Sacrament (23 page)

'Don't you wish they looked like this when people saw them?' the fox said. 'Wouldn't it change the world if they
could see the horror this way?'

Will glanced up at the fox. 'No,' he said, 'it wouldn't change a thing.'

'Even this,' the animal said, staring down at a picture that lay between them. It was darker than the others, and at
first he couldn't make out the subject.

'What is it?'

'You tell me,' the fox said.

Will went down on his haunches and looked at the picture more closely. There was motion in this one too: a
deluge of flickering light falling on a form sitting at the centre of the picture.

'Patrick?' he murmured.

'Could be,' the fox replied. It was Patrick for sure. He was slumped in his chair beside his window, except that
somehow the roof had been stripped off his house and the rain was pouring in, running down over his head and
body, glistening on his forehead and his nose and his lips, which were drawn back a little, so that his teeth
showed. He was dead, Will knew. Dead in the rain. And the more the deluge beat upon him the more his flesh
bruised and swelled. Will wanted to look away. This wasn't an ape, this wasn't a lion, it was Patrick, his beloved
Patrick. But he'd trained his eyes too well. They kept looking, like the good witnesses they were, while Patrick's
face smeared beneath the assault of the rain, all trace of who or even what he'd been steadily erased.

'Oh God ...' Will murmured.

'He feels nothing, if that's any comfort,' the fox said.

'I don't believe you.'

'So look away.'

'I can't. It's in my head now.' He advanced on the animal, suddenly enraged. 'What the fuck have I done to
deserve this?'

'That's the mother of all questions, isn't it?' he said, unperturbed by Will's rage.

'And?'

The animal shrugged. 'God wants you to see. Don't ask me why. That's between you and God. I'm just the
go-between.' Flummoxed by this, Will glanced back down at the picture of Patrick. The body had disappeared,
dissolved in the rain. 'Sometimes it's too much for people,' the fox went on, in its matter-of-fact fashion. 'God
says: take a look at this, and people just lose their sanity. I hope it doesn't happen to you, but there are no
guarantees.'

'I don't want to lose him ...' Will murmured.

'I can't help you there,' the animal replied. 'I'm just the messenger.'

'Well you tell God from me-' Will started to say.

'Will?'

There was another voice behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and there was Drew standing in the
doorway, with a sheet wrapped around his middle.

'Who are you talking to?' he said.

Will looked back into the room, and for a moment - though he was now awake - he thought he glimpsed the
animal's silhouette against the glass. Then the vision was gone, and he was standing naked in the cold, with
Drew coming to drape the sheet over his shoulders.

'You're clammy,' Drew said.

He was: running with a sickly sweat. Drew put his arms around Will's chest, locking his hands against his
breastbone and laying his head against Will's neck. 'Do you often go walkabout in your sleep?'
'Once in a while,' Will replied, staring at the littered floor, still half-thinking he might catch a glittering light in one of the pictures. But there was nothing.

'Shall we go back to bed then?' Drew said.

'No, actually I'd prefer to stay up for a while,' Will said. He'd had enough dreams for one night. 'You go back
up. I'm going to make myself some tea.'

'I can stay with you, if you want.'

'I'm okay,' Will told him. 'I'll be up in a while.'

Drew bequeathed the sheet to Will and headed on upstairs, leaving Will to go brew himself a pot of Earl Grey.
He didn't particularly want to revisit the images that had just come to find him, but as he sat sipping his tea he
couldn't help but picture the uncanny life his littered photographs had taken on as he dreamt them. It was as
though they contained some freight of meaning he'd neglected to see or understand, and had chosen to
communicate it to him in his sleep. But what? That death was terrible? He knew that better than most. That
Patrick was going to die, and there was nothing Will could do about it? He knew that too. He chewed it over
and over, but he couldn't make much sense of the experience. Perhaps he was looking for significance where
there was none. How much credence should he be giving a dream that showcased a talking fox claiming to be
God's messenger? Probably very little.

And yet, hadn't there been a hair-breadth moment at the end, after Drew had called his name, and he'd woken,
when the fox had lingered, as though it were testing the limits of its jurisdiction, ready to trespass where it had
no business being?

