Gabriel suddenly wished he’d downed a few more shots. Maybe then he would’ve been ready for what lay beyond that door. He should have told Yvonne that he was coming. She loved Gareth, and she would’ve been there in a heartbeat if she knew how sick the old man was. If she were there, she could’ve supported him. As it was, he instead hovered outside the door, legs twitching with the desire to run away.
Father Gareth’s trench coat and fedora were hanging on two hooks beside the door. Gabriel stroked the trench coat. For the first time, he noticed that a cross had been sewn on the inside of each sleeve. Don’t worry. He’ll wear it again. Old Gareth is fine. Just a little sick, that’s all.
Gabriel took in a deep breath and opened the door. Gareth was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets atop a twin bed. The priest had always been an exceptionally tall man, but his body looked as shrunken as an Egyptian mummy. An aged hardcover edition of Dostoyevsky’s The Idiot lay on the nightstand.
“Sorry to stay in bed this way,” Gareth said. He paused often between words to take in a breath. “It’s just harder to get up these days.”
“I understand,” Gabriel whispered.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Gabriel. Thank you for coming.”
A bulky oxygen concentrator stood beside the bed, and a hose snaked from it to the nasal cannula plugged into Gareth’s nostrils. The lymph nodes in his neck were swollen and discolored, and his once-luxurious beard was ratty and yellowed. Thin blue lines created an intricate latticework of veins across his papery skin. His knuckles and joints were a dark, purplish color, and his lips were a bruised color. In healthcare, that effect was referred to as modeling. And once modeling started, it meant only one thing, which Gabriel was absolutely unwilling to accept.
“How did this happen to you?” Gabriel asked.
“Old age?” Gareth chucked. “I guess the lymph nodes have been swollen for a while. Ever since I had that blood transfusion, some time ago.”
Gabriel wanted to punch himself. He should’ve been there. He should have warned Gareth. Gabriel pushed aside a stack of books and knelt beside the bed. “You can go to the hospital. You can—”
“I’m just fine right here.” The old man reached out and clasped Gabriel’s hand with ice-cold fingers.
Gabriel closed his eyes. “Don’t give up.” He squeezed the priest’s hand. “I need you.”
Gareth’s short, rattling breaths echoed through the room, and Gabriel knew that it was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life. “Gabriel, my friend, a life without death wouldn’t be a life at all, now would it?”
“You can fight this. Give me time. I’ll find a cure.”
“It’s okay. I’m an old geezer, remember? I’m supposed to die.”
“Not yet. Don’t die on me.”
“Gabriel, you have to—”
“Don’t leave me alone in this terrible goddamn world. You’re one of the only two people who have ever understood me. Yvonne and I… we’re not doing well. I think I messed everything up. I need you.”
Father Gareth’s eyes narrowed, then his smile was replaced by a look of deep sadness. “You’re drunk.”
Gabriel lowered his head. “I’m not.”
“Don’t bother lying to me. I know you too well.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“It’s too late for me to change anything.” Gareth paused, gasping for air. “But if there’s one thing that you could grant me, it’s this.”
“Don’t talk that way.”
“My one wish… please, Gabriel, listen to me. Stop destroying yourself. Please… please stop destroying yourself.”
Bile rose in the back of Gabriel’s throat. “I’m not destroying myself. I know my limits. Sure, I drank too much when I was younger, but I was a kid. I know better now. And yes, I did have a few drinks on the way here, but right now, I’m simply using alcohol as a pressure valve. It’s just a temporary thing, because if you haven’t noticed, my life is kind of falling apart. Nobody wants to fund my research. I got fired again last month. You’re sick. And now Yvonne is saying… she’s saying…” Gabriel grabbed the wastebasket beside the nightstand. He shut his eyes to block the sight of the pile of bloody tissues in the bottom of it, stuck his face over the rim, and vomited. “Father,” he said, panting, “really, it’s just—” He vomited again.
Father Gareth leaned forward and patted Gabriel’s back. Gabriel looked up to see that the old man was clutching a rosary, and his lips were mouthing the words of the Our Father. Eventually, Gabriel could breathe again. He raised his head and wiped the drool from his lips.
“Are you okay?” Gareth asked.
“I’m sorry. Hell, I’m sorry.”
Father Gareth winked. “I forgive you.”
“Don’t die,” Gabriel pleaded. “You were the first person who ever gave me a chance. I can’t do it without you. I just can’t.” Gabriel swiped at his tears with his shirt sleeve. His stomach groaned.
“Yeah, you can.” The old priest smiled.
“You don’t get it. I always mess things up. I—”
Gareth raised a hand. “You’ll straighten up and get past all of this drunken nonsense. I have faith in you, faith in your willpower, faith in your determination, your drive, your brilliant mind. Gabriel, you’ve been an inspiration to me; I hope you know that. You’re one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever met.”
“Stop! Stop acting like this is a done deal, like it’s already over, and you’re saying goodbye.”
“But this is goodbye. I know you don’t want to admit this, but we both know that I’m going to die soon. Days, weeks, hours, who knows? But whenever it happens, just know that you won’t ever lose me. Because after I die, my soul will always be—”
“No, damn it! Don’t you dare give up on real life just because you believe that some imaginary old man with a beard will pluck your soul out of your body and pull you up into the sky. Don’t you dare let go of life for the sake of a fairytale!”
Gareth rolled his eyes. “Gabriel—”
“Gareth, there’s no such thing as a soul. People turn to dust when they die. This soul idea, these ridiculous spiritual notions that you’re giving up your life for, it’s a fantasy. A waste of time. It’s the same bullshit ideas that my parents tried to shove down my throat my whole life, and I’m sick of hearing them.”
Gabriel was shaking. The words had spewed out of him before he could think about what he was saying. He’d always tried to avoid the faith conversation, terrified that it might shatter the bond between them. But he noticed that Father Gareth’s smile was just as delighted as ever. The old priest’s faith was like an eternal candle, protecting him from every monster in the shadows. Gabriel didn’t understand it. On some level, he admired that ability to retain belief in the unseen, but it still didn’t make any sense to him.
