Chapter 95

The sea is outside. We’re in the bedroom of a small cottage. The door’s open and I can see his mom’s old piano is tucked into the corner of the living room. My ballet shoes sit near the bench.

He looks beautiful in the dim light.

Everything about Ansel is strong - from the tenor of his voice, his height and broad shoulders, to the muscular lines of his body and the chiseled features of his face.

It’s all there - the power of him, the hard lines I resented because he had changed, but his defenses are stripped away, revealing the totality of him and the gentle warmth inside.

We’re shoulder-to-shoulder. He tilts his head over to me and smiles, and I like the way his eyes crinkle when he does. I let my head fall against his shoulder. He hums in my ear and loops his index finger around mine.

“Is that a new song?”

“Just a bit of a melody that popped in,” he says, shrugging.

I lean up and press my mouth against his, desperate for him. He pushes me down onto the bed, kissing my lips and neck. I feel his erection against me.

I tug against the fabric of his shirt. In between frantic kisses, we tear off our clothes.

I throw my head back and close my eyes when he begins to kiss, suck, and softly bite my nipples.

“I want you,” he says.

He slides into me, inhaling sharply, and I wrap my legs around him. I jut my hips forward so that he hits my swollen clit with each rhythmic thrust.

I nip gently at his bottom lip as he kisses me. He squeezes my breasts and I tug at his hair.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, as he rocks faster and faster, and the pleasure begins to crest. He moans when I dig my nails into his back. He bites my neck. There’s nothing but him and me.

I cry out as the climax hits. This seems to send him over the edge. He groans into my ear as he cums.

He slows and kisses me again. I reach up to caress his face and run my fingers through his hair. He lays down next to me and we let our breathing slow. Our bodies are clammy with sweat.

I blink.

We’re in the hospital hallway.

“This is the last fucking place I wanted to be,” Ansel says. His cheeks are still flushed. He’s in his usual power suit again, but his feet are bare, and he looks surprisingly vulnerable this way.

I love him with such an intensity that it hurts. It’s a raw and deep, painful longing that wrenches at my heart.

He’s standing just ahead of me, staring into a patient room. Inside, I can see the outline of a man attached to a ventilator.

He pushes back his hair, damp with sweat from the moments before. “Is your battery finally running out?”

“Probably,” I say. Although, the truth is, something else feels different. Off.

“Are you doing alright,” I ask.

“I’m on top of the world,” he deadpans.

I put my hand on my hip and give him a withering look.

“Can you at least magic it up a bit,” he asks.

“I’ll try.”

There’s a change, and we both feel it. Not one that I’ve created, either. Ansel and I look at each other.

Ocean begins to trickle down the wall from the ceiling. We look up at it, watching as it streams down. Then, we hear a series of bursting sounds. Several corners of the hospital walls have sprung leaks, with water pouring in.

Ansel sighs. “This is why I don’t date.” He grabs my hand. “Always something.”

We run, but the floor’s quickly flooded.

Beep, beep.

We wade through knee-deep water, trying to make it to the exit.

“Can’t you get us out of here?” Ansel has to shout over the rushing noise of the flood.

We keep sloshing through. I shake my head. “I feel stuck again. Like in the subway.”

The words are barely out of my mouth, when an enormous wave sweeps through the hall.

We’re pushed under the torrent. Another wave hits, completely filling the room with water.

I can’t see anything, including Ansel. My lungs ache for air. My chest feels like it’s been squeezed by a boa constrictor.

I gasp.

I’m spit out onto a hard, concrete floor. Next to me, Ansel is coughing and gasping for air.

“Are you okay?”

We’re both soaked, our hair dripping wet. I’m shivery with goosebumps.

Ansel doesn’t answer. He’s leaning over, on his hands and knees. His tie is hanging down, sopping with water. His white shirt is translucent, showing the tan of his skin underneath.

Paging Dr. Lee.

I move closer. Water droplets are beading down his pale face. His lips are tinged blue.

“Ansel.” I grab him by the shoulders. Panic fills my heart. I don’t know what to do.

