When Worlds Collide: A Novel

By Shawn Forbes

This fictional work tells the story of a unique and lasting bond that develops between three individuals from very different backgrounds, whose worlds collide in Manchester, England in the late 1980's. Although set mainly in Manchester, London and Nassau, Bahamas, pivotal parts of the story are set in Los Angeles, California and New York City.

Stephen Taylor is a young West Indian man who tries to loosen the shackles of a small town upbringing when he moves to England to attend university. He is troubled by the guilt that stems from his inability to accept his homosexuality and does everything in his power to hide from himself. Despite developing a powerful bond with Suresh Patel, a young, gay British man of Indian extraction and Tanya Collings, a troubled Canadian young woman, Stephen eventually returns to The Bahamas, where old demons resurface to haunt him. His path to self-discovery is fraught with challenges, which include a nervous collapse, a loveless marriage and the rejection of the man he truly loves. Ultimately, however, he finds redemption - and himself.

Tanya Collings is a young Canadian woman who has endured unfathomable physical and sexual abuse at the hands of her parents. She meets Stephen and Suresh soon after escaping to England and develops a special bond with them that ultimately helps her to heal her damaged life. Although she generally distrusts all men, with the exception of her friends Stephen and Suresh, she eventually meets Michael Rouse, a young Englishman with whom she falls in love and finally marries.

Suresh Patel is a brash (often coarse), self-assured British man of Indian parentage who is aware of his homosexuality from an early age, and accepts it completely. He moves to Manchester, after being rejected by his family and suffering a succession of tragedies. Suresh is the glue that holds the story together, providing a source of strength for Tanya and Stephen despite the challenges that he himself faces.

Ultimately, the story is one of hope, of how the power of love helps three very damaged people heal their lives - and those of the friends who come to mean more than family. It is a story that transcends the boundaries of race, colour, class and sexual preference and will likely appeal to men and women everywhere who have had to grapple with issues of incest, sexual and physical abuse, bisexuality, homosexuality, violence and AIDS. In the author's view, the story is particularly pertinent to the current international debate on issues surrounding gay relationships. In the United States, the catalyst for the current discussion has been the subject of marriage between same-sex partners; but at its foundation, the matter is far more complex than that. Cultural and religious taboos, intolerance and ignorance are all a part of the current global pre-occupation with gay, bisexual and trans-gendered persons and these are all subjects that are explored and debated in When Worlds Collide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Mar 27, 2007
• ISBN: 9781466948570

Shawn Forbes

When Worlds Collide marks the debut of Shawn A. Forbes as a novelist. During the day, he works as an attorney in Nassau, The Bahamas, for a private bank. He was born in Nassau, where he also received his early education. He has also studied in the United States and England. He is currently working on his second novel. His passions (other than writing) are reading, theater, music and his two cats, Ella and Louis.

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© Copyright 2005, Shawn A. Forbes.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Note for Librarians: a cataloguing record for this book that includes Dewey Decimal Classification and US Library of Congress numbers is available from the National Library of Canada. The complete cataloguing record can be obtained from the National Library’s online database at:

www.nlc-bnc.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN 1-4120-3013-7

ISBN 978-1-4669-4857-0 (ebook)

TRAFFORD

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

CHAPTER 1

The Reunion

CHAPTER 2

Stephen Taylor

CHAPTER 3

Tanya Collings

CHAPTER 4

Suresh Patel

CHAPTER 5

BORN AGAIN

CHAPTER 6

NO MORE TEARS

CHAPTER 7

A HOME OF HIS OWN

CHAPTER 8

A WALK IN THE PARK

CHAPTER 9

MOTHER KNOWS BEST

CHAPTER 10

WHERE IS LOVE?

CHAPTER 11

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

CHAPTER 12

GOOD-BYE FOR THE SUMMER

CHAPTER 13

SUMMER BLUES

CHAPTER 14

CONQUERING AMERICA

CHAPTER 15

ISLAND BOY

CHAPTER 16

THERAPY

CHAPTER 17

THE FIRST STEP

CHAPTER 18

CELEBRATION

CHAPTER 19

CATHARSIS

CHAPTER 20

FOUR’S A CROWD

CHAPTER 21

THERAPY FOR TWO

CHAPTER 22

SUMMERTIME AGAIN

CHAPTER 23

LOVE IN BLOOM

CHAPTER 24

THE DAY OF RECKONING

CHAPTER 25

ACCEPTANCE

CHAPTER 26

THE TABLES TURN

CHAPTER 27

THE HOLLYWOOD SHUFFLE

CHAPTER 28

REALIZATIONS

CHAPTER 29

THE TURNING POINT

CHAPTER 30

BATTLES

CHAPTER 31

PLANNING AHEAD

CHAPTER 32

A NIGHT ON THE TOWN

CHAPTER 33

A HARD LESSON

CHAPTER 34

AMERICA CALLS

CHAPTER 35

THEY TAKE MANHATTAN

CHAPTER 36

LIBERATION

CHAPTER 37

SEPARATION

CHAPTER 38

NEW DIRECTIONS

CHAPTER 39

THE LAST YEAR

CHAPTER 40

HOMEWARD BOUND

CHAPTER 41

NO DEMONS AFTER ALL

CHAPTER 42

THE PRINCESS GETS HER PRINCE

CHAPTER 43

A LONELY LIFE

CHAPTER 44

TWO

CHAPTER 45

A LIFE LOST

CHAPTER 46

THE LONG WALK BACK

CHAPTER 47

A DANGEROUS DETOUR

CHAPTER 48

THE EVENING APPROACHES

CHAPTER 49

THE END...AND THE BEGINNING

CHAPTER 50

THE PARTING

EPILOGUE

A NEW BEGINNING

This novel is lovingly dedicated to:

My parents, Lincoln and Elaine, who have always allowed me to fly free and reach for the stars. Here’s to one more journey!

And to the memory of my grandparents:

Lionel and Mizpah Brown (1920-2001 and 1924-2002), whose love, counsel and encouragement are priceless gifts that I will treasure forever.

