by T. R. Hamby
“You said you don’t like necklaces,” Mel said.
Michael turned the ring over in his fingers. Mel couldn’t decipher the look on his face--whether it was pleased or confused. But after a moment he slipped it on his finger, and smiled.
“I like this color.”
“I thought you would.”
“Thank you.”
Mel nodded, smiling. “Will you wear it in front of your friends?”
“Will you shut up about my friends?” he shot back, rolling his eyes. “They’re just jealous.”
“You spend a lot of time with them.”
He was going for the door, but stopped and turned.
“They’re not you,” he said, exasperated. “None of them are. All right?”
“All right, fine.”
“Thank you. Goodbye.”
He watched him go, smiling. He still wasn’t happy about Michael’s friends--they looked down on Mel, made snide comments. But he supposed that didn’t matter, if Michael still...still cared for him.
He ran out after him.
“What are you doing now?” he asked, catching up to him.
Michael frowned. “Things.”
“Stop doing that for a minute. Let’s do something.”
Michael sighed. They were striding down a busy street, passing houses made of clay. Overhead the sun shone out of a gray sky.
He finally looked at him. “All right.”
“The mountain,” Mel said, nodding at it. “I bet I can get to the top first.”
Michael looked intrigued. They had played this game before, hundreds of years ago, and it was always a question of who would reach the top first.
Mel didn’t give him time to think. He bolted, sprinting down the street, dashing past Messengers and careening around corners, his heart racing in his chest. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he was yanked backwards, toppling onto the ground. Michael snickered, rushing past him.
He scrambled to his feet and ran again, eventually catching up to Michael, grabbing him around the waist and bowling him over. They rolled around in the dirt, striking and pushing, before getting back to their feet and racing towards the mountain.
Up the slope they went, past the rocks, slipping on the gravel. Michael grabbed Mel and threw him about a hundred yards; Mel landed hard on his back, and it took him a moment to catch his breath.
Michael appeared beside him, looking worried. “You’re all right?” he asked, grasping his hand.
“Maybe don’t try to kill me next time,” Mel joked, sitting up.
He looked sheepish. “I forget sometimes.”
“Ow,” Mel hissed, pretending to wince. Michael looked concerned, and Mel grabbed his shoulder and yanked him down, jumping to his feet and sprinting back up the slope. He could hear Michael running not far behind him, but he was close, very close.
He covered a few more yards before he crested the peak. He grinned, breathing hard, and looked behind him. Michael appeared, and he was laughing.
“All right, you win,” he said, standing beside him. “Happy?”
Mel smirked, then let out a whoop, loud enough that it echoed down the mountain. Michael laughed again, and Mel looked at him.
“Go on.”
“No.”
“You know you want to.”
“I really don’t.”
“We used to do this all the time.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “That was when it was just us.”
“Come on. You’re really that concerned with what they think?”
But he was shaking his head, looking suddenly reserved.
He looked at Mel. “I need to go now.”
Mel shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling almost hollow. “I guess we’re not racing down the mountain.”
He didn’t reply, just started back down the slope, going at an even pace.
He did pause, though, and look at Mel.
“I stand by what I said,” he said quietly. “Earlier.”
Mel nodded, and watched him go. His ring sparkled on Michael’s finger.
They would always be brothers. Mel had to remember that. Nothing could come in between them.
Nothing.
Michael
Michael.
He looked around. He was moving in slow motion, as if trapped in molasses.
“Father?” he whispered, and he could barely hear himself speak.
You’ve been following the case of Alex Lisia. Wondering if I’ll let you find him.
He hesitated. “Yes. Will you?”
Yes. Things should be...easier for you and Nora, now that your brother has returned.
“Yes.”
There was a pause. Then, A word of warning, Michael. Gilla will have a difficult night tonight.
He frowned. His heart should have been racing, but it was oddly slow.
“What do you mean?”
The Lisia case is making her...remember. She’ll have nightmares. You’ll have to stay up with her.
He absorbed this.
“So...you approve, then?” he said slowly. Father had never mentioned Gilla before.
Approve? She is one of my favorites, he said. Her name means “joy,” something she has brought to everyone who has known her.
He felt a wave of relief. “What about Nora?”
You know the answer to that. I made her Immortal, didn’t I?
Michael nodded. He thought, for a moment, about asking Father about making Gilla Immortal--only if she wished it--but the fogginess around him was fading, that feeling of being stuck in molasses was dissipating.
With a jolt he woke, finding himself in bed back in his condo. Gilla herself was there, sleeping with her back to him.
He sat up slowly. He had never told anyone--not even Mel--that Father spoke to him in his sleep. It had always seemed kind of embarrassing.
They had their answer now. He would have to tell Nora and Mel in the morning. Father wanted Lisia dead, and how the three of them had longed for it.
Suddenly Gilla gave a sharp gasp, and she scrambled up. She looked around wildly for a moment before catching sight of Michael. Then she dissolved into tears, and he drew to her worriedly.
“I thought--he was back--I thought he was hurting me again,” she moaned, sobbing into his chest.
