His Elder

Chapter 16

ELIAS

Isat in the hallway and waited.

The mission office hummed with quiet activity—phones ringing in distant rooms, the murmur of voices behind closed doors, the whir of the air conditioning. Normal sounds. The machinery of God's work grinding forward while my entire world collapsed.

Samuel had been in there for forty-five minutes.

I counted the tiles on the floor. Eighteen across, twenty-three down. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I didn't know what Samuel was telling President Dalton in there. Whether he was confessing everything or trying to minimize it. Whether he was taking responsibility or accepting the out I knew they'd offer him.

Because they would offer him one. I'd been in enough worthiness interviews to know how this worked. The authority figure always offered an escape route to the "good kid." The one from the right family. The one who'd never caused problems before.

And Samuel was the definition of a good kid. Stake president's son. Returned missionary on track for BYU and a temple marriage. One stumble didn't erase eighteen months of faithful service.

Unless that stumble was with someone like me.

The door opened.

Samuel stumbled out. His face was blotchy and wet, his eyes red and swollen. He looked destroyed. Gutted. Like someone had reached inside him and scooped out everything that made him Samuel and left only this hollow, weeping shell.

He didn't look at me as he collapsed into the chair. Just stared straight ahead, his chest heaving with silent sobs.

My heart cracked open.

What had they done to him in there? What had they said to make him look so broken?

Or worse—what had he said to himself?

"Elder Vance." President Dalton stood in the doorway. His expression was carefully neutral, but I caught something underneath. Not quite satisfaction. More like... confirmation. Like Samuel had just told him exactly what he'd expected to hear.

"Please come in."

I stood. My legs felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. I walked past Samuel, wanted desperately to reach for him, to touch his hand, to tell him it would be okay.

But I kept walking.

President Dalton closed the door behind me. The office felt smaller now, the walls pressing in. I sat in one of the chairs across from his desk, and he settled into his own chair with a heavy sigh.

"Elder Vance," he said quietly. "I've just finished speaking with Elder Price."

I said nothing.

"He's been very forthcoming about what's transpired between you two." President Dalton folded his hands on the desk. "He's admitted to serious violations of the Law of Chastity. Multiple sexual encounters. He's taken full responsibility for his actions."

My stomach clenched. Full responsibility. Did that mean—

"However," President Dalton continued, "Elder Price is clearly struggling with some very difficult feelings. Same-sex attraction is a heavy trial, and he's been trying desperately to overcome it through faithful service. Through obedience."

I saw where this was going. The narrative forming.

"What I need to understand," President Dalton said, leaning forward slightly, "is the context of these encounters. How they began. Elder Price has told me his version, but I need to hear yours."

His version. Like there were multiple truths we could choose from.

I thought about Samuel in the hallway, broken and weeping. I thought about the question they must have asked him—the same question they always asked. Did your companion pressure you? Take advantage of your vulnerability?

I thought about what Samuel must have said. Because if he'd blamed me—if he'd taken the easy out—President Dalton wouldn't be sitting here with this careful, neutral expression. He'd be angry. Disgusted. Ready to condemn me outright.

But he wasn't. Which meant Samuel had told the truth. Had refused to throw me under the bus even when it would have saved him.

The idiot. The beautiful, self-destructive idiot.

"Elder Vance?" President Dalton prompted. "I need you to walk me through how this relationship developed."

I looked at the painting of Christ on the wall. His face twisted in agony, alone in the garden while his apostles slept. Suffering for sins he didn't commit. Taking the blame so others could be saved.

The calculus was simple.

One of us could survive this. One of us had a stake president father and a future at BYU and a family waiting at home who still believed in him. One of us had spent eighteen months being the golden boy, the faithful elder, the missionary who baptized six investigators in his first area.

And one of us had a father who'd abandoned his mother and a mission record full of companion complaints and nothing waiting at home but a part-time job and a mother who'd lose her fragile grip on the Church if her son came home a failure.

Samuel had tried to save me by telling the truth. By refusing to blame me even when it was the smart play.

Now it was my turn.

"I initiated it," I said.

President Dalton's eyebrows rose slightly. "You initiated the sexual contact?"

"Yes. All of it."

He picked up his pen, made a note. "Can you tell me how it began?"

The lies came easier than I'd expected. Maybe because they were wrapped around kernels of truth.

"Elder Price was struggling," I said. "With his testimony, with the mission. With—with his attractions. He was vulnerable. And I took advantage of that."

"Took advantage," President Dalton repeated carefully. "Can you be more specific?"

"He came to my bed one night. He was upset about a teaching appointment that hadn't gone well. We'd taught the plan of salvation to an investigator, and—and it had triggered something for him. Made him question whether he'd ever have that. The eternal family."

President Dalton nodded. This he understood. The gay missionary wrestling with his exclusion from God's plan.

"I should have sent him back to his own bed," I continued. "Should have suggested we pray together, or study the scriptures. But I didn't. I—I touched his hand. Then his face. I kissed him."

"And did Elder Price reciprocate?"

"Eventually. But I pushed. I kept pushing." I paused, let my voice drop. "I told him the Church was wrong about him. That being attracted to men wasn't something he needed to overcome. That he should stop hating himself and just—just give in."

It was close enough to the truth to be believable. I had told Samuel those things. But not as manipulation. As truth. As a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

President Dalton's pen scratched across the paper. "And the subsequent encounters? The sexual acts Elder Price described—did you initiate those as well?"

The clinical words made my skin crawl. Like what Samuel and I had shared in the dark could be reduced to a checklist of violations.

"Yes," I said. "All of them. He tried to resist at first. Tried to stay faithful. But I wore him down. Told him it felt good, so how could it be wrong? Told him the prophets were just old men who didn't understand. I—" I let my voice crack slightly. "I seduced him."

