Thirty years later

The svelte dancer turned on the music and began to practice the dance again. Move. Move to the rhythm, it felt good. Better yet, it felt right this time. Slow, smooth, seductive. Hell yes, seductive. This time he intended to make it to the top. Before long, he would be out of this funhouse. Words couldn't describe how sick he was of this place. First on the hate list were the menial tasks this place made him do. He had started in the kitchen and managed to grease his way to the elite job of unit housekeeper. Second on the list were the pathetic attempts at rehabilitation, also known as therapy. By now he could be a damned therapist. All it took was memorizing a few standard phrases, such as "How do you feel about that?" or "What are the consequences if you follow through with that?" Consequences. Now there was something he could write a book about. Another word the staff seemed to like around here was "control". "You need better control. Control yourself. If you continue to act like ..." which was synonymous with they were about to take control for you, which was never going to end well. Usually that meant lockdown in seclusion.

"Hey, I hear your number's coming up. You think they're gonna bounce you back on the streets, loverboy?"

Gliding across the gymnasium floor, he chose to ignore the man's remark. It was probably best to be cautious, even with some brainstem like Barney. This was no time to lose his temper and give them a reason to cancel his parole hearing next week.

"Everyone here knows all about what you did to that guy. You're pretty close to a homicidal maniac."

"If you're homicidal, then get away from me."

"Very funny. I meant you, loverboy."

"I'm not homicidal." He breathed between dance steps. "I'm rehabilitated."

"Bullshit. You're a fucking sociopath. You'll never change and everyone knows that."

"I've paid my dues. Three hundred and twelve therapy sessions. I've earned my freedom."

"That's not how I heard it. As long as that guy is still alive, he will see to it you are parked here until the day he dies, plus ten years."

In one swift pirouette, he gracefully pinned Barney by the throat, sliding him to the smooth tile floor as if it were all part of a simple dance routine. Smiling at his gaping expression, he squeezed him, just a little. "Why are you pushing me? Fuck this up for me, and I'll demonstrate all my sociopathic tricks on you, you ugly bastard. Since you know so much about me, maybe you'd like to sample my specialty, what do you say?" It would be so easy to snap his scrawny neck. Too easy. But he no longer felt the urge to destroy. Medication had subdued his violent urges. Loosening his grip, his head was pounding, threatening a migraine like it always did when he came close to blowing. Suddenly he felt like throwing up and released Barney, letting him fall to the floor. "And don't ever call me "Loverboy." I hate that."

"What's going on in here?" A security guard was walking their way. When neither moved to answer, the dancer responded.

"I'll take seclusion." It would be safer there. No one was going to ruin his chances, not when he was this close to being released. It had been a lot of tears, torturous therapy sessions and lost time. A whole section of his life was gone, like so many pages torn out of the middle of a book. Meekly following the guard, he sighed as the door locked behind him. The day was almost here. No more locks and keys. He could walk outside in the sunshine without being under the watchful eyes of guards. He could go out again, dancing and dating, and meeting new friends. Oh God, how he dreamed of making up for lost time in that category. His body ached for pleasure, often waking him in the night. No more lights out and bed checks. Sipping wine under the phosphorescent moonlight, while studying his girlfriend's beautiful face, and then gently, ever so easily, making love to her. No more pills shoved down his throat ... Life would once again be a lovely affair, just like before. His lessons learned. No more ...

Aspen, Colorado 2013

"Can you tell me how you're feeling today?"

Sera closed her eyes, picturing Michael's broad smile and dark mesmerizing eyes. She didn't want to remember the way he looked on Christmas Eve when cradled in her arms, cancer had finally claimed his life. He had slipped away from her just as he had vanished in high school, never to return. "Michael was the love of my life. You want to know how I'm feeling? I feel that everything I ever believed in has been lost. I feel like I lied to him. My faith and beliefs meant nothing. I didn't help him at all. Without meaning to, I hurt him." That thought would haunt her to her grave. Guilt and remorse was eating at her in the same way Michael's cancer had consumed him. This was her karma.

She sat before the psychologist as she had so many times before. Over the past year, she had often felt as helpless as the logs that were softly crackling in the fireplace, disintegrating in the fire. While she knew that she needed to move on, she wasn't sure where to begin. Closing her eyes, Sera could envision Michael, lying across the bed; candlelight bathed the contours of his face in pale light. Why wasn't he breathing? Shaking him gently, she had called his name. Vaguely she recalled someone pulling her away. She jumped at Dr. Lavender's hand on her shoulder.