He returned to bed at last. The rain storm had passed over the city and the only sound in the room was Drew's
peaceful breath. Will slipped between the sheets as delicately as possible so as not to wake him, but somewhere
in his slumber, Drew knew his bedmate had come back, because he turned to face Will, his eyes still closed, his
breathing even, and found a place against Will's body where they fitted together comfortably. Will was certain
he wouldn't sleep, but he did; and deeply. There were no further visits. God and his messenger left him
undisturbed for the rest of the night, and when he woke it was to sunlight and kisses.

Patrick was as good as his threat: the centrepiece of the buff at the party was a large cake in the shape of a rather
portl bear, complete with a fine set of fangs and a lascivious pink I It inevitably invited questions; and Patrick
directed all enquiries ~ who was then obliged to tell the story of the attack a dozen time pressing it with every
repetition until it was honed to the impr~ casual: Sure, I got chewed up by a bear.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Drew said, when the information ha( its way around the room to him. 'I thought you'd
got the scars in s But Jesus, a bear!' He couldn't resist smiling. 'That's really some

Will claimed the slice of chicken and artichoke pizza Dre devouring and finished it up.

'Are you trying to tell me something?' Drew said. 'Like stop eat?'

'No.'

'You think I'm too fat, don't you? Admit it.'

'I think you're just fine,' Will said patiently. 'You have my pen to eat every slice of pizza you can get your sticky
fingers on.'

'You're a god,' Drew said, and returned to the buffet table.

'Are you two picking up where you left off ?'

Will looked up around and there was Jack Fisher, elegant as eve a brooding white boy in tow. There were the
usual hugs and h. before Jack got round to introducing his friend. 'This is Casper. He believe I know you.'

Casper pumped Will's hand, stumbling over some words of adm 'You were one of my idols when I was a kid,'
he said. 'I mean, sh; stuff's so real, you know? I mean, it's the way things are, isn't fucked up?'

'Casper's a painter,' Jack explained. 'I bought a little erection He only paints dicks. Don't you, Casper?' The boy
looked a lit comfited. 'It's a small market,' Jack said, 'but it's devoted.'

'I'd love to ... maybe show you some of my work some time,' said.

'Why don't you go get us a drink?' Jack said. Casper frown clearly didn't want to play the waiter. 'And I'll
persuade Will to painting.' Reluctantly, Casper departed. 'They're pretty good, ac

Jack said. 'And he means what he says, about you being an idol of his. Sweet, isn't he? I'm seriously thinking of
taking him off to Louisiana and settling down with him.'

'You'll never do it,' Will said.

'Well, I'm certainly over this fucking town,' Jack said wearily. He lowered his voice a little. 'The truth is, I'm
sick of sick people. I know how that sounds, but you know me, I call it the way I see it. And I've got more
scratched-out addresses in my little book than I care to count.'

'How olds Casper?' Will said, watching the fellow weave back towards them with two glasses of scotch.

'Twenty. But he knows all he needs to know.' Fisher grinned conspiratorially, but Will looked away. He didn't
want to leer over this kid who for all Jack's domestic talk would be out on his ass, fucked and forgotten, within
a month.

'You must drop in at the studio,' Jack said, picking up the hype now that Casper was back within earshot. 'He's
doing a whole series of sperm pieces next-' He stopped in mid-sentence. 'Uh-oh,' he murmured, his gaze going
to the door, where a striking woman in her fifties, dressed in flowing grey, had just made an entrance. She
surveyed the thirty or so guests somewhat imperiously, then, spotting Patrick, headed directly over to him. He
left off his conversation with Lewis, who was using the event to circulate a very slim volume of his poems, and
went to greet her. She lost her regal manner as Patrick hugged her, kissing his cheek and laughing raucously at
something he said.

'Is that Bethlynn?' Will said.

'Yep,' said Jack. 'And I'm not in the mood, so you're on your own. Just don't let her have the ruby slippers.' With
that, and a sly smile, he made himself scarce, Casper in tow.

Will was fascinated, watching Bethlynn chat with Patrick. He was hanging on her every syllable, no doubt of
that; his body language suggesting an uncharacteristic meekness on his part. He nodded now and again, but had
his eyes downcast a lot of the time as he listened intently to her wisdom.

