moved. And, so were the two million others who had heard my sermon on both television and radio. This Sunday had been special. Very special. Any time a sermon referenced God, family and the liberal disease that’s sweeping this country; I know it will be emotional. The initial tabulation from the funds appeal is tracking twenty four percent over was we were only six months ago. My sermons are really on a roll now.

As I pondered our success, I couldn’t help but wonder why the change in response in only six months. I have not changed. Our radio and television syndication has not changed. Yet something about my message is really starting to get through to the immoral majority, as I call them. They are finally seeing the light, the path of Jesus. My faithful have been with me since the beginning. But it’s the new members and TV watchers to my Church of Gallant Survivors that are contributing beyond my wildest dreams. We’ll now have the financial resources to spread our message beyond Sunday sermons on cable and to expand into publishing and electronic media. Finally, the once ridiculed and joked about Reverend Stuart Tillman is getting some respect. That’s what it’s all about, respect. For the first time, I had someone from a legitimate news station come arrange an interview with me only last week. My message about family and morality is finally getting through. People can’t stand it when I bring up those damn liberals and their sins. Can they? It gets my critics all charged up which for some reason is attracting more of those immoral majority types to embrace my message. Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord. A lowly preacher from Yardville, Tennessee is making it to the top. Look out Jerry Fallwell. See you on the way up.

The sharp knock to my study door jarred me. It was my assistant, Joanna Reeve. A sweet precious thing she is. I treat her like my own daughter. She’s in her late twenties and graduated from a fine a Bible College in Harrisonburg, VA. She’s working the details on my first publishing deal. Finally, God’s word that man’s immorality will be our Armageddon will be read across this great country and perhaps the world.

I told Joanna that I was still working on the last chapter. I actually haven’t started it yet. She joked that the publisher wants to get the book in print before Armageddon does come. She reminded me of that $100,000 advance the ministry got. We both joked and laughed at the thought. However, I’m still struggling with that last chapter. I spent the entire book detailing all the immorally, liberalism, and evil ways man has lived and ruled on this earth. I now must bring it to an end. The bible teaches us that Armageddon will begin with a fallen angel as a signal. But the bible is so darn vague. I promised the publisher that this book would break through the religious audience and penetrate the mainstream market. I have to develop a more realistic theory of Armageddon. One that average people will fear and join me to repent with my Church.

Joanna saw I was in deep thought. She mumbled something after our small joke and quickly left my study. It was still Sunday, about 3:00 PM. I have to finish this chapter. Finish it? I don’t know even where to start. The end of mankind on earth? Praise the Lord!

CHAPTER 4

I’ve finally received the recognition I worked so hard for. Thirty-four years old with a Ph.D. in Genetics. Yes, I’ve made it. This position at the prestigious National Institute of Health (NIH) is just what I always dreamed of. Now I can coast with a cozy government job and work off of research grants for the next 20 years. Sam Goodwin, you finally made it. My parents are so proud of me. And I’m sure my ex-girlfriend and fiancée Donna Sue would be proud too. Except she wouldn’t leave her family and roots in Hurricane, WV and come with me to Bethesda. Nothing would get her to leave West Virginia and I would do almost anything to get out. I never had any intention of spending my days in that lowly State. Even at the risk of breaking off my engagement to Donna Sue.

Though I have to admit, landing this job was a stroke of luck. Right place at the right time. If it wasn’t for the untimely death of Dr. Lindsey, I know I’d still be doing research for the West Virginia Farm Bureau. His misfortunate car accident is my good fortune. Good-bye Charleston, WV and hello Bethesda, MD.

My superior, Dr. Jay Brattle has instructed me to continue the research projects that Dr. Lindsey had been working on. I walked into Lindsey’s lab for the first time and saw a very neat, organized work area. Everything seemed to be in place. I went in Lindsey’s office to read up on his research. I was told very little about this job when that NIH recruiter first called me. Even during my interviews with Brattle and his superior I didn’t learn anything specific. I was only told that Lindsey had several projects working with the Agriculture Department and Health and Human Services. Nothing controversial or glamorous. I didn’t care. Anything to get me out of my West Virginia lab.

Regardless, Lindsey had some interesting cases and some run of the mill spend the taxpayer’s money for the hell of it type of cases. As I thumbed through some these efforts, many seem to have a political bent to them. There’s this one continuing study on the effects of certain pesticides to the reproductive system of mice. The funding was coming from the Agriculture Dept. But EPA banned these pesticides seven years ago. Why was Lindsey still plowing these fields? Then there’s another project in cooperation with the University of Kansas. Apparently, the AG Dept. wants to know the effects of a genetically altered strain of wheat on the digestive tract of pigs. Pigs? My God. The good doctor must have had connections with farms across America to support this stuff. Nothing cutting edge here. But his most interesting work doesn’t involve animals at all. It’s a study of two hundred and twenty five men and their genetic make-up. Apparently the good doctor began tracking these men when they were only fifteen in 1985. Each year he sampled blood on a quarterly basis and ran several genetic tests. What in the world is this all about?