"Michael's been dead for almost a year now. While no one would expect you to forget someone so special, I believe Michael would want to see you moving on." Dr. Lavender took note that, once again, Sera had brought in pictures. One time she came to a therapy session carrying a suitcase of his clothes. To be honest, it made the doctor feel strange viewing them. It was as if Sera were trying to piece him together again, like the story about Humpty Dumpty. "You know, I have to ask if you ..."

"Last week I thought I saw Michael. This was the third time in two weeks."

"I worry about you, alone in that cabin." Dr. Lavender watched her closely. "Why don't you go to California and spend some time with your friends, Joe and Anni?"

"Maybe I will." The fire was beginning to feel oppressively hot. She had to get air and couldn't breathe. "I've got to get out of here ... Now ... I can't breathe." Bolting for the door, she dropped an envelope of pictures, scattering the leftovers of her life to the floor.

Dr. Lavender started to go after her, then changed her mind. Picking up the photos, she mumbled to herself, "You took her with you, didn't you, Michael?" Michael's photograph smiled back at her. She tucked the pictures in her desk, sighing. "What am I going to do with you, Seraphine Dolanski?"

* * *

Standing in the middle of the great room, Sera stared at cold ashes in the fireplace. It occurred to her she had never once considered building a fire. There hadn't been a fire since the one Michael had built on their honeymoon. Drifting abysmally to the television, she put in a DVD and watched him sing and dance across the stage. "It wasn't really your fault. I couldn't cure you. I know we tried everything we could. Do you hear me talking to you?" He danced on, laughing with DJ, enjoying the moment. She clicked it off.

Wandering to the kitchen, her footsteps made no sound on the hardwood floor. A dish of pudding sat alone on the refrigerator shelf. Taking a tiny nibble, she turned to the window. Outside, it had begun to snow, flakes gently floating from heaven as silent as angel's wings. The panoramic mountain landscape rose majestically above leaden clouds. Instead of Aspen's beauty, she saw her reflection in the window, peering back. Somehow she looked the same, but different. Older? No ... Sick? Maybe. Sad. You look sad. In the distance she saw a man standing alone, looking towards the cabin. He had shoulder length black hair and was wearing a long coat. Michael? She couldn't see his face. He turned and walked away. Sera put her hand on the cold glass of the window. Come back! Then he was gone. What was the matter with her? Everyone else had gone on with their lives. Joe and Anni were living in San Francisco with their son. Gina had found someone to love and finally married. DJ was probably having fun out there somewhere. He called now and then, and it was nice that his father let her live here, at least until she decided where she wanted to be. "I want to go home." The only problem was she didn't know where home was anymore.

"Alright. Stop playing with your food and eat your breakfast. Here, let mommy help you." She took the spoon out of his chubby fist and tried scooping a spoonful of oatmeal into little Michael's disinterested mouth. Chortling at their fun game, cereal dribbled down his chin. "Good, huh?" For whatever reason, her son had decided food was no longer a necessity to sustain life; rather it had become a form of entertainment to hurl or spit at parents. As if to prove his point, the little boy puckered up his lips and blew nutrition across the room. Clapping with glee, his hand hit the edge of the bowl, spinning it crazily like a Frisbee to the floor. Gray lumps plastered to the tile like glue.

"Yuck boy." He giggled, smearing sticky fingers through his already matted hair.

"That's an understatement. Just look at the mess you've created for me this morning." Grabbing a towel, she began wiping his hands and face. The floor would simply have to wait for the morning scrub down.

Strolling into the kitchen, Joe leaned over, carefully kissing his wife on the cheek. Sidestepping the anemic blob stuck to the floor, he dutifully began to mop up the mess baby Michael had so joyously perpetrated. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his son swirling oatmeal like mousse through his curls.

"Hankerns." He reached for his daddy.

"They're called fingers. Naughty little fingers, I might add." Joe nodded to Anni. "That is not the way to treat your mommy."

Anni padded across the kitchen, wearing a grey flannel house robe, fuzzy pink slippers and a deep frown, while balancing two mugs of coffee. "Eggs were yesterday's masterpiece. I don't know what's worse to clean up, eggs or oatmeal." She set Joe's mug on the table.

"You wear both well, sweetheart."

She chuckled, wrinkling her nose. Anni plopped into a chair, swirling cream into her caffeine as Joe plucked the squirming child out of the high chair, planting him on the floor.

"What does he enjoy in the morning on TV?"

"He likes anything as long as it's loud and moves fast." Anni toyed with a leftover cinnamon roll from two mornings ago.

"Okay, buddy, let's give mommy a break." Easily swinging the youngster into his arms, he whisked him into the next room, depositing him in front of the television. "Be a good sport and give me ten minutes with your mother. It might save your life." Clicking on the remote, he patted his son on the head. Cold lumps of oatmeal stuck to his hand. Yuck boy alright.

