Sacrament

'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?'

CHAPTER VII

Just about everyone got high, except for Jack, who had become self-righteously sober the year before (after two decades of chemical excess) and Casper, who was forbidden to smoke the weed because Jack couldn't. Drew became democratically flirtatious under the influence, then, realizing where his best hopes of gratification lay, followed Will into the kitchen and offered up a graphic description of what he wanted to do when they got back to Sanchez Street. As it turned out, by the time the party broke up, Drew was so much the worse for weed and beer he said he needed to go home and sleep it off. Will invited him back to the house, but he declined. He didn't want anyone, especially Will, watching him throw up in the toilet, he said: it was a private ritual. Will drove him home, made sure he got to his apartment safely, and then went home himself. Drew's verbal foreplay had left him feeling horny, however, and he contemplated a late-night cruise down to The Penitent to find some action, But the thought of getting geared up for the hunt at such a late hour dissuaded him. He needed sleep more than a stranger's hand. And Drew would be sober tomorrow.

Again, he seemed to wake, disturbed by sirens on Market, or a shout from the street. Seemed to wake, and seemed to sit up and study the shadowy room, just as he had two nights before. This time, however, he was wise to the trick his sleeping mind was playing. Resisting the urge to sleepwalk to the bathroom, he stayed in bed, waiting for the illusion of wakefulness to pass. But after what seemed to be minutes, he grew bored. There was a ritual here, he realized, that his subconscious demanded he enact, and until he played it out he wouldn't be allowed to dream something more restful. Resigned to the game, he got up and wandered out onto the landing. There was no shadow on the wall this time to coax him down the stairs, but he went anyway, following the same route as he had when he'd last come into the company of Lord Fox: along the hallway and into the file-room. Tonight, however, there were no lights spilling from the photographs on the ground. Apparently the animal wanted to conduct the dream debate in darkness.

'Can we get this over with as quickly as possible?' Will said, stepping into the murk. 'There's got to be a better dream than-'

He stopped. The air around him shifted, displaced by a motion in the room. Something was moving towards him, and it was a lot larger than a fox. He started to retreat; heard a hiss; saw a vast, grey bulk rise up in front of him, the slab of its head gaping, letting on to a darkness that made the murk seem bright

A bear! Christ in Heaven! Nor was this just any bear. It was his wounder, coming at him with her own wounds gouting, her breath foul and hot on his face.

Instinctively, he did as he would have done in the wild: he dropped to his knees, lowered his head and presented as small a target as possible. The boards beneath him reverberated with the weight and fury of the animal; his scars were suddenly burning in homage to their maker. It was all he could do not to cry out, even though he knew this was just some idiot dream; all he could do not to beg it to stop and let him alone. But he kept his silence, his palms against the boards, and waited. After a time, the reverberations ceased. Still he didn't move, but counted to ten, and only then dared to move his head an inch or two. There was no sign of the bear. But across the room, leaning against the window as nonchalantly as ever, was Lord Fox.

'There are probably a plethora of lessons here,' the creature said, 'but two in particular come to mind.' Will gingerly got to his feet while the fox shared his wisdom. 'That when you're dealing with animal spirits and that's what you've got on your hands, Willy, whether you like it or not -it's best to remember that we're all one big happy family, and if I'm here then I've probably got company. That's the first lesson.'

'And ... what's the second?'

'Show me some respectl' the fox barked. Then, suddenly all reason: 'You came in here saying you want to get it over with as quickly as possible. That's insulting, Willy.'

'Don't call me Willy.'

'Ask me politely.'

'Oh for fuck's sake. Please don't call me Willy.'

'Better.'

'I need something to drink. My throat's completely dry.'

'Go get yourself something,' the fox said, 'I'll come with you.'

Will went into the kitchen, and the fox padded after him, instructing him not to turn on the light. 'I much prefer the murk,' the animal said. 'It keeps my senses sharp.'

Will opened the fridge and got out a carton of milk. 'You want something?'

'I'm not thirsty,' the fox said. 'But thank you.'

'Something to eat?'

'You know what I like to eat,' the fox replied, and the image of Thomas Simeon lying dead in the grass entered Will's head with sickening clarity.

'Jesus,' Will said, letting the fridge door slam closed.

'Come on,' the fox said, 'where's your sense of humour?' He stepped out of the deep shadows into a wash of grey light from the window. He looked, Will thought, more vicious than he had last time they'd met. 'You know, I think you should ask yourself,' he said, 'in all seriousness, if perhaps you're not coming apart at the seams. And if you are, what the consequences are going to be for those around you. Particularly your new lover-boy. I mean, he's not the most stable of characters, is he?'

'Are you talking about Drew?'

'Right. Drew. For some reason, I was thinking his name was Brad. I think in all fairness you should let him go, or you'll end up dragging him down with you. He'll go nuts on you, or try to slit his wrists, one of the two. And you'll be responsible. You don't want that on your plate. Not with the rest of the shit you've got to deal with.' 'Are you going to be more specific?'

'It's not his war, Will. It's yours and yours alone. You signed on for it the day you let Steep take you up the hill.'

Will set down the carton of milk and put his head in his hands. 'I wish I knew what the hell you wanted,' he said.

'In the long view,' the fox said, 'I want what every animal wants in its heart - except maybe for the dogs - I want your species gone. To the stars, if you can get there. To rot and ruin, more likely. We don't care. We just want you out of our fur.'

'And then what?'

'Then nothing,' the fox replied with a shrug. His voice went to a wistful murmur. 'The planet keeps going round, and when it's bright it's day and when it's not it's night, and there's no end to the simple bliss of things.' 'The simple bliss of things,' Will said.

'It's a pretty phrase, isn't it? I think I got it from Steep.'

'You'd miss all of that, if we were gone-'

'Words, you mean? I might, for a day or two. But it'd pass. In a week I'd have forgotten what good conversation was and I'd be a happy heart again. The way I was when Steep first clapped eyes on me.' 'I know I'm just dreaming this, but while you're here ... what do you know about Steep?'