And to the memory of the late Dr. E. N. Achara, a noble friend, mentor and benefactor who believed in me from the beginning.

Acknowledgments

Even in my moments of doubt, God has continued to show me His grace and mercies—so; above all else, I thank Him for this brand new opportunity. Without Him, I am nothing. With Him, I can do all things.

I have always known that I am a lucky guy. Despite my (many!) eccentricities, I have always managed to surround myself with some of the most incredible people on earth, both family and friends. I have never been more mindful of that fact, than I am as I sit to write a few words of thanks for my book. Wow—my book—and to think I almost gave up! It is due, in large measure, to the love, friendship, advice, support and encouragement of the people whose names appear in the next few paragraphs that I did not give up. I can never thank them enough for the joy they continue to bring to my life. If I only manage to give them a fraction in return, I will be a happy man.

After she saw me, my mother decided on the spot that she could not bear giving birth a second time; but this did not deprive me of brothers and sisters. I grew up in a house that was full of love and laughter, thanks to an army of aunts, uncles and cousins: Asbert, Tony (whose

fashion sense has always been second to none!), Goofy (the first writer in the family!) Terry, Locks, Julian, Lorna, Susie and Claudette—I love you. Shelly, Sherry (Miss Diva Thang), Junior, Jamal, Romero (get your act together, brother!), Teryl, Lynette, Tammy, Krissy, Audirio, J.J. and Travis—your big cuz hopes he’s made you proud!

No one else on earth has more wonderful friends than I do! A.V.S.: You bring me joy. Thanks for being in my life. I hope you don’t mind wearing a seatbelt! Sean Antonio Ramsey: we share the same first (although you never did learn to spell yours correctly!) and middle names. What else can I say? Thank you, my brother, for loving me in spite of myself! I love you and no matter what, I will always have your back. Let’s tear the Kenneth Cole store at Macy’s (Beverly Center) APART before the first book tour! Brian Turnquest: the brother I never had—thanks for being there through thick and thin. Tleca Rolle (I hope you never make good on your threat to write that unauthorized biography!), Robin Scavella, Tanya McCartney (The Bahamas’ future first female Prime Minister!), Maureen Patton, Michelle Campbell and Rochelle Williams—my gurus. Someday, a group of lucky guys will know what I’ve known all along—and they’ll be kicking themselves for wasting so much time! Thanks for loving me unconditionally. Harrison Boyd: You have such a sick mind! I love you, brother. Kenris Albury: you are one demented sister—don’t EVER change! Shirl Gaskins: you always knew I could do it—thanks! Katrina Montgomery: my white sister—I did not think that there was another person crazier than I was—until I met you. You are fabulous, darling! Thomas Trevor Dean: thanks for your encouragement and your friendship. Collin Culmer, Tony Smith (you no longer have the monopoly on that name, my brother!), Clinton Rolle, Franklyn Hall, Nolan Scavella, Patrick Fritz, Jeffery Sturrup, Demekas Foster and Adaiah Hope: you guys are INSANE. I love you. John Fox: you are a special guy. Don’t ever forget it. Thanks for all you’ve done for me. Ricardo Russell: the personification of class and good breeding. Please do not ever lose that mischievous little grin! Thanks for being my friend. I hope you can forgive me for failing to appreciate the depth of your commitment. My new friends, Allan Cunningham and Craig Delancy:—thanks for the wonderful parties. Long may they continue! Troy Bodie: you never finished reading the manuscript; you’d better buy a copy of the book! Raymond Tucker: thanks for having the courage to help me in my attempt turn my body from flab to fab. Good luck! My workout buddies at Better Bodies Gym: You inspire me. Let’s keep it going! Maurice Rolle, one of the classiest guys around: Thanks for keeping me supplied with the snazziest clothes and shoes on earth.

To the British posse: Nicole Piché-Hainsworth—Thanks for being a part of my life. Despite my failure to keep in touch on a regular basis (mea culpa!), I hope you know how important you are to me. We’ve come a long way since those days in New Mexico! To Paul Hainsworth: I’ve never thanked you properly for making me feel so welcome during those early days in England—and for your hospitality whenever I visit. Thanks! To my wonderful godson, Daniel: If you grow up to be only half as wonderful as your parents, the world will be richer because of it. To Théo, the latest Piché-Hainsworth: I can’t wait to meet you! Rachel Quick, my adopted sister (yes, once you’ve been to The Bahamas, you’re family): I love you. The boys of 11 Balmoral Road—Simon Bell, Tony Yoxall, Mark Firmin, Rodney Howard, Owen Love (R.I.P., my friend) and Steve Jones: Thanks for the memories. University would not have been the same without you! To Surinder Shergill (Shaky) and Lee Choon Thai: It would probably take a whole book to thank you for being a part of my world. I cannot think of anything that we haven’t been through together and even though we live thousands of miles apart, you are in my heart every day. My life is so much fuller because you are a part of it. I cannot even begin to think of life without you. Thanks for bringing me so much joy.

I could not have made the dream of becoming a published writer a reality without the help of some very special people. A great, big ‘thank you’ to the people at Trafford Publishing, Ltd. for opening a door that I thought I could never enter. I have accumulated enough rejection letters from agents and publishers to wallpaper an entire building! Hopefully now, someone will see that there was a story worth telling after all! Thanks to my editors (they know who they are!), without whom this book would have taken an entirely different direction. My thanks to Fahamu Pecou and his team at Diamond Lounge Creative in Atlanta, Georgia, who designed a cover that I could never have imagined.

Finally, but by no means least: Thank you to all the people, far and wide, who read this novel. I hope that this will be the start of something magical between us, as I embark on this new path. Long may it continue.

Peace and Love.

Shawn Forbes,

Nassau, December 2004.

Prologue

Their marriage was over. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that.

He wouldn’t beat around the bush this time. No more excuses. No more lies.

Stephen paused deliberately in turning the key that would open the imposing oak paneled front door. He took a deep, steadying breath. I must tell Evelyn tonight. It’s now or never.

