Where: In the parking lot behind the CBN studio.
Rating: R (for violence and gore)
Pat had been caught. On live television, no less. And he knew there was only one thing to do about it.
It had been a trying day, a camera went haywire, Terry came down with a serious bout of food poisoning, and to top it all off, Pat tripped over the edge of the set and sprained his ankle. He'd prayed to God to give the strength and patience to withstand any further trials and tribulations that might befall him.
Pat had been down in the dumps, and the only thing that had come remotely close to putting a smile on his face was the visage of Scott Ross on the monitor off to the side of the set.
Pat didn't know when he'd started having these sorts of feelings for Scott. He'd couldn't pinpoint it, exactly, but seeing Scott everyday lifted his spirits and it had just grown from there. When Scott smiled at Pat in person, it nearly took Pat's breath away. His heart swelled with an emotion that Pat just knew God wouldn't approve of, so Pat tamped it down into the black recesses of his cold, dark, shriveled heart.
Until that day, the day that it all came tumbling down, and Pat's world shattered around him.
He'd been chatting with Scott during a segue after Scott's interview with Mel Gibson, and suddenly the words just slipped out. On live television.
"I love you, Scott. You're my only reason for living."
There was a stunned silence across the set. You could hear a clipboard drop, and Pat did. Astonished faces with tiny, rounded, o-shaped mouths all turned in Pat's direction.
He groaned and his eyes closed. Pat couldn't bear the questioning looks that he knew were waiting for him. He couldn't face Scott, who was sitting in the chair opposite Pat looking uncomfortable and nonplussed.
"Pat...I don't know what to say. I care about you, but I could never return your feelings. I'm married, and I love Nedra. Besides, I don't...swing that way."
Pat could finally find the courage to move. He got up, walked as fast as he could away from the set and hid in his office. He locked the doors and refused to come out for the rest of the day. He could hear people walking by the entrance to the office, but he didn't notice them as he sat in an immobile trance. When he finally heard the last cars leaving for the night, he returned to a state of semi-consciousness.
He knew what he had to do, and he had the means to accomplish it. Those left-wing liberal nuts had never made a dent in his belief in the right to bear arms, and Pat kept a pistol in his desk both at home and at work. He didn't need anything fancy, and with his advancing years it wouldn't have mattered much anyway. All he needed was something powerful enough to do the job, a weapon that didn't require a lot of skill. He kept a Saturday Night Special in both of his locked desk drawers, and he took out the one in his work desk now.
Pat loaded it, spun the barrel and walked out into the hallway after checking to make sure it was deserted.
Pat walked out of the building through a back entrance, and continued walking until he reached the middle of the back parking lot.
There he pressed the muzzle of his gun to his head and prayed to God for forgiveness. He knew that suicide was a sin, but he had already sinned, hadn't he? He had fallen in love with another man and had been too weak to deny those feelings. So weak, in fact, that he had admitted to his feelings in front of millions of viewers. He couldn't face the fact that he had said those words, that millions of people had heard him and he could never deny it.
Pat held the gun steady, and pulled the trigger. His brains erupted from the side of his head, spewing forth in a cone of blood and flesh. Pat's body stood upright for a few seconds, and then slumped and fell to the ground. As he sprawled on the ground, death overtook him.
He never considered that he had defrauded innocents, spread intolerance and hatred of all kinds across the world, that he hurt many people in his quest for riches and power. He never once thought about how he had actively worked to deny the civil rights of people who had never wished him any harm. Never once tried to sympathize or empathize with those he hurt, those he denied rights to.
No, Pat killed himself for loving the wrong person. He killed himself for love.
Current Mood: cheerful
Current Music: Crowded House - Black and White Boy