At the Alfred Hospital, I found Desi standing anxiously in the waiting area just near Michael’s room. When she saw me, her face brightened and we fell into one another’s arms and hugged warmly and deeply. I pulled back and asked her what had happened, while leading her over to the nearby chairs. We took a seat as Desi began her account.

“Well, the doctors are in with him at the moment,” she said. “They haven’t left his room since it happened… it all happened so fast!” Desi cried, wide-eyed. “I’d been sitting with him for twenty minutes or so and then he moved and groaned or something… then his eyes opened and he spoke! He actually spoke!” she exclaimed, clearly overjoyed.

I shared in her enthusiasm, but I was eager for more details, so urged her to continue. At that point she frowned and made a face, pursing her lips in consideration.

“Well,” Desi began, “it didn’t make a whole lot of sense, to tell you the truth. But when you take into account what he’s been through, I guess that’s understandable, yeah?” And I nodded, supposing that she had a point.

“He was speaking kind of soft and low, at first… he sounded … lost or something; confused… but sad and sacred, too,” she said, staring into my eyes with her own twin, dark pools of pain. “He said something like ’Please don’t do this… I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die… please stop…’” She paused for a moment and looked down at her hands which she had balled themselves up into anxious, white-knuckled fists. “It was like he was waking up from some terrible, terribel nightmare or something… Made my skin go all cold and gooselumpy…”

I reflected on the words carefully and found myself suppressing my own shiver of discomfort, not to mention a bout of ‘gooselumpies’.

“Did he say anything else?” I asked her. “Did he seem ok otherwise…?”

Desi shook her head. “Like I said, it happened so fast. I called for the nurse and then there were doctors and nurses and God knows who else in the room and then they made me leave and I’ve been stuck, waiting out here, ever since, and no one will tell me anything,” she said, sounding close to tears. “So I called you, and then Tish. Oh, and Alexander, too.”

I nodded. “Good thinking. Is Tish on her way?” Desi nodded, stating Tish had indicated she’d arrive within 20 minutes or so. “And what did Alexander say?” I was particularly interested in his response to Michael’s revival – now at last, so many questions would be put to rest.

“He was shocked, naturally,” Desi said, “But really pleased. He’s still in the lab but is going to be here soon,” she told me.

But I wondered. “Hmmm… aside from when they first brought Michael in, do you know if Alexander’s been by to visit him at all?” I tried to make the question sound as innocent and as nonchalant as possible. Fortunately, given Desi’s emotional state, it appeared that she’d missed the sinister insinuation lurking behind it.

She shrugged. “Um, I don’t know, Puck… I don’t think so, no. Think he’s been stuck at the lab a lot,” she said, as if apologising for him. I just nodded thoughtfully.

Head held low, he greeted us quietly. The girls embraced him in turn, but for a reason I could not define, I held back and just offered him a polite smile and an equally banal ‘hello’, before asking him how he was.

His response was minimalistic, each word one or two syllables in length, and in the end he didn’t reveal much at all. But he did ask after Michael and what developments had taken place since he’d regained consciousness.

“We’re still waiting for the doctors to tell us something,” I replied. He looked surprised. I also noticed that his hands, buried deep in his pockets, were once more fidgeting in their typically hidden fashion. He turned to Desi and when he inquired how Michael’s reawakening had taken place, she happily ran through the details one more time, altering little of the tale she’d first told me.

“Wow,” Alexander said, then sighed and used one hand to scratch the back of his head. “This is… well... its great news Isn’t it?” he looked round at each of us. The girls nodded, smiling and uttering affirmations, and I did my best to match their responses, but I was deeply troubled by what I had learned earlier in the day from Leo Clarke which would appear to call into question Alexander’s version of events.

“You looked like you were having a great time at the party last night,” Desi remarked to Alexander. He smiled sheepishly and offered a small, embarrassed chuckle.

“Yeah… yeah, I had a good time. The people there were really nice,” he said. “We ended up at The Depot for awhile,” he went on to say. “Got pretty drunk… ended up getting into the lab late this morning. But it was ok, my supervisor kind of knows what’s been going on with Michael, so she’s cut me a bit of slack.”