He had rehearsed it a thousand times in his head; and a thousand times he had come so close to telling her.

Nothing could have prepared him for the pandemonium that greeted him as he walked through the front door. His wife Evelyn sat at the bottom of the staircase, a bundle of his suits and shirts scattered messily in front of her. A large pair of scissors in hand she cut into one expensive garment after another, adding each slashed piece to the steadily growing pile that had accumulated near a large potted plant at the foot of the stairs. She sobbed uncontrollably and mumbled to herself. Stephen was frozen momentarily, his hand paralyzed on the doorknob; he could barely make out his wife’s incoherent ramblings. Spoken with feeling,

the words unfaithful and liar were wrung from her as she wept, her sharp scissors ravaging his clothes. He startled her when he finally managed to forcibly slam the front door. Evelyn scowled at him and launched into a savage verbal assault, the likes of which he had not heard before from her lips. Her usually bright, glowing eyes were cold shards of steel, and her body shook uncontrollably from the strain of keeping it under tight command.

You fucking son of a bitch, how dare you? she hissed. "I cleaned your sorry ass up after you fell apart. Me, not her! How could you? How could you?" The torrent of words flooded out of her, and she shuddered under the weight of their intensity. Reaching out to steady herself, she grasped the carved oak of the staircase balustrade.

How could I what, Evelyn? Stephen asked in a hollow voice as he cautiously walked toward her.

"Don’t give me that I don’t know what you’re talking about, Evelyn look, you liar. You filthy piece of shit. You’ve been seeing her all along. Sleeping with her all this time! How could you do this to me with that...that tramp, Leslie Banks? God, to think Freda of all people saw you two together." Her voice trailed off into an almost imperceptible, whimpering sound. Her ordinarily beautiful face was streaked with angry tears.

Hesitating, Stephen approached her just as she regained her breath and started lamenting loudly.

Don’t you dare come near me! she shrieked. You trashed our marriage like yesterday’s nasty leftovers. And you say you love me. You never loved me. Her honest words tore through Stephen.

Don’t say that, Evelyn, he pleaded as he walked toward her, right hand outstretched in supplication. I’ve. loved you from the beginning. After all that you’ve done for me. But. I. I. he stammered through the lie. He could not bring himself to tell her the truth: that he had never been head over heels in love with her.

You liar! You bold-ass liar! You suck at it, to boot! What the hell were you trying to do? All I wanted was to love you. All I wanted from you was your love. You’ve ruined my life, you bastard. I hate you Stephen Taylor, I hate you! The poisonous words flew from her mouth hitting their target like a cobra’s lethal venom.

His hands outstretched as he approached her. Her maniacal dart toward him maliciously swept aside his ready, soothing words. Evelyn was a wild, rabid animal and he was her prey. The blades of the scissors cut through the air as her arms flailed about mimicking a dislodged propeller in dangerous flight. She tightened her grip on them as she rushed him, mouthing another string of foul obscenities. Stephen was horrified; his only thought disarming her. He tried to shift out of her path, hoping that his movement would disturb her menacing attack; but she would not be deterred. The scissors were aimed directly at his chest. He bent his knees slightly and stretched out his arms, hoping to immobilize her when she tackled him. He was not prepared for the strength with which she collided into him and for a moment, he perilously lost his balance. Evelyn lunged, the tips of the sharp blades of the scissors piercing into his right shoulder tearing into his flesh. He felt a sharp, stinging pain as she withdrew the scissors intending to stab him again. Stephen grappled with her, wrestled her to the ground and grabbed the weapon from her hand. He collapsed on the floor next to her with a mortified look on his face.

I did so much for you….I gave up so much for you, she moaned. I

loved you, God damn it! Why Stephen, why?"

Stephen winced as the pain sliced through his shoulder, and caught his breath as a wave of nausea overtook him. When the pain subsided for the moment, he forced himself to think fast on his feet. Then, adrenaline shot through him. He had to get to a hospital, but first he owed Evelyn an explanation. He realized now that Freda must have seen him with Leslie at Villa D’Este and erroneously guessed at the intimacy of their dinner. Many times in the previous several months he had lied about working late, taking part in business meetings that lasted well into the long and, for her, lonely night. He remembered his cold and detached manner in bed, and knew she had never forgotten or forgiven him it. Stephen winced as another slice of pain assailed his wounded shoulder. It was time to tell his wife the truth, that there was nothing going on between him and Leslie. They were only friends, after all.

If only you knew, he answered wearily, his voice barely audible above the whisper he used. "You’re so far off base this time, Evelyn, that you’ll wish that you believed your first suspicion when I tell you the truth.

Evelyn, I’m so sorry. ..I’m— The telephone rang, its long distance ring interrupting him. He lunged at it with his good hand, if only to use the reprieve to collect his thoughts before the onslaught of his coming confession. Collect call for Mr. Stephen Taylor. Mrs. Tanya Rouse calling from London. Will you accept, sir?"

Mr. Taylor speaking. Yes, I’ll accept. His heart raced and his shoulder hurt as he heard the operator telling Tanya that she was clear to start speaking. Hello, Tanya? Are you there? Stephen heard a sniffle at the other end of the telephone line. His next words were gentle. Is everything all right?

No. Her voice trembled, her anxiety patently obvious. It’s Suresh, he’s in the hospital, Stephen, she replied quietly, a note in her voice compelling his next words.

Is he.? He could not finish the question.

No, Stephen. He’s still alive, thankfully, he’s still alive, but he’s barely hanging on by a thread. Tanya swallowed convulsively and caught her breath on a pitiful sob before continuing. Michael and I brought him to the hospital. We were with him when it happened. God, Stephen, he started convulsing. Her next words were consumed by the sobs that overtook her body.

Tanya, we’ll fight this, too, he consoled her. Then, How bad is it?

She caught an unruly sniffle before managing to speak. Very bad. I’ve never seen him this bad. The doctors said. They said they’ve done all they can do, the fight is up to him now.

Just say the word and I’ll be on the next flight.