It’s just a dream it’s just a dream it’s just a dream

I say it over and over, and over in my head.

I pull him to me. I close my eyes and focus all my remaining energy.

I open my eyes.

A starkly white, empty room is before me.

My paws pad against the floor. If there really is a floor. It all looks and feels like empty space.

Ansel’s wolf walks toward me, bringing the darkness with him, like a cape, until we’re both under the cover of night.

The burning palo santo smells of licorice. Flames lick an open pyre. A shaman chants to the beat of a drum, to the shake of a rattle.

Until that is swept away, too, and we begin again.

Amethyst eyes of a goddess shine through the glade. Moths flutter near the glowing light of paper lanterns hung in the trees. Piano keys gently play the notes ‘Clair de Lune.’

Ansel is back in his human form. I watch him. He’s one with it all. In this sacred night that’s wrapped around us, he’s home.

He turns his head to me. “I get the feeling that there’s not a lot of time left,” he says. “Okay, look.” His eyes and face harden. No emotion escapes through.

“Henry was the shooter,” Ansel says.

I can’t help it - my mouth gapes open. I’ve never been one to play it cool.

“Yeah,” Ansel says, softly.

He straightens his posture. “Et tu, Brute? The classic I never saw coming.” His tone is acidic.

I can’t even imagine it. Couldn’t picture it to save my life.

“I have a plan,” Ansel says.

I look back up at him, just as a moth flutters to me. I hold my hand out and it lands on my finger.

“You and I,” he says. “Before we run out of time - we’re going to go into his dream.”

The moth crawls to my fingertip, tickling me. Its wings are beating even though it’s not in flight. I shake my head at Ansel. “I don’t have it in me,” I say. “I don’t think I can keep doing this much longer.”

I want to sink into the floor with a heavy fatigue as I say it, but I force myself to stay focused - because, what happens to Ansel when the illusion of this dream is gone?

The moth dances at the edge of my finger. Then it flies away.

“Even on my best night,” I say, “I don’t think I can do a three-way call.”

I’m scared. I don’t want to hop into Henry’s head, only to ‘hang up,’ on Ansel. I don’t think he’s okay. My heart thuds. I find another point of contrition - one that feels safer to voice aloud.

“If I do, he’ll be just as tangled up in our heads as we’ll be in his.”

“Not if you don’t want him to be.” Ansel lifts my chin. He produces the cigarette carton from his pocket. “Remember? There are no cigarettes - and there is no spoon.”

“You did not just quote ‘The Matrix’ at me.”

He extracts a cigarette and lights it. “Baby, I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

I stare at him for a half beat before we both laugh.

“I can tell,” I say. “Maybe more than the sex.”

He holds up his hands, like he’s weighing it out on a scale. Then he winks.

I summon what’s left in me. It feels like fumes, but when I look around us again, we’re somewhere new. Somewhere that feels instantly different.

It’s bright and sunny. Smiling people. The smell of cut grass. Flowers blooming, and -

Polka music?

Ansel shrugs and I smile, in spite of it all. “Wow.”

We’re standing on a sidewalk outside of a restaurant. We look inside the window. Henry and Maggie are sitting at a large table filled with their families. They’re talking and laughing. Henry is smiling while he eats a pile of pancakes, shoveling in bites with a gusto.

“This is definitely Henry’s head.” Ansel means it as banter, I think, but his face is suddenly filled with sadness.

I wrap both of my arms around him. He kisses the top of my head. Then tilts his head and lays it against mine.

What if this is the last time we’re together?

Henry keeps looking over, catching Maggie’s eye. The love he has for her is palpable, even stationed outside, watching through the windows. I feel my own pang of hurt, thinking of Maggie, and what this will do to her when she finds out.

I spring back from the window. A swarm of spiders is crawling across the glass.

“Guess it’s not all it seems.” Ansel leans in to peer at the spiders. He looks at me. “I want to know why.”

I nod to him, feeling grim.

We watch as the spiders scurry up by the thousands, blocking everything from sight.