Immediately, Michael stopped pacing. “What?”
“I know your dad’s hurt you by acting . . . irresponsibly,” Ronan began. “But I would do anything to have another conversation with my father. Maybe you should take this opportunity to have another one with yours.”
Michael had to pace the length of the room a few more times to absorb this information. Finally he stopped and knelt on the bed, touching Ronan’s foot underneath the covers for no real reason. Well, maybe to connect with something tangible. His relationship with his father was complicated; a part of him wanted it to move forward and yet a part of him wished it had never existed. The more he learned about his father, the more he realized they were drastically different, they didn’t share any of the same interests, and now that he was no longer even technically human, what could they possibly have in common? Plus his father made it quite clear that he didn’t approve of Michael being gay. “No, I just don’t think there’s any reason to have dinner with him.”
“It’ll give you an excuse to practice dematerializing your food,” Ronan quipped.
Michael squeezed Ronan’s toe, making him squeal and wiggle underneath the covers. “Ow! That hurts!” Ronan shouted while laughing hysterically.
“Yeah, you sound like I’m killing you.” He didn’t want to talk about his father anymore. He didn’t want to talk at all. Michael crawled underneath the covers and snuggled next to Ronan to calm down before the alarm was set to go off. But before Ronan could ask him again, he answered, “I’m going to do exactly what my father always does to me. Ignore him.”
Five hours later, Michael, true to his word, still hadn’t responded to his father’s text. It wasn’t that he was just being stubborn, it was simply that every time he thought of responding, he didn’t know what to say. Since it was Friday, he couldn’t use the excuse that he was prohibited from leaving campus, because the students were able to visit family on the weekend. And every time he thought he was going to cave in and agree to his father’s request, he reminded himself that it was going to be a painful evening. Sitting on the sofa in the anteroom of St. Joshua’s Library across from Ciaran, Michael was happy not to have to ponder the question any further, until, of course, Ronan plopped down on the couch next to him. “Have you decided about dinner?”
“What’s to decide?” Ciaran asked. “You gents don’t eat.”
“Pack it up, will you,” Ronan cried. “Michael’s father wants to have dinner with him tonight.”
“Do it,” Ciaran responded.
It wasn’t so much that Michael was surprised by Ciaran’s quick response, it was the tone he used, it was so positive and that wasn’t like him. It was the same as yesterday at lunch. He had sounded different, not really like himself, more upbeat, optimistic. The weird thing was it appeared to be natural and not like he was trying to hide anything, force himself to be happy in order to cover up something bad that happened. What were he and Phaedra just saying? That boys were a mystery. “You really think I should?”
Rubbing a soft spot on the armchair where the olive green leather had started to fade, turning yellowish, Ciaran thought of his own father. He would love to call him up and invite him to dinner or chat with him about nonsense or tell him how well he was doing in school, but he didn’t know where his father was, or if he was even still alive. Ronan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He picked at a loose thread in the velvet couch and avoided Ciaran’s eyes because he knew exactly what Ciaran was thinking. They both knew the reason Ciaran had no relationship with his father was all Edwige’s fault. “Michael, I don’t usually tell people what to do, but this time I’m going to make an exception,” Ciaran stated. “Tell your father you’d be happy to have dinner with him.” This time, despite the optimistic message, Ciaran sounded very much like his old self. He acted like his old self too. “Excuse me, I need to get to the lab.”
Maybe it was guilt from watching Ciaran scurry out of the library or compassion from watching Michael trying to deal with his dilemma; regardless, Ronan had made a decision. “I’ll go with you.”
The comment surprised them both. “You will?” Michael asked, and then just to make sure he understood Ronan correctly, he clarified, “You’ll have dinner with me and my father?”
There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you Michael. “Yes, I will join you and break bread with my father-in- law.” Without glancing around to see if anyone was looking, Michael leaned over and kissed Ronan’s cheek as thanks. “Or, you know, laser beam the bread into millions of little pieces.”