We need you, Stephen. Please come.

I’ll be there, he promised. He had never heard strong, resilient Tanya so downcast before. Without another word, he put the telephone back into its cradle.

He had not forgotten the pain in his shoulder; it was only that adrenaline was pumping through his blood stream. Wincing when he leaned down to see what was left of the clothes that had been strewn across the floor of the foyer he noticed the stream of dark blood trickling down his arm. He was not thinking clearly, otherwise, he would have already been at the hospital, stitching his wound. His only thoughts though were for Suresh and Tanya. His talk with Evelyn would have to wait.

He quickly picked up the telephone and dialed directory assistance. British Airways Reservations, please, he demanded once the operator answered.

Evelyn was still crying softly on the floor when Stephen finished making his impromptu reservations. He turned to her and calmly intoned, It’s Suresh. I have to go.

Her silence spoke volumes.

He hastily shoved several pieces of clothes into a travel bag they kept in the hall closet and drove to the nearest hospital in record time. He parked his car clumsily outside the main entrance and ran inside. The reception area was deserted except for a security guard standing patrol, the young receptionist at her desk and several nurses standing and talking behind a cubicle. Stephen was escorted to see the resident doctor immediately.

G’night, the doctor said as he breezed into the cubicle. What have we got here?

Domestic accident, doctor.

There was an awkward silence; as if the doctor had been waiting for a better and more plausible explanation. When Stephen offered none, the doctor proceeded to examine the shallow but painful wound. He informed Stephen that it was not serious, but would require several stitches. The doctor wrote a prescription down on a pad of paper told him he could collect his medication at the pharmacy on the first floor, and informed him that a nurse would be in within a few minutes to wash and dress his wound.

Soon, he was on his way to the airport, and back to Tanya and Suresh.

Normally, Stephen collapsed like a sack of potatoes almost as soon as he took his seat on a plane—awakening only when the flight attendants began bustling through the tight packed cabin to serve the requisite in-flight meal. Tonight was different. The events of the last few days tumbled through his mind into a restless sea of confusion. By the time he had boarded the British Airways flight from Nassau to London, he had not slept more than two hours in five days’ time. He spent the entire flight to London shifting uneasily in his seat as he tried to put his worry for Suresh aside until he knew more about his health, and began instead on the puzzle of putting the pieces of his life back together.

The still mounting problems between him and Evelyn had reached the boiling point. They had argued constantly for most of the previous long, grueling year. Their marriage had reached the unacceptable stage where they were communicating with each other only through Elsie, their housekeeper. Their final confrontation had followed on the heels of Evelyn receiving that brisk and informative telephone call Stephen could just imagine was filled with enlightening but misinforming information as to that Stephen had been seen intimately dining with Leslie Banks, an associate attorney at the law firm where he worked. They were looking rather chummy, her friend must have confided. Stephen had not wanted Evelyn to find out this way. He wanted her to know the truth, for he owed her that much in the least. He had had every intention of breaking the news to Evelyn once and for all that he could no longer go on in a marriage that had disintegrated to the point where it could no longer even be called a sham. It had taken him a long time and a great deal of soul-searching to come to the realization that he had never really been in love with her—although he had tried to convince himself that he could—and he was finally ready to ask her for a divorce.

He had spent weeks agonizing over the least painful way through which to break the unpleasant news to his wife. Waiting for the right time to tell the woman who had helped him deal with the grief of losing his mother to illness and who had stood by his side throughout the ordeal of his breakdown, that he no longer wished to share his life with her. He had told her—untruthfully—five days before that an important client of his law firm had asked him to fly to New York where a series of intense meetings with the directors of a company that was interested in forming a partnership with Stephen’s client would follow. It was not the first time that he had lied to Evelyn. Their whole relationship had been based on falsehood. In reality, he had checked into the Atlantis Hotel on the popular Paradise Island where he had hoped that he would be able to spend some time alone and find some direction for his life. Ironically, his colleague Leslie Banks’ visit to the hotel had been perfectly innocent.

She had been sent to have important documents signed by Stephen, and it was only when she saw what torment he was in that she insisted that Stephen accompany her to the popular Villa D’Este Restaurant for a companionable meal together. They had been spending a great deal of time together outside the office and had been seen at their local health club and at meals together on numerous occasions; since then, rumors had been rife that they were having an illicit affair.

In the time they had worked together Stephen had become quite fond of Leslie, a beautiful and self-assured woman who had made no secret of her attraction to him. What had first drawn Stephen to Leslie were her frankness and the fact that she lived life on her own terms. She had become branded as a woman constantly on the prowl soon after she joined the firm, but Stephen saw her as a sensitive and caring woman who knew what she wanted and pursued it until she got it. She did not flaunt her lifestyle or impose it on anyone; but she was fiercely proud of who she was. She often expressed her outrage at society’s double standard—at how men who were forthright with their feelings for women were admired and how women who did the same were branded as sluts. She had built no walls around herself and thus had a way of drawing people to her.

Stephen, on the other hand, had perfected the art of building impenetrable fortresses around himself. Few people were let in. He often retreated to a world where his only companion was his collection of Jazz CDs, a place where only Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday or Sarah Vaughan were admitted and where they could soulfully sing the words that touched that core of him he had ignored for far too long. In Leslie, Stephen saw the kind of person he longed to be, happy, secure and free. In the few months that they had worked together, Stephen found himself slowly opening up to Leslie in a way that he had done only with his dearest friends Tanya and Suresh. In the beginning, it had not actually been by choice. He had been taken so off guard by Leslie’s directness that he found himself opening up without actually realizing it. He was still tormented about the path he had taken since his return from law school and realized that the feelings that he thought he had put away long ago were beginning to rise again. To compound matters, Leslie’s sexual overtures were becoming more pronounced and even more frequent.

The situation reached a head when on one occasion, Leslie brushed her hands against Stephen’s face to remove a speck of dust. It lingered slightly longer than it should have. Without thinking, he had reached up to touch her hand. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment and Stephen had turned away, embarrassed. It was then that Leslie drew Stephen to her and kissed him lightly on the lips. Stephen had offered no protest but quickly withdrew when it dawned on him what was happening between them.

