reason to suspect he would start now. And he was right.
When they reached a cluster of oak trees in an expanse of flat land, they stopped. Ronan positioned himself behind the immense trunk of one of the trees and silently beckoned for Michael to join him, but to do so quietly. Curious, Michael quickly ran next to Ronan without making a sound, anxious to find out why they had come to a place that didn’t seem to contain any human life. Smiling proudly like a father on Christmas morning, Ronan turned Michael around so he was standing in front of him and placed an arm around his chest, his hand resting on his shoulder. Ronan’s lips brushed against Michael’s ear when he whispered, “Look.”
Straight ahead, all Michael could see was an old-fashioned extension bridge made of thick rope and a narrow row of rectangular slats of wood that seemed to levitate over an unexpected quarry. The bridge wasn’t terribly long, but was necessary since the excavation ran the length of a mile in both directions and was at least five stories deep. Michael couldn’t believe he had never seen it before, it was such an extraordinarily beautiful creation, breathtaking. It even made him forget about the hunger pains stabbing at the back of his throat.
The cliffs on both sides were smooth and seemed to angle inward. He imagined it was possible to climb down one side and then up the other but, on second thought, realized it would be challenging for even an expert rock climber. No, the bridge really was the only way to get from one side to the other, though it wasn’t what could be called a desirable means of transportation. Even now in the stillness of the predawn air, it was swaying left to right. “Look closer,” Ronan said, reading Michael’s thoughts. When he did, Michael saw that the bridge wasn’t swaying because of the wind, it was swaying because someone was walking across it.
The woman was looking straight ahead, every one of her steps deliberate as she planted her foot squarely in the center of each wooden plank, holding on to the ropes tightly until she reached the center of the bridge and stopped. Squinting, Michael could see her shoulders rise and fall several times as if she were breathing deeply, perhaps to find the courage to walk the rest of the way or turn around and go back. Watching her intently, Michael never expected her to turn to the right, lift the ropes over her head, and stand on the edge of one of the planks with nothing separating her from the open air. It was clear that she had no intention of crossing the bridge. She was poised to jump off of it.
“I took a chance,” Ronan explained. “I’ve followed her three times this month, but she’s never gotten this far before.” He threw his other arm around Michael’s waist, fully embracing him from behind, and rubbed his cheek against Michael’s forehead. “I had a feeling we’d get lucky this morning.”
Despite knowing that he was watching a woman on the verge of suicide, Michael felt his heart race, his breathing quicken. He knew he should feel sorry for her, empathize with her situation and the desperate state she must be in, but all he could think about was that his body was practically blood-empty and he needed to replenish.
“Get ready,” Ronan commanded.
The woman leaned forward, the bridge bending and dipping as her body extended as far as it could without her hands letting go of the rope. Her movement was met with silence, birds didn’t chirp, the wind didn’t stir. It was as if the world were giving this woman a few uninterrupted moments to conjure her strength to finally do what she had come here so many times to do. When she looked down, Michael watched her face intently, searching for fear, doubt to creep into her eyes, but none came. Whatever the woman saw, whatever she felt, didn’t appear to provoke an expression. Until she looked up. Seeing the sun beginning to rise, a smile slowly grew on her face. Michael was relieved; he understood that she was happy.
Ronan telepathically instructed Michael not to hesitate but to follow him when he moved. Less than a second after the woman let go of the ropes and jumped into the waiting air, Ronan and Michael raced forward, appearing to be as airborne as she was. They were three people suspended, separated, until they were one.
Halfway between the bridge and the jagged rocks, the woman stopped falling. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, she thought. She was supposed to feel freedom and then nothing; she wasn’t supposed to be interrupted by two angels. She looked from one face to the other and she couldn’t decide which was more beautiful, the black-haired angel or the angel whose hair was the same shade as the rising sun. It didn’t matter, they had come for her, just as she hoped they would; they had merely come earlier than expected.
As if in slow motion the three bodies, connected as one, began to descend. Ronan bit into her neck first. Her blood tasted sweet as it rushed past his lips, eager to escape its doomed host, her cry of ecstasy swallowed up by the imposing landscape that surrounded them. When Ronan released his fangs, Michael penetrated the other side of the woman’s neck. Again she cried, again the sound was muffled by the stones and rock. As her glorious blood flowed through Michael’s body, he felt weightless. He clamped his mouth down harder on her neck as he felt his legs rise behind him until they were almost over his head. He closed his eyes, images of the stranger’s life bombarding his brain, and he knew he should stop drinking, but her blood was truly splendid. He stopped only when he felt Ronan’s fingers intertwine with his.
Looking over at Ronan’s face, Michael saw that the fresh blood was already beginning to have an effect on his boyfriend. Ronan’s skin was glowing, his eyes were shining with more intensity than the sun. When Ronan’s bloodstained lips smiled, no words formed, but Michael heard him clearly. Yes, Ronan, let’s both take the blood that this woman no longer wants.
Just as their feet were about to touch the ground, Michael and Ronan pierced the woman’s flesh at the same time, causing her to writhe with such pleasure and joy that the three of them were lifted up, up, up into the air. The boys responded to the unexpected jolt by holding on to each other tighter, pressing themselves even closer into the woman, and jamming their fangs even deeper into her neck in order to drain every remaining drop of blood from her body until it went limp. Her role in their monthly ceremony complete, the boys gently placed her on the top of a large boulder, exactly where she had hoped to land.
His temples vibrating, his vision hazy, Michael kissed the woman’s forehead and thanked her, not only for her blood but for helping him to understand his mother better. He would never fully comprehend why Grace chose to end her life, but now he knew that there was the possibility, the chance, that her choice was not made out of desperation, not as a means to escape some unimaginable horror, but as a way to find happiness. Until proven otherwise, he was going to believe that his mother’s face had looked like this woman’s when she gazed into the rising sun. He was going to believe she had, for one final moment, been happy.
Just as happy as he was, in fact, to once again kneel before The Well. Gripping the cool curved stone, Michael felt Ronan’s hand cover his and a beam of warm energy flooded his naked body. The vibrations emanating from the stone intensified and soon their hands and feet widened as the webbing grew, their fangs sharpened and extended even further past their lips, their entire bodies seemed to lengthen, and they were no longer two teenagers, they were descendants of an ancient race.
Each boy dipped a webbed hand into the clear liquid within The Well of Atlantis and brought their hands together as one, raising them high over their heads. Speaking in unison, they recited the prayer:
Unto The Well I give our life
our bodies’ blood that makes us whole.
We vow to honor and protect
and ask The Well to house our souls.
In response, The Well hummed louder, its vibrations intensifying, the sound embracing both boys until it grew so loud, there could be only silence. When there was no more sound, a light grew from beneath the liquid and propelled upward from the center of The Well, and for a moment Michael was frightened. He thought yet another one of his dreams was going to come true and a grotesque face would reveal itself in the sacred fluid, but he was wrong, The Well was simply communicating with them. Ronan had told him that while the ceremony never varied, The Well’s response sometimes could, as it did now.
Sunlight glistened on the walls of the cave, and Michael was reminded of the first time he had stood before the stained-glass window of Archangel Cathedral and it had looked as if tiny rays of light were showering down upon him. That’s how he felt now, bathed in heavenly light, only now was better because now he was standing next to Ronan.
Bowing their heads, they drank from their hands, drank The Well’s offering and immediately felt it combine