Apparently the funding is coming through Health and Human Services. Now this is weird. What in the world am I testing for? Two hundred and twenty five teenagers for over twenty years. I guess paying these guys $150 to sit in a chair and give a small sample of blood is pretty lucrative. In fact, paying that amount of money for a study this long is outrageous. Not that I want to cut the hand that feeds me, but I’m a taxpayer too.

As I read through the file, I still can’t find the charter that details the objective, strategy and purpose of this research. Why isn’t it here?

I called Brattle to ask for the charter. He had no clue what I was talking about. How could he not be aware of a study that been on-going for over twenty years? He said to call Steve Nicols, his new assistant who is supposed to keep track of this stuff. He told me if Steve couldn’t help me, no one could. And if I still can’t find it, call him back. Thanks for nothing. I called this Steve Nicols guy for the background info on the study. Steve introduced himself and said he would look it up and call me tomorrow.

Getting back to the file, I see a reference to certain DNA markers and X chromosomes. A marker is a detachable piece of genetic DNA that travels with a gene as it is passed from generation to generation. What kind of markers was Lindsey looking for? X chromosomes from what?

This particular study peaked my interest. Long term studies over years and in this case decades can prove to be powerful evidence to support ones findings. In fact, Nobel prizes have been won based on various research projects that span years to a lifetime. Wow. A Nobel Prize! Wouldn’t the family be proud of me? And how about those good ole boys back in Charleston. What a bunch of jerks. Well, it’s nice to daydream about a Nobel Prize but I better figure out what I’m supposed to be doing with this research. The next blood drive for the two hundred and twenty five is in four weeks. I better get ready. Apparently, each of the two hundred and twenty five goes to an assigned clinic. This must be a huge coordination effort. I wish someone would tell me how this process works. It’s no wonder that at $150 per sample, the drop out rate for this study has been zero. But I don’t understand the mystery behind this. DNA markers for what? What is the angle of this research? I can’t find Lindsey’s journals or summaries anywhere around the lab. He might have taken the journals home. But I can’t call his house. My God, his wife is a widow now. I don’t think she’ll want to hear from the guy who took over her husband’s job. Especially, after the trauma of her husbands sudden death. Well, I guess it can wait another week. I still have four weeks before the next test rounds are delivered. Delivered where? I can’t be asked to analyze 250 blood samples myself. Perhaps I could look up the billing history to see who cuts the $150 checks. That will tell me the funding history for this project. Cutting checks that total $132,000 annually is no small change, even by government standards.

CHAPTER 5

Three days have gone by and I still haven’t located Lindsey’s journals. Steve Nicols came by the lab to introduce himself in person. He never did call the next day as promised. A pleasant fellow about my age I suppose. We made the usual small chat introductions talking about schools, scholarships, dissertations, etc. Steve then told me that there’s no accounting record for the participant disbursement checks. Therefore, no tracking through the usual process. He did mention that there were some studies chartered back in the late 70’s that were supplemented with private funding. They found some loophole Congress provided to use government resources for private research efforts. He thought these were all canceled out when Regan began cutting budgets in the early 80’s. Apparently, the ole Gipper let this one go he joked. The bottom line is that I’m on my own for this one. Steve said he would inform Dr. Brattle of his findings or lack of, in this situation. That at least explains why no one around NIH knows anything about this. Even my direct superior, Dr. Brattle., knows nothing. Clearly, if it doesn’t fall within his budgeted programs, he has little interest.

Regardless, I can’t wait any longer. My curiosity as a scientist is telling me to call Mrs. Lindsey now and ask to see the journals. Of course, she may not be aware of them. I have a job to do. I took a deep breath as I dialed Lindsey’s phone number.

Hello, Mrs. Lindsey. My name is Dr. Sam Goodwin from NIH. I’m so sorry about your loss.

Thank you, she answered solemnly.

Mrs. Lindsey, I have taken over most of the research work your late husband had been involved in. Did he talk much about his work?

No, not too much. As you may know, he was a private man and kept much of his work at NIH. He was a great husband and father you know.

Yes, he will be greatly missed. Let me ask you, Mrs. Lindsey. May I call you by your first name?

Of course, it’s Sofia.

"Thank you, Sofia. Did your husband bring home any of his work materials or journals? Boxes, 3 ring binders, floppy disks,