June 16, 12:12 pm
Richard wanted to erupt.
He wanted to rage at Pil, the way the big man had raged at him. He wanted to scream that he was wrong, and how dare you, and who the fuck do you think you are? He wanted to slap the man's sweaty face, and insist he was not the monster Pil accused him of being. He wanted to shove the man and demand to know how he had the balls to suggest that his love for Keith had been selfish, or that he didn't care how it must feel to his husband to lose Michelle.
He wanted to scream, you don't know me, Pil! You never did!
He wanted to... but he couldn't. Not only because Pil couldn't see or hear him, and that any rage he showed right now would be nothing but theatrics for his own benefit. And not only because Billy and Howard were staring at him, waiting for him to explode.
But because he knew that Pil was right.
Not completely. But right enough to draw blood. The accusation that stung the worst was the last one: The idea that he hadn't considered what it would be like for Pil to go through the trauma of possession again, so soon after he had lost his wife. Because the truth was, the issue of Pil's well-being had never entered Richard's mind. Not for a second.
Jesus, am I really that cold?
Yes, he knew that Pil was mourning, but goddamn it, they were all fucking mourning someone! What made Pil think his pain right now was any greater than anybody else's? That was true, but it didn't excuse the fact that Richard's only concern had been whether Pil would agree to his plan voluntarily, or whether he'd have to take the big man by force. He'd not thought for an instant about whether it was fair or right. And he knew that made him no better than the Wanderer's angels, who just saw the living as tools to be used and discarded.
Maybe there would be time, after this was all over, for him to do some soul searching. If they were all extremely lucky.
"So, how do we do this," Pil asked, unaware of Richard's silent rage.
The big man was still sitting in the chair that Howard had offered, facing the table. Richard watched as Howard finally released the breath he'd been holding, grabbed a second chair, and sat it next to Pil. He asked the man to turn his chair to face the new one. Then Howard just stared at Richard until he slowly eased himself into the empty chair, facing Pil. Their knees were only inches apart, and he was looking into the big man's empty, drawn face. Pil's eyes seemed cloudy, all the anger and emotion spent out of them. He now looked sad, compliant, and defeated.
"Howard, ask Pil if I can speak now," Richard said, his voice quiet and steady.
Howard stood behind Richard, his hands on the back of the chair, and cleared his throat once to get Pil's attention. "Pil, Richard is asking if he can speak to you now. If you're ready."
"I've had my say," Pil said, not even glancing up. "Let's just get this over with."
"Okay," Richard said, feeling Pil's despair, thick in the air between them. It pained him to look into the man's eyes. The memory of how casually he'd treated his grief now seemed even more cruel, as he saw the lines of it painted so clearly across his broad features.
"Howard, please repeat everything I say, word for word now. Please don't add anything. Just repeat it."
"Pil, Richard is going to talk to you now. I'm going to repeat what he's saying, word for word," Howard said.
"Fine," Pil said, his voice flat and emotionless.
Richard spoke, and Howard repeated what he said, slowly and calmly.
"Pil, there are two ways to possess, and you have only experienced the first. When Justin came into you, it was sudden, and it was a violation. And I'm afraid, when I came into you, it was the same way. We both... took you against your will. That's how Drouillard possesses, and like Howard has said, it's very much like rape. That's the only kind of possession either of you has experienced."
Pil was listening, but his expression was unreadable. Richard expected him to ask a question, or at least nod that he understood, but the man said nothing.
"Tuilla has taught me there is another way. It's not the way of violence or anger. It's something... different. So I promise you, what I'm about to do won't feel anything like what happened to you out on the porch. If it works the way Tuilla explained to me, then you'll be in control the whole time, and I'll step back the instant you ask me to."
Pil had lifted his eyes now, and they were focused on Howard, who was the only one he could see or hear. His face seemed less pale, and a little more human.
"Tuilla has taught me you can possess someone with gentleness, kindness, and empathy," Richard continued. "That is what I'm going to try and do with you. I know you're angry with me, and you have every right to be. I promise you, I heard everything you said to me earlier. And I'm not going to defend myself. I deserved... most of what you said. But I'm asking you to believe, just for a moment, that I'm not a completely bad person. Please believe that I love Keith more than anything in the world, and that, like you, I want nothing more than to make sure that he's safe. But I want you to be safe, too. I need you to be safe because..." Richard's voice cracked, and he found the emotion welling into his throat so heavily that it was becoming difficult to speak. "Because I need you to take care of Keith now that I'm gone. He loves you. I think you know that. He always has. So I need you to get him out of here, and I really believe this is the best way to make sure you can do that. Can you trust me enough to let me try?"
This time Richard was pleased that Pil could reply.
"I'm going to try, for Keith's sake," he said. "But I'm not forgiving you, Richard. I just... can't. Not now."
"I understand," Richard continued, but his heart was heavy. "Please understand that this will be my first time trying this. So please, if this causes you any pain, or if you feel anxious, just tell me to stop. I can hear you, even though you can't hear me."
"Fine, Richard. Just shut the fuck up and get on with it. I'm getting tired of listening to you."
"Okay. Here we go. Try to relax."
Richard calmed his mind and centered it. He looked at Pil, finally allowing himself to see the man as he was: incredibly raw, hurt, and vulnerable. And as he looked in his dark eyes, he remembered what Pil said about Keith, and how desperate Pil was to protect him. He let himself connect with that, since it was the one thing the two men shared. They both loved Keith, and they both wanted him to survive what was happening here. This was a bond they shared.
This could be the pathway between them.