I can’t handle this, Leslie, Stephen had said, turning away.

But 1.1. think I’m falling in love with you, Stephen, Leslie stammered.

That was how it had started. But Stephen was more confused now than before. He was, after all, already in a sham marriage. He had never been in love with his wife. Although he owed her a lot, he had married her only to reconcile with his mother. Trying to extricate from that situation would be difficult enough. It had already gone too far because he had been too weak to face that part of him that he had known for years existed in him—the part that he had put to rest when he returned home from law school. When he had realized that he lived in a society where such behavior between men—particularly black men—was not tolerated. He would never be able to fall in love and lead a productive, enjoyed life with a male partner—not as a man could do so with a woman. Certainly not in a small country like the Bahamas where traditions were steeped in religious worship and dated back to the days where all that the slaves, who had been brought to the West Indies from Africa, had to sustain them was a faith in some higher being. A Deity who would free them from the perils of their acquired, new lives. Homosexuality was seen as an abomination against the natural laws of God. Stephen had heard the prophecies countless times.

But he could not deny that there was a part of him that longed for more than Evelyn—or any woman—could offer him. He had had those feelings for as long as he could remember and the time had come to deal with his demons once and for all. His relationship with Tanya and Suresh had taught him that there were people who would love him unconditionally and who would not judge him because of how he looked or the sex of person with whom he chose to share his life. His destiny was in his own hands. It was up to him to decide whether he wanted his life to be dictated by a society which said that one should live a certain way or look a certain way or whether he wanted to pursue his own happiness. How could he have hidden away that part of himself that had been liberated through his friendship with Tanya and Suresh? It took almost every ounce of courage within him for Stephen to make the decision to end his marriage to Evelyn and start a new life. He wanted to be certain that he was prepared to face the raging storm that would result afterwards. He had not been fully prepared when the situation flared up with his mother and was overcome with guilt when she died. Although he had told Leslie that he was not ready to pursue another relationship because of his problems with his wife, he could not bring himself to tell her what lay at the root of those problems. He had simply told Leslie that he wanted to sort through his emotions before causing himself—and others—as much misery as he had caused his family and Evelyn. Just before a restless sleep claimed him, Stephen realized that this time things would have to be different; this time he would have to take control—whatever the consequences.

CHAPTER 1

The Reunion

It was late morning when Stephen’s plane taxied down the runway before landing safely at Heathrow Airport. He looked out of the window and noted dejectedly, and almost distantly, that the sky was overcast. Light drizzle fell. The pilot confirmed that the weather would offer no assistance to those who were returning from a holiday in the tropics and who might be hoping that local weather would help their suntans linger for a while longer. The weather would remain like this—if not worsen—for at least another few days. He hoped that this was not a terrible omen.

He was moved through Immigration with ease and then made his way through the enormous crowd of arriving travelers who were headed toward Customs. He had always been amused by the system the English used to siphon all arriving passengers. The Green Channel (the Customs area for those who had not succumbed to the temptation to buy exotic rum, perfumes and jewelry while abroad) and the Red Channel (for those who had not been so strong and therefore had items to declare to the British tax and other authorities). The Customs area was a cornucopia of accents, races and fashions. African women wearing stunning dresses

and elaborate hairstyles scurried after porters to assist with their luggage. American businessmen wearing identical high couture suits and Texas-style five-gallon hats, speaking in customary southern drawl, inquiring where they could find a restaurant that served scrambled eggs and grits, a hot polenta—like cereal loved by people in the southern United States. Indian women wearing brilliantly adorned saris. West Indians with liquor boxes curious about the amount of alcohol that they could bring into the country for free. Under normal circumstances, Stephen would have taken his time to drink in the sights and sounds of the airport, which seemed to be a microcosm of the rest of the country; and more so because he had only returned to England on one occasion since leaving university. This time, he was almost oblivious to the activity around him. He collected his travel bag and made his way toward the Green Channel. He approached an Indian man wearing a large turban sitting near the exit and glared at him, silently challenging the man to stop him.

Nothing to declare, he mumbled and exited into the Arrivals hall.

The first order of business was to find some money, as there were only American dollars in his wallet. He approached a sour-looking clerk behind the ‘Thomas Cook’ foreign exchange desk, bought some sterling and then went to look for a telephone. He dialed the number to Tanya’s cell phone.

Hello, she answered on the first ring.

Tanya, it’s me, Stephen, how are you? How is Suresh?

A bit tired. Suresh had a particularly bad night last night. We stayed with him the whole time. In fact, we’re still here.

How is Michael?

He’s taking this as badly as you and I are, but he’s been such a rock, Stephen. I don’t know what I would have done without him.

Stephen smiled into the phone, and answered, He’s a gem, and I look forward to seeing him again."

I miss that smile. Tanya responded. How soon do you think you might be able to get here?

I got onto a plane soon after we spoke last night. I’m at the airport now and about to get into a taxi.

Oh you’re one in a million! she exclaimed.

Love you. I’ll see you soon.

Love you back. See you soon.

Stephen smiled fondly when he thought about how good Michael had been for Tanya. Her life had been filled with ups and downs the likes of which Stephen would never have wished upon his mortal enemy. Michael was just the centered, calm and reassuring sort who could support and love Tanya. He protected her and loved her unconditionally. He had seen her at her best, and when she hit rock bottom he stood rock solid right beside her through it all. He felt honored that he had been able to help her conquer her devils. In return, she adored and respected and utterly loved him through it all. Stephen was ecstatic for them both.