The decision finally made, Michael sent a text to Vaughan accepting his invitation, making it clear that Ronan would be joining them. He might be giving in to his father, but he was going to do it on his own terms. A few seconds later, Vaughan responded with his own text, which Michael read aloud. “He says, ‘that’s wonderful. My new driver will pick you up at six tonight.’ ”
“Then we’re all set,” Ronan said, trying to sound as if he found the prospect cheerier than he really did. “I have to go meet Fritz and work on a theology report. That bloke’s got some interesting thoughts on eternal life, I must say.”
“I’m going to stay here and do some studying. I’ll see you at home.”
As he walked by, Ronan cupped Michael’s chin and gave him a wink. Eternal life never felt so good. The same could not be said for studying for a world history exam. He opened the thick textbook and almost immediately the words on the page started to blur together. Michael’s eyes were drawn away from his book and toward the towering portrait that hovered over the fireplace. Brother Dahey stared at him, his expression at once bemused and condemning, his black eyes peering directly at him from across the centuries, from beyond the grave, and suddenly Michael felt very tired. Gone was St. Joshua’s, gone was the portrait and the fireplace, gone were the endless rows of books, and in their place was only one thing, The Well.
Michael stood at the curved stone that jutted out from the ocean’s floor just as he had done before, naked and willing, filled with a mixture of modesty and a desire to share in The Well’s magnificent power. He wanted to be subject and ruler at the same time. But most of all, he didn’t want to be alone.
He turned around to look for Ronan, but he wasn’t there. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be at The Well by himself; it went against everything his race stood for, unless something had happened to Ronan, something terrible, something unspeakable. No, that couldn’t be. Michael refused to believe that he was going to wind up like Edwige, alone, forever separated, forever one half of a coupling that was supposed to last for eternity. When skin touched his arm, he was no longer afraid. Ronan was beside him, where he belonged.
The Well agreed. It began to hum, its sound growing louder, vibrating all around them, and Michael and Ronan felt the energy of their entire race pulse through them. A beautiful white light burst forth from the center of The Well and they prepared themselves for the final transformation. Fangs descended, bodies elongated, fingers, toes, no longer separated but webbed together. They had been re-created in true image of the inhabitants of Atlantis and it felt heavenly, but everything changed when Michael peered over the stone rim to drink The Well’s precious fluid. What he saw horrified him.
The clear liquid, usually so smooth and flat, began to ripple without being touched, to form a grotesque and unrecognizable face. The picture, the illusion, the reflection, whatever it was, lasted for only a second, but it was so disturbing that Michael could still see the image in his mind’s eye even after the light retreated and darkness took over the cave. “Ronan!” Reaching out, Michael felt nothing but the cold air. He couldn’t see a thing. The darkness was thick, oppressive, and Michael truly thought he was going to suffocate from either fear or the blackness. What was happening? This was supposed to be a heavenly place filled with beauty and light. This was supposed to be a place that felt like a dream, not the most dreadful nightmare. “Ronan! Where are you?”
He clutched at the space in front of him, unable to see his hand move, and sought the edge of The Well. Where was it? It couldn’t be that far away, he hadn’t moved more than a few inches. Michael admonished himself and tried to stop thinking logically, rational thought had no place here. If it did, Ronan would be standing right next to him.
But even though he couldn’t see or feel him, Ronan was near. Through the darkness he could hear his voice, his beautiful Irish accent. “Even in the darkness you have the face of an angel.” The words were as clear as if Ronan whispered them into his ear, but when Michael flailed his arms all about him, they still touched nothing, only emptiness.
Is this death? Michael thought. Is this what I have to look forward to? Frightened and more than a little bit angry, he refused to believe that the last image he would see before leaving this world would be something disgusting, something unworthy of existing within the presence of The Well. And then as quickly as the darkness fell, light returned.
Michael was no longer in a cave in the Atlantic Ocean. He was once again in St. Joshua’s. His eyes darted all over the room and nothing had changed; he had just fallen asleep. Why, then, did he feel he had taken a journey