Pil's hands were on his knees. Richard covered the big man's hands with his own and felt a shudder pass through them. He wasn't sure if the touch made Pil shiver, or whether it was just the man's grief that Richard was feeling through the physical contact.
Gently, he felt his anger at Pil evaporating, and his love for the man growing. At first, he only loved Pil because of the man's feelings for Keith. But he knew he needed to find a way past that, and love Pil for who he was, not what he could do for him, or even for Keith. He needed to love him for the gentle, caring, protecting, and passionate man that he was. He needed to love him as the husband of Michelle. He needed to love him because of, and not in spite of, the negative feelings that Pil had harbored against him all these years.
Richard moved closer and rested his forehead against the big man's chest. He reached out with his thoughts. He pictured the man's mind, like a sponge, and sought the blue crystal pathway into it.
But no matter how hard he searched, Pil's mind seemed utterly closed to him. He considered trying to push past Pil's resistance, or even to look for the other path that he had promised he would not use. But that would not be, could not be, the way. He could feel Tuilla watching him, even if she was just in his imagination. Every time he wanted to take a shortcut, he could see her shaking her head and urging him back onto the path of love and empathy.
Quietly, he whispered aloud so Howard could hear, "Tell Pil I'm here. Tell him it's safe. And that he can let me in when he's ready."
As if from a great distance, he could hear Howard repeating his words to Pil.
It was like cotton candy dissolving in a stream. Or fog being dispersed by a gentle breeze. It was like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. Or like a great and lonely mountain, swimming into focus...
Suddenly, the way was clear to Richard. And in a heart filled with gratitude and love, he saw the blue crystal path open, and he slid into Pil, gently finding his way down the corridors of his mind. Once he was past the initial resistance, it felt so easy, and so right. The feeling was ecstatic, and passionate, and even erotic. He eased his way in, until he was at the center, and knew that he was in control of Pil, mind and body.
He made Pil open his eyes, and he looked out from them into the world. The real world. He saw his empty chair, with Howard standing behind it, and felt once again the joy of being in a living body. The temptation of staying there, the siren call of life, ringing in his ears...
He was only there a moment, and then, like releasing a grip, he eased back down the crystal pathway, until he emerged and was himself again.
He heard Howard whispering, in awe, "Richard, you did it... I saw you disappear into him, and then reappear."
Richard felt a tightness in his throat that was somewhere between grief and fear. He opened his eyes and looked at Pil, who still sat silently, but with a single tear now rolling down his cheek.
"Ask him if he's ready for me again."
Howard asked, and Pil appeared to suddenly become aware of the tears running down his face. He seemed unable to speak. Something in Richard's presence had clearly touched him, and Richard reached up to lay his fingers on the big man's broad face. There were tears on his own face as well, and they were sliding down his cheeks, destined for oblivion. Pil nodded his head, dropping his chin onto his chest. Richard cradled his cheek for a moment longer, before taking a breath... and entering him again.
So this is what Tuilla meant about possessing with empathy and love.
It was like nothing Richard had ever experienced. He felt closer to Pil at that moment than he had felt with anyone, ever in his life. It was a union of what was essential in their souls, and was more intimate than with any of the young men who had shared his bed over the years. More intimate than Justin. More intimate, even, than Keith. Richard felt filled with a love that was indistinguishable from vulnerability, from submission, and from transcendence, and he saw the purity and grace of Pil's heart in that moment, like a glowing beacon that illuminated them both with its warm light. Once again, he was tempted to stay, but knew he could not. He slid out of Pil, and was surprised to find that even after he had gone there was still a connection between them, even without the possession. It was like a glowing silver thread that hovered in the air. It was something he could actually see.
Without asking, he entered Pil a third time, more quickly now, but still gently. And this time, when he settled again in the man's mind, he felt a shaking. Pil's loss of Michelle, a grief so very much like his own, suddenly overwhelmed Richard. It was the same loss he had felt when Justin had died. When his mother had died. And even when he himself had died, and thought that meant that Keith would be forever lost to him.
It was, perhaps, the grief of the world itself. The universal suffering of humanity, woven of the same fabric, no matter who was suffering, or why. It was the very substance upon which reality itself was built, and by which it held itself together. Life, longing for life, wailing of loss...
He heard Tuilla's voice in his mind, and her words filled their shared souls. "Healing and transcendence," Tuilla said, "is possible only after we make the choice to accept and embrace what we have lost."
Richard felt himself make that choice, and as he did, his hands released their grip, and he felt himself falling gently backwards, out of Pil, and back into the chair across from him.
When he opened his eyes, Pil was looking directly into his face. The big man raised one hand before Richard could enter him again. Pil's voice was weak and cracked with emotion. His entire body was shaking.
"That's enough," Pil said. "I see you."
For a long moment, the two men looked into each other's eyes. Richard felt that silver thread dissolving, and mourned its passing. Yet more loss for his soul to endure. And to embrace.
Pil's living eyes looked into the ghostly eyes of Richard Pratt, and from beyond the grave, Richard Pratt looked back at Pil. And there was an understanding between them of shared pain, shared experience. The forgiveness Richard longed for was not there, but something more powerful was. He couldn't find a word for it. It wasn't brotherhood, and it wasn't love. But it was something that gently lapped at those two things, the way a dog would lap at the face of its master.
"Hello Richard," Pil finally said, breaking Richard's reverie. "I'm tempted to ask how you've been. But I think I know."
Pil then looked at Billy, who was standing off to the side of the room, tears streaming down his face. "I don't know you," Pil said.
Billy wiped his hand across his cheek. "My name is Billy Travers, Mister Kilani. And I'm very pleased to meet you, sir."
The four men in the room, two of the living, and two of the dead, looked at each other in wonder.