Tish nodded thoughtfully, as did Desi, the latter adding: “Well babe, you deserve a bit of a big night out and some fun and a chance to relax,” Desi informed him. “You saved Michael’s life. And while we owe you big time for that one, I bet Michael’s going to be even more chuffed with you.”

He shifted in ungainly fashion where he stood, avoiding our eyes. “May be, may be not… he might be, y’know, pissed with me for stopping him from… well, y’know… doing what he wanted to do.”

“Assuming, of course,” I interrupted, “that you – that is we - actually know what it was Michael wanted at the time.” The remark came out sounding more pointed than intended. But before anyone could react to it, a doctor emerged from Michael’s room and moved towards us.

“You’re here for Michael McDermott…?” he surmised, and we assented. “Very good. Well, best we have a word or two then,” he said and stood before us. “It looks promising. Michael’s vitals are much improved. And while he wasn’t conscious for long, and did appear a little disorientated, the fact that he was able to regain consciousness at all is cause for a sense of optimism…”

In the background, I spied Jason Naylor, in his nurse’s attire, wandering out of Michael’s room. We glared at one another coolly. It rankled me to think of him being anywhere near Michael. But I seemed to be the only one in the group who noticed Jason’s presence.

“You mean he’s out of it again?” The disappointment was evident in both Desi’s voice and in her dark, sweet face.

The doctor nodded. “I’m afraid so. It can happen sometimes. But as I said, it is a good sign, and there’s no reason to believe he won’t come out of this sooner than expected,” he said with a warm smile. “For the moment, he’s resting peacefully enough. Why don’t you go on in and say hello…?” he said encouragingly.

It seemed the only course f action, although our earlier enthusiasm was diminished considerably. We moved to his room as the rest of the medical staff filed out one by one and we took up positions around Michael in his bed. I could not help but think it was almost as if we were looking upon his body as he lay in state, awaiting burial, for despite his recent – and brief – return to our World, Michael’s physical appearance seemed little improved; still unearthly pale and waif-like; all too vulnerable and lost for my liking.

I glanced over at Alexander who stood on the opposite side of the bed on his own. I found myself thinking over his words – and my response to them – again. And I wondered: ’He’s been our friend – he’s been one of Michael’s closest friends – for years; how can I possibly consider Alexander as a serious suspect…?’ My stomach churned itself to a state of sourness, and once again a question floated through my mind, a question that was beginning to take on a new shape, with new connotations: ’Why?’

For a moment of cautious celebration, none of us had much to say, it seemed. I was part way through a cigarette as the girls exchanged light gossip. I cleared my throat, took a sip of the bubbly, then interrupted.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said. “A few ‘something’s’, as it turns out,” I corrected. The girls looked at me expectantly, and so I proceeded to fill them in on my probings into Michael’s suicide attempt. I told them everything concerning Leo Clarke, Sevastian Von Dahl and yes, even Alexander.

“Puck, you cannot possibly think Alexander had anything to do with this!” Desi cried, and Tish nodded, voicing her own disbelief.

“He looks up to Michael so much, hun,” Tish pointed out. “I mean, ok, something went screwy between them recently. But Alexander still cares a lot about Michael. And remember – he saved Michael’s life; he spent the better part of the day looking after him. Remember how upset and worried he was when he spoke to us over the phone…? Checking to see he was doing things right…?”

“I know, I know,” I agreed, nodding. “I’ve put Alexander in the ’It’s Pretty Bloody Unlikely’ basket… but still, you have to admit, the whole thing about the timing of when he got back to the flat is kinda’ weird….”

“There’s gotta' be some other explanation, babe,” Desi said earnestly. “But this tuff with Sevastian… now that’s weird!” she cried. “If anyone – aside from that nut job, Leo – could do something bad to Michael, then I’m putting my money on Sevastian. He’s a total arsehole,” she said contemptuously.

“And it’s always possible that someone else let themselves into Michael and Alexander’s flat,” Tish added helpfully. “We don’t know who has keys to the place, do we? You should talk to Alexander about it, when the right moment comes up,” she suggested.

I nodded and took another drink from my glass.

“Hey slut features,” I responded.