Michael’s heart ached. He held her, rocking her and shushing her.
As soon as she had first heard about Lisia she had been remembering. Michael had noticed the troubled look on her face, noticed her picking at her food. It was part of the reason why he had asked her to move in with him--besides being able to be together, it was a safe place for her. She would never have to worry about someone coming in and picking a fight with him, of hurting her.
When she had calmed down enough he made her some tea. It was raining outside, and the pattering against the windows paired nicely with the steaming mug she gripped in her hands. She was very close to Michael, her head on his shoulder, and he had his arm around her.
“He took so much from me,” she suddenly whispered, dully.
He squeezed her, kissing her temple. “Shh.”
“He did,” she continued. “He took so much--I don’t know how to get it back.”
“What do you have now?” he murmured. It was the only thing he could think to ask, but this seemed to catch her attention.
She thought for a moment. “I have you,” she said softly.
“Yes, you do,” he said firmly.
A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. “And I have Nora...and I guess Mel now.”
“Well...if you want to include him.”
She chuckled a little, and he felt a surge of relief. “And...I have my work.”
She looked at him, and he nodded. “You’re successful. Everyone asks for you when a new show starts.”
“Not everyone,” she giggled, making a face, and he grinned.
“Everyone. You know that’s true. Did you even audition for this last part?”
She flus
hed, and he chuckled.
He kissed her again. “You’re strong. Very strong.”
“I wish I felt strong,” she whispered. “I can’t even follow the news without losing my mind.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Michael said. “This prick on the news hit too close to home.”
She nodded, a dark look on her face. “Yeah.” She sipped her tea, the color returning to her face.
She shivered. “Oh, Michael. I’m sorry--I never have just one nightmare.”
“Quit apologizing,” he replied, and she smiled. “Don’t worry about that now. Let’s just talk.”
He thought for a moment, then asked, “When do you want to move your stuff in?”
Gilla smiled. “This weekend is best, I think. I’ll start packing tomorrow...I’ll have to find a place for my furniture…”
“I’ll help you.”
She nodded, but she looked troubled again.
“Are you going to get him?” she whispered, and Michael knew she was referring to Lisia.
He nodded. “Yes.”
She considered this for a moment, staring into her tea. Then, “Mel will kill him?”
“Yes.”
“What is it like?”
He hesitated. Mel’s anger no longer affected him, but he still sensed the chill in the air, still remembered the horror it caused, the overwhelming dread.
“It’s horrible,” he said quietly. “You are literally being scared to death.”
“I know how that feels,” she said vaguely, and there was sadness in her voice.
He felt his heart ache, and he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her and kissing her hair. Anger flooded through him, and he longed to put his hands on Will Bakker’s throat. If Father would just let him...he wouldn’t even need Mel to do it.
Gilla finally settled down, and she went back to sleep. Michael stayed awake--waiting--and sure enough she woke again, gasping. She shrank away from him until she realized who he was, and then she burst into tears again, burying her head in his chest.
The third time she didn’t cry, but he could feel her pulse racing in her wrist as he cradled her. During all that time he struggled to maintain his composure, all the while fantasizing different methods of torture he would use on Bakker if he ever found him.
“Anytime,” he whispered after she settled down again. “Anytime you want...just tell me. I’ll check on him--make sure he leaves you alone.”
She was exhausted, her eyes already closed.
“No,” she whispered. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Remember he can’t kill me.”
“I know,” she murmured, “but he can kill me. He tried, right before I left.”
Michael shivered. Sleepiness was loosening Gilla’s tongue; she never mentioned what Bakker had done to her.
“What did he do?” he whispered. He couldn’t help but ask.
She didn’t answer for so long that he was sure she had drifted off.
But then she said, “He pushed me down the stairs.”
When five a.m. arrived Michael quietly left the room--Gilla had been sleeping uninterrupted for three hours now. He sat in the living room, taking out his phone and giving Nora--who he knew would be awake--a call.
“What’s wrong?” she answered, her voice worried.
“We’re on for Lisia,” he replied quietly.
“Good,” she said, businesslike. “I’ll tell Mel. Should be easy to find him.”
He hesitated, then said, “Gilla isn’t going to rehearsal today...she had a rough night.”
Nora’s voice was filled with concern. “Why? Is she okay?”
He stared ahead darkly. “It’s Lisia. He’s brought back...some things for her.”
There was a silence. Then she sighed. “God, Michael.”
“I know.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s sleeping now,” he replied. “She had some nightmares.”
“Jesus.”
“Could you...tell the director or whoever she’s not coming?”
“Yes--of course--and I’ll stop by after rehearsal, if she wants me to.”
“Tell Mel to focus on Lisia,” he said. “Since you and I are busy. I’m sure he can manage.”
“Michael,” Nora chided, catching the dryness in his tone.
He sighed. “Sorry. Force of habit. Come over after work; I’ll make something.”
He made smorgasar for breakfast, but Gilla wasn’t hungry, nibbling on her sandwich before sitting on the couch. She watched TV for a little while, careful to avoid the news, before Michael decided to get her out of the condo. They drove over to her apartment and began packing things up. This seemed to put her in a better mood, and she sang a little as they worked.
