Hallowed Illusions

PROLOGUE

Everyday life is full of strange little quirks that ultimately become unconscious rituals. For instance, when I jump out of the shower I shake like a dog. You know. Get all the water off I can and then towel dry whatever’s left. Then I grab a brush and part my hair. Keven tells me I whistle while I’m doing this. That’s another unconscious ritual. We all do these things, and, invariably over time, they become part of who we are.

That’s not only true with personal care habits, either. God, after all, gave us keen eyesight to be aware of everything in this wondrous world of ours. I like to think most of us never question for a second why we glance at a pretty face or a great body. Our Creator expects His flock to appreciate the beauty He’s given us.

My grandfather is a retired minister—the Fundamentalist kind. I’ve called him Pastor ever since I learned to talk. That title seemed to mean much more to him than grandfather.

Pastor’s now an old man with more than sixty years past since he began his life ministering to the wayward. It’s not important what denomination. Every religion has varying bases for their tenets, some good, and some bad.

He does, however, take a rather critical stand on the sins against his own basic beliefs. There are things in life that when they happen, become so brilliant and vivid with deceit you have to wonder why some people believe one transgression is greater than another.

How would I know about these things? Well, it all began a year ago when I contracted Hepatitis. I’ve recuperated from my illness now. I’ve had plenty of time to digest what happened to our family. Those who know the truth tell me it would have ended exactly the same whether or not I am homosexual. But

you be the judge. Tell me if my monogamous relationship with the man I love with all of my heart is any worse than what I am about to share with you.

CHAPTER 1

Some things in life are a given. You know what I mean. If you step out from under cover during a rainstorm without an umbrella, you get wet. It’s the same deal between me and hospitals. Whenever I go to one, if I’m not already sick, I soon will be. It’s their disgusting odor. Sounds ridiculous, I know. I remember being admitted into St. Joseph’s as a child for appendicitis. The stench of medicinal odors mixed up with the pain in my side and then my stomach started to roll, my nostrils began to burn. It didn’t take long for me to make my statement when I barfed all over one of the nurses prepping me for surgery.

That’s how I felt as they rolled me into the emergency room after I’d fallen and knocked my head against the toilet. I’d been puking my guts out, lost my balance, and bam, the porcelain shrine loomed over me. I suppose I’m lucky I didn’t drown myself by falling face first into the bowl. Poor Keven found me passed out between its base and the wall. His shout brought me around and still managed to scare the hell out of both of us.

I remember moving in and out of consciousness before the ambulance arrived. Keven kept patting my face like you see them do in the movies, speaking my name as if it was a chant. I tried hard not to get mad at him. But with every tap, my head seemed to explode in a starburst. I’d thrown up the contents of my stomach, but it still felt like there was a basketball game going on in there, with the team members trying to make jump shots, missing the basket and bouncing off the backboard.

I’ve never had a case of the flu quite like this one. My body hurt every place. Like when I was ten and the neighborhood bully decided to use me for a punching bag.

There’s the overhead exam-room lights, too. Their brilliance seeped through my eyelids, skewering my brain like shiskabob.

I’ve tried to make light of all this. I’m afraid. An emotion I’m not used to. If I refuse to give this influenza the importance it’s trying to claim, maybe I’ll get brave and recover quicker.

I let out a sigh of relief at the feel of strong, cool hands at the back of my neck. My skin burned hot as the nurse raised my head to slide a plastic mask into place. Finally, those repugnant hospital odors were replaced by the flow of crisp oxygen. The buzzing in my ears mixed in with my caretakers’ hurried whispers as they adjusted lactate drips, set up their workstations, and generally went about their business.

A tinny, dull sound echoed hospital chatter inside my brain. The feminine voice that spoke to me sounded fuzzy. Mr. Collier? Phillip, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?

I’ve always thought those were pretty stupid questions to ask a person who felt as lousy as I did. At that very moment, I didn’t really care where I was. I just wanted to feel better. Silently and slowly, I peeked between my eyelids. I could barely nod my head, but she seemed to understand.

Dr. Avery will be in to see you in just a moment. You gave your friend quite a scare. We’ll let him come in to see you after the doctor leaves. Okay? There wasn’t a whole lot I could do except to weakly blink my acceptance.