Thanks to Michael’s high-paying job at an investment bank in London’s banking district and a generous amount of assistance from his parents, he and Tanya were able to afford a beautiful old house in Belsize Square, Belsize Park. As Stephen’s taxi approached, a warm feeling of nostalgia engulfed him. During his year at the bar, he had lived a stone’s throw away from Belsize Park, in Hampstead, a haven for show-business people. Stephen had spent many happy hours wandering along Hampstead High Street, browsing in the shops and enjoying a cup of coffee at the Cafe Dome. And there was Louis’, the pastry shop where he had bought the most exquisite cakes and pastries when he had guests, or when he needed to cheer up himself. As he neared Belsize Park, he recognized the little greasy spoon that made the best fish and chips in London. He made a mental note to drop in if he found the time. Somehow, though, he doubted that this trip would be filled with many moments of self-indulgence. He was convinced of this when, out of the taxi window, he recognized the imposing building, the Royal Free Hospital, in which his beloved friend lay gravely ill. He paid the driver, took up his bag and rushed through the large glass door to the free-standing reception desk.

My name is Stephen Taylor. I’m here to visit Mr. Suresh Patel.

The receptionist quickly typed into a computer.

She smiled up at him. Good morning, Mr. Taylor. I see that your name is listed as an allowed visitor. However, Mr. Patel is being examined by his doctor at the moment, so you’ll have to wait for a few minutes.

That’s fine, he replied.

If you wish, you may have a seat. She pointed to a chair in the foyer. "We’ll let you know when you can go in.

Thank you. A few of his other friends are here, Mr. and Mrs. Rouse. Do you know where I can find them?

I’m afraid I don’t, the receptionist replied. But I can page them if you wish.

Yes, that’d be great, thank you.

Can we take care of those bags for you while you wait?

Oh, yes. That would be more than simply appreciated. Thank you.

Stephen gave his bags over to the nurse and took a seat. As he heard the receptionist page Tanya and Michael over the intercom he reminisced about the happy times they had all shared together. He smiled, but only for a moment. Sadness engulfed him at the thought he might very well never see Suresh enjoying himself again. He finally gave way to the tears he had withheld since Tanya’s telephone call. He threw his head back against the padding of the high chair as memories flooded his sense, and his tears gushed forth like hot lava from a long dormant volcano.

He was taken back to a time not so long ago and to when it had all begun.

CHAPTER 2

Stephen Taylor

Stephen Taylor did not have a particularly happy childhood. It was not that he lived in abject poverty. Nor was he an abused child. To the contrary, his mother doted on him and ensured that he was provided with everything that he needed and wanted. They were not a wealthy family—Stephen’s mother took on a second job as a night office cleaner to supplement the small salary she earned from her day job as a waitress in a local hotel. Her parents insisted that they move back in with them when Stephen’s father, who was unwilling to take on the responsibilities of marriage and fatherhood, decided to leave them to fend for themselves. Stephen’s earliest memories of his father had been filtered by his grandmother’s warnings: Don’t you grow up to be like that no good pa of yours. He done your mother wrong. I don’t want you treating no woman like that. She ruled her house with an iron fist and insisted that Stephen pray once every morning and at night before going to bed.

Those words stayed glued to Stephen’s conscience wherever he traveled. He tried his ultimate best to be the complete opposite of the picture painted of his father, a philanderer who shamelessly took advantage of everyone who crossed his path for his own personal satisfaction. Stephen

went out of his way to be courteous and respectful and helpful to everyone with whom he came into contact. Whenever he was reprimanded at home or school he vowed that he would never step out of line again. He was a bully’s dream. He was constantly parting with his lunch and toys in an attempt to keep his tormentors at bay and to make people like him. Anything not to be like my father is, he often thought.

As a consequence of this Stephen became progressively more introspective and reclusive. He retreated into a private world that he created and made few friends. He read voraciously and drank in all sorts of facts and information from watching television. He became the heroes described in the books he read, and in his mind traveled to far off lands where he took part in great adventures rescuing damsels in distress, saving remote villages from unscrupulous developers, and dining with kings and queens. Needless to say, he excelled in his school studies.

By the time Stephen reached high school he knew that he could not spend the rest of his life in the prison that he had created for himself. He threw himself into life at the prestigious Saint Andrew’s School, the highly respected institution to which he had won an academic scholarship, and became involved in everything from the debating society, to the drama club, to the school chorus and band. Even so, his peers considered him aloof and standoffish. In reality, he was painfully shy and insecure. He believed that he would never amount to anything more than his father who, by that time, had become an alcoholic who spent one half of his time in prison and the other half in the alcoholic recovery unit of a local hospital. Stephen spent countless sleepless nights consumed by the thought that he would end up in the same vicious cycle that consumed all human feeling, understanding and respect for others from his father’s heart and soul.

Stephen had also begun to feel within himself the stirrings of certain feelings to which he could not put a name. They started as dreams where he found himself being caressed by strange but loving hands. He sometimes felt himself surrounded by a warm glow as someone—he could not make out who—leaned over to whisper something into his ear. He tried to reach out to the mysterious person, to respond to the caresses, but the hand that reached out would suddenly withdraw, accompanied by derisive laughter. Usually, when he awoke, his body was covered in sweat. His penis was almost always erect. He would race to the bathroom where he vomited and took a shower. He always felt dirty and overcome with guilt. The hand that always reached out to him in his dream, and to which he would respond subconsciously, was always that of a man. Stephen found himself, drawn by some unknown force, lingering in the changing room after physical education classes to steal a secret glimpse of the other boys as they showered. When, at the age of fourteen, he awoke even more frequently with his penis erect, he relieved himself by massaging himself gently with images of the men he had seen on television modeling underwear swirling in his head. It disturbed him that he would suddenly feel his heartbeat quicken and then feel a tightening of the muscles in his groin and a sensation that was simultaneously painful and pleasurable before his penis exploded, sending out a sticky substance that he could not identify. A sort of confused panic rushed through him. He jumped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. He switched on the light and looked down at the wet patch on his pajamas. He wondered if he had wet himself. One morning he was quiet and subdued as he ate breakfast with his grandmother.

Honey, you not hungry?

He dropped his spoon into his cereal bowl and shook his head.

Chile, tell your gran what’s up wit’ you.

Stephen hesitated. I’m scared. I think I might be ill.

Why? Somethin’ hurtin’?