“Cock pus,” he sneered tartly.

“Butt crack breath.”

“Kangaroo cock muncher,” Nicky hissed.

“Yeah well, now that we’ve revisited some of your Mum’s pet names for you…. What are you up to?” I asked him.

“Oh God…” He groaned. “Puck, it’s like three o’clock on a weekday, right? So what would any self-respecting faggot, who doesn’t have to work, be doing, hmmm?”

I thought for a moment, then sighed as realisation hit me in the face. It was wet, warm and sticky. “You’re downloading porn, aren’t you?” I asked bluntly, sounding bored and not all that surprised.

“Oh yeah baby!” Nicky whooped enthusiastically. “Puck, I swear – if I took a spatula to the walls and ceiling, I’d be able to scrape off enough jisim to open my own sperm bank.”

I made a face of mild revulsion. “May be. But the question is: who’d want to make a withdrawal?” I asked, and before he had time to respond, I added: “I’ll call you back when your hands are free, ok?”

“It’s cool, don’t sweat it babe,” Nicky replied nonchalantly. “I’m using the blue-tooth, so we can keep chatting…”

“Oh dear God, no!” I cried, almost gagging. “Please tell me you’re not – “

“Chill out, Puck! Gawd!” He exclaimed, sounding annoyed. “I can do two things at once, y’know…?” He actually sounded proud of himself. “So … speak – what’s up?” He immediately broke into a fit of giggles before adding: “Aside from me, that is…?”

Speaking as calmly as was possible, given the circumstances, I answered with: “I have to go now and bludgeon myself with a sledgehammer. Call me when the big romance is over.”

“You are the most uptight poof I’ve ever met,” Nicky bellowed. “No bloody wonder you can’t get fu – “ The rest of his sage observation was cut off as I disconnected the call.

There was dead silence from the other end of the line. Then a rather pensive: “Um… Puck…?” It was Alexander.

“Oh… crap,” I cried. “Alexander! Sorry, thought you were someone else…” I explained lamely. “So hey – what’s going on?”

“I thought I should tell you right away,” Alexander said. “I found something when I got home today,” he told me. “Sitting on the dining room table. Michael must’ve placed it there right before he… y’know,” he said delicately. “I reckon that’s why he made a point of mentioning the Rent Card in his email to me… to make sure I went looking for it and then I’d find the rest…”

“Hold on, hold on,” I cried, mildly annoyed. “Mate, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. “What did you find?”

“A disc. A computer disc,” he replied. “It’s got two documents on it… letters… they’re addressed to us,” he added. “I didn’t notice it before because picking up the Rent Card wasn’t at the top of my priority list,” he explained.

“Sure, sure,” I said thoughtfully, frowning to myself. “Have you read them?” I asked.

“It’s not as simple as that… I mean, I started to, but … well, look, it’s probably better if you just come round and see for yourself,” Alexander suggested. I agreed and told him I’d be at his apartment within a couple of minutes.

“Have you called the girls yet?” I asked him. He hadn’t, but assured me he would be phoning them next. At that point we rang off and I reached for my shoes. The phone rang again as I struggled to slip on my emerald green Converse sneakers. I took a moment to check the caller ID this time and was pleased to see it was Nicky.

“Hey wanker,” I said with over-the-top cheerfulness. “Was it good for you?”

“Honey, it was fan-fucking-tastic! Sex with Nicky French is always an earth shattering experience,” he boasted.

“Yeah, so is a volcanic eruption, but I wouldn’t necessarily want to stick my dick in one,” I quipped.

“Up yours with a twirling lawn mower, skank,” he countered. “So why’d you call?” he sniffed with an air of attitude.

I slipped on the other sneaker. “Can’t talk now. Got to get to Michael and Alexander’s place. But may be we could meet before I start work tonight? There’s some stuff I need to talk to you about.”

Nicky was happy to do that, so we made a time to get together. I started work at The Depot at ten o’clock that evening. We agreed to meet at the venue for a quick drink an hour beforehand. I hung up, tied my shoelaces, grabbed the house keys from the coffee table and bolted out the front door of the apartment, wondering what Michael had left for us on the computer disc.