The nurse moved to the other side of the bed, giving me a blurry view of the hallway outside my room. Keven slumped against the far wall, his hands jammed into the jeans soiled from the day’s work. His face was turned slightly away, the prominent outline of his clenched jaw signified concern. I felt my heartbeat perform a short somersault as I watched the pain of worry cross my partner’s face. Keven is tough, but we count on each other to hold our lives together. We’re both solid and strong collectively, but leave each other vulnerable and bewildered when separated.

My mind worked to will Keven to look at me. As if sensing my stare, Keven shifted his gaze into the room and made a start for the doorway just as the doctor rushed in. I had only a moment before the door closed, but it was long enough for me to hear the scratchy voice of age assault Keven.

My grandparents had arrived on the scene. Lord, have mercy.

The resident-on-call spent a whopping fifteen minutes in my room, reaffirming his diagnosis, explaining what was wrong. I remained too groggy to pay much attention to his words. I didn’t particularly care what the problem was. I just wanted it fixed.

When he opened the door to leave, I spotted the three people I love most approach the young doctor. Their voices were low, but carried evenly to the bed where I lay.

I’m Pastor Collier, doctor. What can you tell me about my grandson?

Dr. Avery glanced at the trio and extended his hand. He gingerly shook Pastor’s calloused and withered hand, nodding in Keven’s direction as he gently held grandmother’s hand.

You know Phillip was brought in by ambulance a few hours ago. We’ve evaluated his condition. Run routine blood tests and shot four sets of x-rays that show an enlarged liver. He’s suffering from Hepatitis, a very serious disease that can be quite debilitating.

Pastor’s indignant voice rang clear. How on earth would he contract something like that? I watched his frail body turn toward Keven. He get that from you?

Hush, you old fool. Grandmother Abigail spoke with sharp finality. This is our grandson. I don’t care how he got this awful illness; I’m here to make certain he gets well. What else can you tell us, young man?

The doctor’s back was to me, but I’m sure he was trying to be diplomatic when he ignored my grandfather’s questions. We think we’ve caught it in time. As you may suspect, he’s very weak. He’s vomited a great deal and is now slightly dehydrated. The doctor glanced at Keven. "I take it you’re his partner. You’ll need to be tested as well. And I’ll need a history of activities of the past few weeks so we can try to determine where he contracted the disease, and who he may have passed it on to.

We’re starting him on combination therapy of Interferon and Ribavirin. He’ll need bed rest for a while, so I’d like to keep him here for probably a week or so. Just until we’re sure the prescribed treatment is working.

Keven, God bless his soul, was what my grandmother calls a worry-wart. People often comment that he’s a taller version of Michael J. Fox; he even acts like the character on Spin City. You know, choppy, roaming back and forth with energy. But concern for me had him rooted to the spot. I was proud of the way he controlled his unease.

Just tell me where I need to go to get tested. Will he recover fully? Are there side effects I should know about?

"The nurse will arrange for blood testing.

As I said, Phillip is very weak, and nodding in and out of consciousness. There’s no reason all of you can’t see him for a few minutes. Perhaps you could stagger the visits so no more than two are in the room at the same time. Let him know you’re here for him and then let him get on with getting well. We’ll talk about his road to recovery and all the side effects in a few days.

It makes me crazy when people talk about little children in front of them, as if they weren’t even there. That’s how I felt right then. As if I weren’t there, listening to my diagnosis, prognosis and every other ‘gnosis around. I suppose in a sense, I wasn’t. The nurse had given me a slight sedative and I could feel the heaviness of my eyelids.

I watched as Keven and Grandmother Abigail headed for my door. The Pastor settled against the cool, tiled wall. I’ll let you both go in first. Abby, I’ll be in the chapel at the end of the corridor there. Pastor’s arthritic finger pointed out the direction.

A deeper grogginess began to overwhelm me, but I still managed to hear Keven’s response. All right. But Pastor, you can’t leave without seeing Phillip. I know how you feel about our relationship, but he’ll be devastated if you don’t come in to see him. Keven always worried about how people treated me. He wanted to make the world more accepting for everyone.

I’m going to see my grandson as soon as Abigail is done. You don’t need to dictate to me what I should and shouldn’t be doing.

I heard rather than saw Pastor scuffle his way down the hall. In that split second just before I lapsed into oblivion, I knew what he began muttering. I’m sure it was the very same litany he pronounced when I confessed my sexuality to him all those years ago.