He blushed and averted his eyes. "Well...yes. It’s ...it’s my...my...

my.. .privates," he whispered.

His grandmother sat upright awkwardly in her chair. What happened to you? One o’ dem boy’s at school hurt you again?

No. It’s just that sometimes it swells up and hurts a lot. Then when I rub it…like this... it starts to…to… leak....

He fell from his seat as his grandmother’s hand tore into his face. He looked up at her innocently from the floor where he crouched like a cornered animal. Her face was ablaze with anger. She looked down on him with disgust as he whimpered helplessly.

Boy I knew the devil was gon’ get you sooner or later. Your pa left a long time ago but the evil he had in him stayed right here with you. I knew it would appear sooner or later. That’s what happens when you let the devil take you over. And he done got you in his grip. Go pray to the Lord that he will save your soul.

With that, she turned away. He wept and asked the Lord not to let him turn out like his father. He would never confide in his grandmother again.

Several years later, Stephen was able to put a name to this act, masturbation, and was told it was a natural aspect of human sexuality in which most males and females would engage at some point in their lives. He had also put a name to the other part of his shame: homosexuality. He often sat downcast as his priest delivered fiery sermons on it.

They sleep with their own kind as one would with a member of the opposite sex, the priest would shout from the pulpit. "The perverts who practice this abhorrent behavior call themselves gay; but there is nothing gay about them. They are no better than animals wallowing in mud and will all be condemned to hell as were those vile sinners from Sodom and Gomorra."

Stephen tried to banish such thoughts from his mind and prayed each night that he would not dream, fearing that he would be condemned to hell for his perversion. Gradually, he became even less of a participant in the life that went on around him and soon observed it with little more than a detached nonchalance; he had reached a point where he was almost emotionless, an automaton responding not to stimulus but to command. Still, somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind he knew that he could not keep himself imprisoned for the rest of his life. There was a part of him that longed to be free.

Whether by accident or by design Stephen focused his mind on causes pertaining to the downtrodden and the oppressed and developed an intense interest in the law. In his final year of high school he signed up for a program called Molding Young Minds to Meet Tomorrow’s Challenges Today which was offered by a local firm of lawyers. In return for running errands and doing odd jobs for the partners after school and during the holidays, Stephen was able to save enough money to pay his first year’s tuition to the College of the Bahamas, an institution that was heavily subsidized by the government and whose main purpose was to prepare students for further studies at institutions abroad. He was able to spend even more time with the lawyers when he started at the college since he had no more than three or four hours of lectures per day. He spent hours on end in the firm’s and the college’s libraries pouring over cases and legal publications. He developed a passion for finding solutions to other people’s problems and found answers for the most abstruse problems. Finally, he had found a way to forget his own.

It was no wonder, then, that he won the confidence of his lecturers and employers and was recommended highly for scholarships to a number of prestigious colleges and universities in the United States and Britain. One of his benefactors encouraged him strongly to apply for England’s University of Manchester, whose law school, though not as revered as the ancient Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, had earned a reputation as one of the best in England. Also, he was told that he would find the north of England, where everyone referred to everyone else as luv and pet, much less impersonal than London. Since he would have to spend at least a year in London studying for the bar examination at the end of his three years at university anyway it made more sense to experience as much of England as he could. For it would be his first time away from home and a perfect opportunity to travel. He was sold. Many years later, he was convinced that he would have taken a place at the University of Timbuktu if that is what it would have taken to free himself from the confines of the prisons which had been created for him and which he had created for himself.

Stephen Anthony Taylor was on his way to university ... and, he prayed a new life.

CHAPTER 3

Tanya Collings

Tanya Collings was born in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, a small rural town, about forty miles southwest of Halifax, the capital of Canada’s northeastern most province, into a strict Roman Catholic family. Their main past-times were attending church and practicing a strict code of self-denial; which, they were told, was the key to entering the kingdom of God. At her father’s insistence, she was sent away at the age of nine to a school for girls that was run by nuns. She had started having nightmares, wet her bed constantly, stole money from her elder sisters and showed other forms of erratic behavior. The nuns sent her home a year later and informed her parents that she was a child of Satan whose only chance of redemption lay in being surrounded by a loving family and a regiment of strict supervision which they could not fully provide.

Her mother’s love was manifested in the terrible beatings she inflicted upon her daughter whenever she caught the slightest glance of her looking in a mirror or combing her wispy brunette curls. Her father’s love was demonstrated itself from the time she reached six years old by clandestine nightly visits to his daughter’s bedroom where he covered her mouth with one hand and gently lift her blanket and night clothes with another.

Slowly working his way from her unformed breasts to her delicate waist, all the time whispering Let daddy show his little girl how much he loves her. Before leaving Tanya’s bedroom, her father always left five crisp one dollar notes on her pillow which she could spend any way she wanted when he took her to town the next day.

When she returned home from the convent, his nightly visits re-commenced. Only now, he would no longer leave her spending money. Instead, he would say, You filthy little devil. Even the nuns could do nothing with you. Or, You will be nothing more than a common whore. You deserve to be beaten. Tanya would cover her face with her pillow and cry herself to sleep. The ritual continued for years.

Despite her many problems Tanya showed signs of being a bright girl; but one of many contradictions. At times she would be happy and animated. At other times she would be morose and withdrawn. It was because of this that her teacher, an elderly widow named Mrs. Moulin, took a special interest in her and persisted with her. She paid special attention to Tanya and did not reprimand her if she missed an assignment or arrived late to class. She hoped that she would win Tanya’s confidence and someday be able to help her to exorcize the many demons, which seemed to haunt her. Mrs. Moulin constantly told her how beautiful she was or what lovely brown hair she had. She would tell Tanya how radiant her smile was and how she would marry a prince when she grew up. She showed Tanya pictures of beautiful women modeling expensive clothes and assured her that, one day she would be just like them. She encouraged Tanya to take one of the magazines to read at home. But Tanya felt ugly,—ugly, filthy and worthless. Her father made sure of that. Late one night when he was away she took one of the magazines that Mrs. Moulin had given her from her special hiding place and started reading it. As she turned the pages, she smiled at Mrs. Moulin’s ridiculous notion that she could look as happy and sophisticated as the women in the magazine. One article leaped out at her. It was called: ‘How You Can Tell If Your Child Is Being Abused: Ten Classic Symptoms.’ Her heart raced as she read it.