As Alexander led the way to his bedroom, with the cats and I following, he explained that he’d called Desi and Tish and told them what was going on. They, in turn, would be around as soon as humanly possible; Tish would arrive within the hour while Desi would have to wait until she’d finished work for the day.

I was surprised that Alexander was home from the lab so early, given that it was not yet 3:30pm. When I voiced my curiosity, he replied that after the events at the hospital, he’d been too distracted to concentrate on lab work. “I ended up rupturing the veins of a couple of my rats,” he informed me as we approached his desk and PC. I made a face of mild revulsion: Ruptured the veins of his rats? That doesn’t sound like something the rats would’ve particularly enjoyed…’

Alexander sat in front of the enormous screen of his very expensive and new looking computer. From a nearby printer he picked up a few of sheets of paper from the output tray and handed them to me. “Like I said… there were two letters on the disc,” and he reached across the orderly desktop to pick up a standard looking floppy disc. He held it up meaningfully. “One was addressed to you, Desi and Tish,” he explained. “And the other one… it was addressed to me,” he concluded.

I couldn’t hide the surprise from my face. I was immediately curious as to why Michael had penned, or rather typed, two separate letters. I wondered what he had written to Alexander, and how his letter differed from the one addressed to the three of us.

“So when I asked if you read them, you said you started to…? I take it you didn’t read them completely?” I looked over the letter in my hand. It started with: ’To my dearest Puck, Desi and Tish…’. I read no further, looking back into Alexander’s face.

“Yeah, well I realised that your letter was meant for you guys and you guys alone. Only read the first paragraph...” he told me. "Then I printed it off so you guys could go over it...”

”Thanks,” I said absently. “And what about the letter he left for you?” I asked bluntly.

He shook his head, then looked round at his computer while sliding the disc into the disk drive. “I haven’t been able to open it. Something’s wrong with the document. When it opens up, the page is full of weird characters and crap…”

“Show me,” I urged him. Alexander deftly ran through the Windows OS until he had the appropriate disc drive open. We could see the two documents, in Microsoft Word, sitting on the disc’s content. One was labeled For Alexander, and the other labeled For Puck, Desi and Tish.

He clicked on the former and a new window opened as the PC ran through MS Word A warning dialogue box pop up advising that the desired document was found to be corrupted, then asked if the user wanted to proceed with opening it anyway. Alexander hit Yes and moments later a document opened and as Alexander had indicated, the white page was filled with line after line of square blocks, Cyrillic symbols and assorted gobbledygook. There was no way of telling what the letter had originally contained.

He turned to me helplessly. “Any ideas on how to fix it…?”

I shrugged. “Don’t look at me, matey, you’re the brain, remember?” I replied. “Looks to me it’s had the dick. Sorry,” I said, and then turned my attention back onto the letter in my hand. I edged my way over to Alexander’s large, soft bed and sat down to read.

’To my dearest Puck, Desi and Tish,

Pucky-Duck, Dippy-Desi and Tizzy-Tish…’

’… my precious cherubs - there aren’t enough words, or the right words, to say how sorry I am for what I am putting you (and everyone else I care about) through.

The first thing you must know: I chose this path, no one pushed me. I made this decision months ago and have been quietly working to this goal.

As lame as this sounds, my precious cherubs, don’t be sad. I’ve got what I’ve longed for… an end to this bone tiring pain. I know you will also be angry, confused… I just hope that one day you will forgive me, and understand.

There are some practical matters I’d like to address. I do not have a Will (I’ve left it too late to get one organised… it was one thing that slipped my mind). Given my meager possessions, I can’t imagine it being a huge issue…’

’That’s the main part done. But there still remain a few practicalities to attend to.

One thing that is reasonably important to me…. and it’s kind of weird bringing it up: funeral. I do not want a church funeral. If my parents choose at some date to have a memorial service in a church, that’s up to them, and I respect that. But you guys know how I feel about the church (which wishes my kind and me dead), so I’d rather have a little gathering in the Royal Botanical Gardens in St. Kilda. Nothing fancy, nothing morbid. I also want to be cremated. I’d like White Rose Funeral Directors to handle all of that – just ensure Zoë is not directly involved with handling my body, as that would be kind of creepy, though I’m sure she would do it with love…’

I resumed my reading of the letter:

’As for my ashes – I’d like them to go into Port Phillip Bay. I like the idea of bits of me travelling around the world, becoming fish food… guess its the whole ‘Circle of Life’ thing.