Pausing in the doorway, he studied his wife as she sat, staring into her coffee mug as fervently as a tea leaf reader. Usually she was playful and fun to be with, but lately that had turned into tired, irritable and "not tonight". Where had the woman he married gone? Was this the same woman that not so long ago organized a fundraiser for cancer awareness, in Michael's behalf? Instead of her conscience, the only thing she raised now was her voice, mostly in the direction of their mischievous son. Not only that, but for the past six months they had been trying unsuccessfully to have another baby. After weeks of excuses and varied attempts, they decided to see a fertility specialist. Joe broke new ground and went first, relieved to find out everything was fine, which meant it must be Anni. She had an appointment today to go over her results. Perhaps that was what was bothering her this morning. Unfortunately, he couldn't go with her, since he was booked solid at the university counseling center, where he now had a new career as a therapist, since he had a degree in psychology.

Sitting down next to her, he began massaging her shoulders. "Let's change the appointment so we can talk to the doctor together."

"I'm a big girl. I'll be fine." She stretched. "By the way, that feels wonderful."

"But I want to be supportive." He continued to work out the knots in her neck. "Is that what's been bothering you lately?"

Smiling, she reached up and took his hand. "Obviously, Michael took good care of us and I don't need to work." Their home was in an area north of San Francisco called Mill Valley. They picked living there because it was out of the hubbub of the city but close enough to enjoy downtown. One of the things Anni had realized from living in Michael's Maui home was that she appreciated his minimalist style and use of light and space. She now duplicated his sophistication in her own home, with the exception of Joe's love of soft leather couches instead of rattan. She loved the high ceilings, dark bamboo floors and tropical verandas. Between the skylights and wide windows, the rooms were always full of dancing sunlight and shadows. It was like being on vacation in your own home, though she would always miss Maui. Anni continued, "But sometimes, I have this feeling that I should be doing more with my life. Of course I enjoy being a mother, but something seems to be missing."

Joe nodded. "I guess that never occurred to me. You've spent your life working, so it's kind of like being retired for you."

"You try saying retired and mother in the same sentence and get back to me. Being a mother is a full time job." She wrinkled her nose. "It's not that I'm bored, really. Well, maybe a little, sometimes. I don't know how to explain it, I guess. That's why I don't say anything. It sounds so whiney. You have patients you visit at the hospital and at the counseling center. What do I contribute?"

"Well, maybe when Michael goes down for his nap, you can make a list of things that interest you. Tonight, when I get home we can review it together."

Anni made a face. "You did not just give me a homework assignment."

He was about to respond when a telephone rang. They still had a land-line for emergencies. Anni out maneuvered him with ease. "It's for you. The hospital." She poured another cup of coffee.

Hastily scribbling something on a paper napkin, which was the only thing he could find not covered in oatmeal, Joe frowned at the message as if it was a clue in a scavenger hunt.

"What's the matter, Joe?"

"There's a guy in the emergency room asking for me."

"One of your patients?"

"I don't know. Some guy named Daniel. I'm not sure if that's his first or last name."

"Well, you'd better get going ... another soul to save."

He planted a quick kiss on her head. "Don't forget to call me after your appointment. You're the top priority on my mind today."

"Aren't I always number one?" She had a half-teasing smile.

"Of course you are."

"Bullshit. Get out of here before another poor creature has a nervous breakdown without you."

For one brief moment he actually felt sorry for her. The sink was full of dirty dishes, the Quaker-caked baby, piles of laundry and toys everywhere. He mumbled to himself, "Maybe we need to hire a housekeeper." Fumbling for his keys, he slid behind the wheel of his car. "Love you, Anni. Even without sex or clean socks."

While driving to the hospital, Joe thought back over the last few years. It hadn't been that long ago when he was a priest and Anni was a nurse in Marysville, California. Then, Michael and his buddy, DJ had breezed into town and into their lives. Of all the people in the world, he had never imagined his best friend would be a famous rock musician. Diagnosed with cancer, Michael had asked Anni to come to his home in Maui and help him during chemotherapy treatments. Anni went, and soon after, Joe followed her. He had never considered leaving the priesthood anymore than he had envisioned falling in love. But Michael had quietly shown him that falling in love was worth the risk. Before Michael's death, he and Anni were not only married, but had a baby boy together. Now, their little self-made family was scattered everywhere. DJ was somewhere in Malibu and Sera, Michael's widow was staying in Aspen. He missed them all, but mostly he missed his best friend, Michael. Leaving Maui had been the hardest good-bye of his life. Even today, he felt homesick thinking about their lives in Maui.