President Dalton set down his pen and removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. When he looked at me again, his expression had changed. The careful neutrality was gone, replaced by something harder.

"Elder Vance, you came to this mission with a troubled record. Multiple companions in Madrid. Reports of disobedience and lack of spiritual commitment."

"Yes."

"And now you're telling me that you deliberately pursued another elder—a faithful, obedient young man—and led him into serious sin."

"Yes."

"Do you understand how serious this is?" His voice sharpened. "Not just for you, but for Elder Price? You've put his eternal salvation at risk. You've derailed his mission, his future, his relationship with his family. All because you couldn't control your—your base desires."

Base desires. As if loving Samuel was something filthy. Something degrading.

I wanted to scream. To flip the desk. To tell President Dalton that his doctrine was poison, that his God was cruel, that loving Samuel was the first pure thing I'd ever felt in my entire life.

But Samuel was in the hallway, broken and weeping. And if I fought back now, we'd both be destroyed.

So I lowered my head and whispered, "I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" President Dalton leaned back in his chair.

"Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like you came on this mission with no real intent to serve.

You've been disobedient from the start. And when you were paired with a faithful companion, instead of rising to his example, you dragged him down to your level. "

The narrative was forming. I could hear it crystallizing in his voice. The predator and the victim. The faithless elder and the golden boy. The story that would let Samuel survive this.

"Elder Price told me he takes responsibility for his choices," President Dalton said.

"That he made the final decision to engage in sexual activity with you.

But based on what you've just described—the sustained manipulation, the exploitation of his vulnerability—I have to question whether his judgment was truly free. "

I looked up sharply. Because there it was. The out. Not for me. For Samuel.

His judgment was compromised. He was coerced. He's a victim.

"I didn't force him," I said, because I had to. Because even in this twisted confession, I couldn't let President Dalton think I'd hurt Samuel that way.

"No," President Dalton agreed. "But there are many ways to coerce someone, Elder Vance.

Emotional manipulation. Spiritual exploitation.

Telling a young man who's desperately trying to be faithful that his Church is wrong, that his prophets are wrong, that he should give in to temptation—that is coercion. "

My hands clenched on the armrests. Because he was right, in a twisted way. I had told Samuel the Church was wrong about him. I had encouraged him to stop hating himself. But not to hurt him. To save him.

"Elder Price is clearly struggling with same-sex attraction," President Dalton continued. "And instead of supporting him in his efforts to remain chaste, you exploited his trial for your own gratification. You preyed on him."

The word hit like a slap. Preyed.

"That's not—" I started, but President Dalton held up a hand.

"I've heard enough." He stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "Based on what you've told me, you will be sent home immediately. Your case will be referred to your home stake for Church discipline. At minimum, you'll face disfellowshipment. More likely, excommunication."

The words should have terrified me. Should have made me beg for mercy, for another chance.

But all I felt was a strange, hollow relief. Because if President Dalton was focused on punishing me, maybe he'd go easier on Samuel.

"Elder Price's situation is more complex," President Dalton said, as if reading my thoughts.

"He's admitted to serious sin, which will require discipline.

But there are mitigating factors—your manipulation, his genuine remorse, his otherwise faithful service.

I'll need to consult with the Area Presidency, but there may be a path forward for him. "

My throat closed. "He can finish his mission?"

"That's not your concern." President Dalton's voice turned cold. "Your concern is accepting full responsibility for what you've done. For the damage you've caused. Do you understand?"

I understood perfectly.

Samuel could be saved. The golden boy could be salvaged, his record scrubbed mostly clean, his future still intact. All it required was someone to take the fall.

All it required was me.

"Yes," I said quietly. "I understand."

President Dalton moved to the door and opened it.

"Sister Roig will show you to one of the conference rooms. You'll wait there while I make arrangements.

Elder Kempton will escort you to the airport tomorrow morning.

You'll fly back to Las Vegas. I'll contact your stake president and brief him on the situation. "

"What about Elder Price?"

"Elder Price will remain here overnight while I make arrangements for his transfer.

" President Dalton's expression softened slightly—not for me, but at the thought of Samuel.

The victim who could still be redeemed. "You will not speak to him again.

You will not contact him in any way. Is that clear? "

"Yes."

"One more thing, Elder Vance." President Dalton's voice stopped me at the threshold.

"I want you to know that I don't take pleasure in this.

I believe you have worth as a son of God.

But your actions here have been predatory.

You've harmed another missionary—a good young man who was trying desperately to do what's right.

I hope you'll take this time to reflect on that. To truly repent."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Sister Roig was waiting in the hallway with a kind, pitying smile. Samuel was still in his chair, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs even as his eyes darted up to meet mine, shining with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

I wanted to go to him. To kneel in front of him and take his hands and tell him the truth—that I'd lied, that I'd taken the blame, that he was free.

But President Dalton was watching from the doorway.

So I walked past Samuel without a word, following Sister Roig down the hallway to a small conference room. She murmured something about getting me water, about taking all the time I needed, and then closed the door gently behind her.

I was alone.

I sank into one of the chairs and stared at the blank wall.

I'd done it. Saved him. Given Samuel the narrative he needed to survive this—the faithful elder led astray by the predator. The golden boy who'd stumbled but could be redeemed.

It was the right choice. The only choice.

So why did I feel like I'd just carved out my own heart and left it bleeding on President Dalton's desk?

The room was silent except for the hum of the air conditioning. I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and let myself break.

Because in saving Samuel, I'd just destroyed the only thing in my life that had ever felt real.

And I'd never even gotten to say goodbye.