Now I would really like for there to be some drinking going on … I don’t want you guys being sad and morbid and stuff… a wake would be nice. Either upstairs at The Depot (assuming management approve) or at Bubble Butt… will leave that up to you, but I’d like to think of you guys having a few glasses of bubbly and a couple of laughs with friends (at my expense, if needs be).

You may want to contact some friends with regards to all of this. If you have access to my mobile phone, the PIN to unlock it is my birth date. You’ll find everyone’s numbers in the address book. If you don’t have access to my phone, I’ve attached a table listing everyone’s name and phone number…’

’Well, we are almost at the end. I know I need not say this, but please, please, please take care of one another, ok? And I am so sorry. But as selfish as it is, I had to do it, truly. I love you guys so much… you have no idea how much. It has been you, and Alexander, who have kept me here these past few years. You cannot imagine (I hope) how hard it is to resist the urge, to hang on day after day after day because your love for others outweighs all else. But I reached a point where my love for others became a part of the problem.

One final thing. I was almost not going to say this… but I will anyway, as it’s not like I can change my mind at some point in the future and come back and go “… And another thing….”

Be good to Alexander. Please take care of him; look after him. Remember that I love Alexander very much… hopefully you will love him, too. Oh sure, I don’t much like him at the moment… God knows, he’s hurt me with some of his thoughtlessness and shallowness, but I’m hardly blameless either. And it’s certainly not his fault that he could never feel the same way about me as I do him. That’s just one of those unfortunate twists of fate, I’m afraid. But I still love the guy… why? I have no idea. I’ve thought about it a million times, trying to understand why I feel the way I do. But there’s no answer, other than this ache in my chest…

OK my precious cherubs. I’ll be watching over you (but not when you’re doing rude things or going to the toilet).

Loving you sweetly, for All Time,
Mickle-Pickle a.k.a. Michael’

Alexander met my eyes hesitantly. “So… um, what did he say?”

“Not a lot,” I lied. I folded the letter over in my hands. “Just that he was sorry about… well, what he did. A lot of it was practical stuff; y’know, who he wanted things to go to and stuff…” My voice trailed off. I found myself pondering the corrupted letter intended for Alexander with heightened interest – had Michael confessed his feelings to Alexander in it? And what other secrets might it contain? Did it reveal the reason behind their apparent falling out, for example? And then I asked myself the obvious question: ’Was the cause of their falling out Michael’s revelation to Alexander about his feelings for him?”

But somehow I couldn’t picture Michael doing that. He was much more the type to keep the secret hidden and getting on with life, pretending nothing was wrong.

My phone rang, startling both Alexander and I. I took it out of the pocket of my jeans and saw that it was Drew calling. I realised I’d forgotten to call him back, as promised earlier. Well, not so much ‘forgotten’ as found reason to delay making the call. So it was with a sense of guilt, and resentment at feeling guilty, that I took his call.

“Hey…” I said to him. “I’m sorry, I meant to call you back, I did, I swear, but things just kinda’ kept popping up,” I offered lamely.

“It’s fine, Puck, really,” he said with annoying sincerity and understanding. “Just wanted to check that you were ok, and that Michael’s ok….?” I gave Drew a quick account of what had transpired at the hospital.

“… I’m at the flat now, with Alexander,” I explained. “We’re waiting on Tish and Desi… Michael left us a computer disc – long story,” I concluded. “Look, can we talk a bit later? Now’s not a great time….”

He was agreeable and so we rang off. A few seconds passed and then my phone bleated, alerting me to a sms. It was from Drew: ’sweetheart, I’m going to wait for u as long as it takes. u r not going to get rid of me that e z ; ) xox’

I wondered to myself just exactly what would it take to push Drew Ducharme away, to lose him from my life, and in light of Michael’s anguish, in terms of his feelings for Alexander, I concluded that I really did not ever want to find out

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