He soon got a call, and was surprised to find it was from Mel. He excused himself onto the balcony.
“What is it?”
“Lisia’s gone,” Mel said, anger in his voice. “He’s fled the country.”
“Shit,” Michael growled.
“We’ll have to think of something else. I’m assuming Father didn’t tell you anything enlightening?”
Michael took a deep breath, willing himself to be patient with Mel’s smartassery.
“No. Nothing.”
Mel was quiet for a moment, and Michael wondered if he too was restraining himself.
“Let’s wait for Nora,” Mel finally said. “I’ll keep an eye on the news. This guy is semi-famous; someone was bound to see him.”
“Come over with Nora tonight,” Michael replied--somewhat reluctantly. He had been looking forward to spending time with the two women in his life without Mel, but he had no choice now.
There was a pause, and he wondered if Mel had picked up on his hesitation.
“See you then,” he finally said, and ended the call.
Michael leaned on the railing, looking out on the city. It would take both of them time to get used to Mel being back, especially now that Michael and Nora were close. Michael knew that Mel still wasn’t entirely happy with it, even if he had given his blessing. Michael couldn’t help but lament his private time with Nora--those days were gone now. Mel would always be there.
But to his surprise, Nora came alone that evening.
“Mel’s hanging back for another hour,” she said, setting her bag on the counter.
Michael frowned. “Why?”
“He said he wanted to watch the news a little longer,” she replied, smiling, “but I think he just wanted to give us time alone.”
“Oh,” he said, and he felt a little relieved. “Right.”
She was still smiling at him, and she took his hand. “Where’s Gilla?”
“Sleeping. She’s still worn out.”
She nodded. “Let’s not disturb her then. The flooring looks great--can you show me around?”
So they spent the next hour going over the remodel. Nora was impressed with the artwork--all originals--but was even more impressed with the music room. Gilla woke up, and he played a little guitar for them. He was still embarrassed, but the look of pleasure on the women’s faces as he played helped that fade. Nora wrapped her arms around Gilla, who laid her head on her shoulder.
Finally there was a knock at the door, and Michael hurried to put his guitar away; Mel’s recent joke about his playing was still fresh in his mind.
Mel was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, instead of his work clothes--he wasn’t planning on going back to work for another couple of weeks. He was also bearing a bouquet of yellow roses.
“For the lady of the house,” he said, holding them out to Gilla, who looked touched. Michael wondered if Nora had told him about Gilla’s troubles. He could tell Gilla was wondering the same thing, but she didn’t seem to mind, taking the flowers and smelling them.
“Tack sa mycket,” she said in Swedish, smiling.
“Varsagod.”
They moved to the kitchen, where Michael started a simple penne dish. To his surprise, Mel helped, while Gill
a and Nora sat in the living room, drinking wine and talking quietly.
“How is she?” Mel murmured, cutting the shallots.
Michael frowned; he hadn’t expected such concern from him.
“She’ll be all right,” he replied, stirring the noodles. “She’s just shaken up.”
Mel was quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you think she should see someone?”
Michael felt the first hint of anger. “What, like a shrink?”
“Don’t,” Mel replied warningly. “Nora used to see one. Back in L.A. It helped.”
Michael couldn’t argue with that. He went to the pantry, grinding his teeth together, and grabbed the rest of the ingredients for the sauce, bringing them back to the counter. He glanced at Gilla and Nora; they were holding hands, still talking quietly, both with serious looks on their faces.
“I’m just saying,” Mel continued, his voice softer, “if she wanted, I could connect her with someone. Someone who specializes in...trauma.”
He wasn’t ready to let his anger go. “Just because we’re supposed to be civil now doesn’t give you permission to fuck around in my life,” he growled, draining the pasta a little roughly.
“You’re not being very civil right now,” Mel pointed out, unmoved. “And you wouldn’t be saying that if Nora offered instead.”
Michael stared down at the sauce; the two of them had been adding ingredients as they talked. Mel was right; he was letting their issues dominate what could have been a productive conversation.
He sighed, taking a spoon and stirring the sauce. “You could have told Gilla yourself. She’s free to do what she wants.”
“Nora’s telling her.” Mel hesitated, then said, “I just thought I’d tell you too. The person I know is...expensive. I’m assuming Gilla can’t afford it, and she might not want to take your money. She might not bring it up with you. Now you know, so...you could bring it up instead.”
Michael stirred the sauce, feeling a mixture of guilt and gratitude. Mel was just trying to help. If Nora knew how Michael was behaving, she’d chew him out.
Still, it was difficult to be civil. He just wasn’t used to it.
“Thank you,” he managed, not looking at him.
Mel didn’t respond right away. Finally he said, “Least I could do.”
They ate and talked. Nora filled everyone in on the latest drama between the producers and directors at the show, and Michael went into more detail about the remodel--they still had the trim to do, and the tile in the kitchen still needed to be replaced. The conversation began to dwindle, though, as they finished eating.