'So that's her,' Adrianna had sidled up to Will, and was casually attempting to scrutinize the pair while she
nibbled a piece of polar bear icing. 'Our Lady of the Crystals.'

'Does anybody like her?' Will said.

'This is the first time any of us have even seen her. I don't think she descends to the mortal plane very often,
though Lewis claims to have seen her shoplifting egg-plants.' She guffawed behind her hand at this unlikely
vision. 'Of course, Lewis is a poet, so his testimony doesn't really count.'

'Where's Glenn?'

'Throwing up.'

'Too much cake?'

'No, he gets nervous when he's around a lot of people. He thinks they're all looking at him. It used to be that he
thought they were looking at his ears but since he got his ears fixed he thinks they're trying to work out what's
different about him.' Will tried to suppress a laugh, but failed. It erupted from him so loudly that Patrick looked
up and at him. The next moment he was leading Bethlynn across the room. Adrianna pressed a little closer to
Will's side, to be sure she was included in the introductions.

'Will,' Patrick said, 'I'd like to introduce you to Bethlynn.' He was beaming like a schoolboy. 'This is so great,'
he said. 'The two most important people in my life-'

'I'm Adrianna, by the way.'

'I'm sorry,' Patrick said. 'Bethlynn, this is Adrianna. She works with Will.'

Close up, Bethlynn looked a good deal older than she'd first appeared, her highboned, almost Slavic features
etched with fine lines. Her hand, when she took Will's, was cool, and when she spoke her voice was so low and
husky Will had to lean closer to hear what she was saying. Even then he only caught:

... in your honour.'

'The party,' Patrick prompted.

'Pat's always been a master at throwing shindigs,' Will said.

'That's because he's a natural celebrant,' Bethlynn replied. 'It's a sacred quality.'

'Oh, is giving parties sacred these days?' Adrianna chipped in. 'I hadn't heard.'

Bethlynn ignored her. 'Patrick's gifts burn more brightly every day.' The woman went on, 'I see it. Manifest.'
She glanced around at him. 'How long have we been working together?'

'Five months,' Pat replied, still beaming like a blessed acolyte.

'Five months, and every day burning brighter,' Bethlynn said.

Out of nowhere, Will heard himself say: 'Living and dying we feed the fire.'

Bethlynn frowned; narrowed her eyes as though she was listening to the echo of Will's words to be certain she'd
heard them right. Then she said: 'What fire do you mean?'

Will was of half a mind to withdraw the remark, but if the man who'd coined it had taught him anything, it was
the importance of speaking up for your beliefs. The trouble was, he didn't really have an answer. This phrase,
which had dogged him for three decades, was not readily explicable, which was perhaps why it had proved so
tenacious. Bethlynn, however, wanted a reply. She watched Will with her big grey eyes, while he floundered.

'It's just a phrase ...' he said. 'I don't know. I guess it means ... Fire's fire, isn't it?'

'You tell me,' she said.

There was a distinct smugness in her scrutiny, which irritated him. Instead of letting the challenge slide, he said:

'No, you're the expert on burning brightly. You've probably got a better theory than me.'

'I don't have theories. I don't need them,' Bethlynn said. 'I have the truth.'

'Oh, my mistake,' Will replied. 'I thought you were just flailing around like the rest of us.'

'You're very cynical, aren't you?' she said. 'Very disappointed.'

'Thanks for the analysis, but-'

'Very hurt. There's no shame in admitting it.'

'I'm not admitting to anything,' Will replied.

She was getting under his skin, and she knew it. A tide of beatitude had swept over her face. 'Why are you so
defensive?' she said.

Will threw up his hands. 'Anything I say now, you're going to use against me-'

'It's not against anyone,' she replied. Patrick had finally snapped out of his saccharine fugue and tried to
interject, but Bethlynn ignored him. Moving a little closer to Will, as if to lend him the comfort of her
proximity, she said:

'You're going to do yourself some harm if you don't learn to forgive.' She had laid her hand on his arm. 'Who
are you so angry at?'

'I'll tell you,' he said. She smiled in expectation of his unburdening. 'There's this fox-'

'Fox?' she said.