"So it does have a name, she thought. This is me. I am an abused child. She suddenly felt lightheaded and took several long deep breaths as she tried to calm herself. She realized that she exhibited all of the symptoms that the article associated with child abuse: withdrawal, erratic behavior, insecurity and mistrust. Her tears started with a trickle, then flowed in torrents. Her body shook. She felt a combination of fear and relief as she read the concluding paragraph, entitled: How You, And Your Child, Can Fight Back." Realizing that Mrs. Moulin was her only ally, she resolved to confide in her.

When Tanya finished recounting her heart-wrenching story, Mrs. Moulin held her in a tight embrace and assured her that she would not have to suffer any more. The first thing they should do, Mrs. Moulin decided, was to have Tanya examined by a physician in order to verify that she had in fact been physically assaulted. His conclusion: she had been subjected to protracted sexual trauma and exhibited signs of having been exposed to a venereal disease which might affect her ability to have children in the future. It was recommended that she seek counseling without delay. Armed with this evidence, Mrs. Moulin and the principal of the school arranged to meet with Tanya’s parents. They felt that they should all seek counseling and that Mr. Collings should be turned over to the police if it was proven that he had in fact been responsible for the assaults on Tanya.

The meeting was a disaster.

My daughter has always been a pathological liar who has been prone to flights of fantasy and conjecture. She should not be believed, Mr. Collings said with a straight face and practiced composure.

I have always had a special bond with all three of my daughters; two of whom have grown up to be normal and well adjusted. Tanya was perhaps the closest to me of the three because of the.. .problems.. .that she has always had with distinguishing truth from fiction, Mrs. Collings added, in tears.

How do you justify the evidence of repeated sexual contact? the principal asked.

From her earliest youth my daughter has had an obsession with boys. I am not surprised that the physician found what he did, said Mrs. Collings in a hushed, embarrassed voice as she stared at the floor. She ran her fingers through her greasy, matted hair.

I am sure that we can find a solution to our daughter’s problems if you let us deal with this quietly, as a family, Mr. Collings said through red, puffy cheeks.

Tanya shook as she looked into his cold, vacant, bloodshot eyes.

Please! Please! Don’t make me go back with them, she pleaded as her eyes filled with tears. They’ll destroy me!"

My daughter does not know what is good for her, said Mrs. Collings as she folded her arms and stood next to Tanya. She needs help. We can convince her of that if you will give us some time.

All right, the principal responded. He glanced hesitatingly at Mrs. Moulin. We will give you two weeks to try and seek a solution amongst yourselves. We respect your role as Tanya’s parents. But we, as Tanya’s teachers, also have a duty to ensure that she is cared for. Let’s arrange to meet again in two weeks’ time to see how far we’ve progressed. Agreed?

Agreed, Mr. and Mrs. Collings replied in unison.

Upon arriving home that evening, Tanya was given the worst beating she had ever received at the hands of her mother.

The next day, the principal of Tanya’s school received a telephone call from Mrs. Collings, informing her that the family had decided that it was in Tanya’s best interest that she be transferred to a smaller school, where she would be able to receive the special attention that she needed to turn her life around.

If Tanya’s life had been unbearable up to that point, it became an absolute nightmare afterwards. Her mother supervised her every move. She collected her each day after school, and refused to allow her to take telephone calls unless she was present. She forbade her from socializing with her classmates, forbade her from reading any material that was not associated with her schoolwork, forbade her from watching television or listening to the radio unless the programming was religious in nature and insisted that she go to bed at seven o’clock each night. Tanya had just turned fourteen years old. Her only solace was her dreams. Every night, she would close her eyes as tightly as she could and imagine that her bedroom was a prison cell and that a gallant knight patrolled outside, waiting for the right moment to rescue her. He would call out her name and extol her exquisite beauty. He would brandish a shiny sword, its tip reflecting the moonlight, and vow to rend limb from limb the hideous monster that had imprisoned her. One night, as she prepared to be rescued by her knight, she heard the moans of her father, whom she thought had been subdued by her knight. She clasped her hands with delight and squealed I’m free! I’m free! At that moment she awakened to find her father on top of her, his body writhing in a grotesque dance. His eyes were glazed and distant, like a madman’s. His breath smelled of stale alcohol. He moaned and grunted as he thrust his organ further and further into his daughter’s body. Tanya struggled to free herself, but to no avail. Her throat was locked in a vice grip by her father’s powerful hands. She was helpless and started losing consciousness. The pain of the assault was too much to bear. The last thing Tanya remembered before fainting were the string of obscenities that her father fired at her before closing her bedroom door behind him.

For the next week Tanya did not leave the confines of her bedroom. She drifted in and out of consciousness and was at times delirious. Her mother was convinced that she was possessed by the devil and requested her priest to perform an exorcism. He arrived at the house late one evening, accompanied by two assistants dressed in white. In their hands they carried bibles and vials filled with oil. Tanya’s parents were requested to come to her bedroom to pray with the priests. Mrs. Collings stood frozen in the doorway with a hand under her chin. Her eyes were moist. Mr. Collings took her firmly by the arm and led her to Tanya’s bedside.

Spirits, we beseech you, release this child from your clutches. Be gone! Be gone!

Be gone! Be gone! Ah! My knight has come to rescue me at last! He is about to kill the villain who has imprisoned me! Tanya thought as she sensed the activity around her bedside. But why are there three of them, she wondered, my knight is brave enough to rescue me all by himself.

The priests massaged her body with the oil that they had brought with them and her parents prayed quietly and fervently. When the priests left, Tanya’s parents wondered if the nuns might consider taking her back, now that she was old enough to do light work in the convent. Tanya considered different ways of ending her