'He's driving me crazy. I know I should kiss his fleabitten ass and tell him I forgive his trespasses.' She gave a
darting glance to Patrick, which he took as a signal to engineer her departure. 'But it's not easy with foxes.' Will
went on. 'Because I hate the fucking things. I hate 'em.' Bethlynn was retreating now. 'Hate 'em, hate 'em, hate
'em-'And she was gone, escorted away into the crowd.

'Nice going,' Adrianna remarked. 'Subtle, understated. Nice.'

'I need a drink,' Will said.

'I'm going to find Glenn. If he's still sick I'll take him home, so i: don't see you later, enjoy the rest of the party.'

'What the hell did you say to her?' Jack wanted to know, when he caught up with Will and the whisky bottle.

'It's all a blur.'

'I just loved that look on her face.'

'You were watching?'

'Everybody was watching.'

'I should apologize.'

'Too late. She just left.'

'Not to her, to Patrick.'

He found Pat in the room at the back of the apartment they had together dubbed the conservatory; a space
occupied by out-of-season decorations, old furniture and several burgeoning marijuana plants. He was smoking
a fat reefer in their midst, staring at the wall.

'That was stupid,' Will said. 'I fucked up and I'm really sorry.'

'No, you're not,' Patrick said. 'You think she's a big of fake and you wanted to show her how you felt.' His voice
was gravelly. There was no anger in it, not even resentment; only fatigue. 'You want some of this?' he said,
glancing back at Will briefly as he proffered the joint. His eyes were red.

'Oh Jesus, Pat-' Will said, wanting to weep himself at the sight of Patrick's unhappiness.

'Do you want some or not?' Patrick sniffed. Will took the joint, and inhaled a solid lungful. 'I need Bethlynn
right now,' Pat went on. 'I can guess what you think about her, and I'd probably be thinking the same thing if I
was standing where you are. But I'm not. I'm here. You're there. It's fucking miles, Will.' He drew a short,
almost panicked breath. 'I'm dying. And I don't like it. I'm not at peace, I'm not reconciled-' He turned to claim
the joint back from Will. 'I'm not ... finished with being here. Not. Remotely. Finished.' He took another hit off
the joint, then handed it back to Will, who burned it to the nub. They looked at each other, both holding lungfuls
of smoke, effortlessly meeting one another's gaze. Then expelling the smoke as he talked, Patrick said: 'I've
never been that interested in what goes on outside these four walls. I've been quite happy with a little pot and a
great view. You'd come back with your pictures and I'd think: well, fuck it, I don't want to see the world if it's
like that. I don't want to know about fucking extinction. It's depressing. Everybody agrees: death's depressing.
I'll just shut it out. But I couldn't. It was here all the time. Right here. In me. I didn't lock it out, I locked it in.'

Will stepped towards him, until their faces were no more than a foot apart.

'I want to apologize to Bethlynn,' he said. 'Whatever I think about her, I still acted like a prick.'

'Agreed.'

'Will she see me if I grovel sufficiently?'

'Probably not. But you could maybe call at her house,' he smiled. 'It would make me very happy.'

'That's what's important.'

'You mean that?'

'You know I mean it.'

'So, while you're in a generous mood, can I ask you to do something else for me? You don't have to do it right
now. It's more something for the future.'

'Tell me.'

Patrick gave him the cock-eyed look that he always got when he was high, and reaching between them, caught
hold of Will's fingers. 'I want you to be here with me,' he said, 'when it's time for me to ... leave. Permanently,
I mean. Rafael's wonderful, and so's Jack and so's Adrianna. But they're not you. Nobody's ever come close to
you, Will.' His eyes shone with sorrow. 'Will you promise me?'

'I promise,' Will replied, letting his own tears fall.

'I love you, Will.'

'I love you, too. That's not going to change. Ever. You know that.'

'Yeah. But I like hearing it anyway.' He made a valiant attempt to smile. 'I think we should go distribute joints
amongst the needy.' He picked up the tin cookie jar on the table. 'I rolled about twenty. You think that'll be
enough?'

'Man, you've got it all planned out,' Will said.

'I'm a natural celebrant,' Patrick said as he headed out to distribute this bounty. 'Hadn't you heard?'