I could almost hear him grumbling. I’ll pray for him, Lord. I’ll pray for all of us while I’m at it. I know I’m the carrier of burden and that you expect mankind to do your bidding. To live up to what you put us on this earth for. To be what we’ve been sent to be. You decreed man folk as men and womenfolk as women, without any confusion. If you were born with seeds, you were a man and if you were born with a garden to fertilize and cultivate mankind, you were a woman. And you commanded that we were to love and have relations with the opposite sex. Seems like sometimes, though, Lord people suffer from mixed up ideas.

CHAPTER 2

The fresh, cool breeze that caressed my skin almost soothed away the confusion that swallowed me. Sensuous fragrances jolted my senses—lilacs, evergreen trees, freshly mowed grass. God’s magic surrounded me.

She appeared out of nowhere, shimmering through fine particles of sunbeams that slithered through the banquet of nature’s beauty. Her movements appeared delicate as she swayed up the path to the old oak tree that had stood guard for centuries at the entrance to the secret glade.

The contrast of a purple scarf that lay snug against her chestnut-colored hair took my breath away. A passing glimpse of creamy skin and brilliant lips brought goose-bumps to my skin and made my legs weak. If she would only turn just a little bit more toward me, I could feast on her beauty.

She was beauty defined. Nothing less could exist in such a glorious setting. The vision before me was like staring at the sun’s reflection off a cool, clear blue lake when sunbursts sprang out from the edges of the mirror image, making the eyes squint and tear up and spill over. Magnificence affects many people that way.

The woman turned to face me then, but the sun was at her back and the limbs of the giant tree shadowed her face.

Who are you? I asked.

Someone needing your help to right a terrible wrong, kind sir. Her husky voice seared my senses.

But…but what could be wrong? You’re singing and humming and skipping around this glade like you haven’t a care in the world.

You’re a sensitive man, are you not? You smell my fragrance and hear my voice and assume its all for good. I declare. Men can be fairly obtuse.

I stared hard at the vision wafting between clarity and haziness. Vintage images circled me. She wore rustic fashions and spoke with a Southern drawl. An antique car—a Chrysler, or perhaps a Packard rested in the shade of the old oak tree.

For some reason, I could feel the beginnings of dizziness and nausea.

Where is this place and who are you? What do you need me to help you do? Wait!

Her form fluttered as if it were a mirage rising from hot pavement to join the moist evening heat at the beginning of sunset. Even though I still couldn’t see the woman’s face, a monumental change was taking place.

Bile began to rise up my throat. Ringing began to sing in my ears.

There was no apparent danger to either of us, yet I felt wary. Warning roared through my brain. Be careful.

The woman’s transformation quickened. Almost as if someone had painted a portrait and then taken a sudden dislike to, an imaginary brush stroked a vivid patch of blood red from the woman’s scalp down across her body.

I yelped. What happened? What happened?

As if on cue, the scene faded to gray, graduating to total nothingness.

It didn’t take me long to climb out of the dream and into grogginess. My heart pounded as the darkness in the room attacked my senses, falling heavy upon my chest, its thickness akin to smothering, sweltering humidity. Moments later streaks of predawn light peeked between the curtain’s edges, and my room appeared to flutter in haze as my eyes adjusted. I’m not sure what woke me. Maybe the sedative had finally worn off or maybe that ridiculous dream shuddered me awake.

The air in the room felt cool, a contradiction to what I’d felt a moment earlier. The memory of where I was began to slip through my haze.

Something foreign lay on top of my face. I managed to wobble a hand up to touch the plastic mask filtering cool oxygen to my brain. Beads of sweat formed over my upper lip before I managed to methodically move it up over my head. Deep whiffs of hospital odor assaulted my nose. My whole body felt stiff, sore. An imaginary vise gripped my neck as I slowly turned my head to the side.

Keven hunched over in the stiff-backed chair pulled up to the side of the bed. His shoulders and face rested only inches away from my hip. His back rose and fell in rhythm to his sleep.

I came fully awake. Memory of the dream slowly slid underneath the cloak of confusion. Remembering dreams wasn’t a normal part of my routine, but even if it had been, this one certainly was not ordinary.

I took several deep breaths. Sharp pinpoints of discomfort edged my fingers as I reached out to touch the top of Keven’s head. An intravenous needle protruded from the back of my hand.

Keven?

He stirred and scooted to the edge of my bed. How are you feeling? Do you want me to get a nurse?

No. I just needed to hear your voice. How long have I been here?

We brought you in by ambulance yesterday afternoon. I found you passed out in the bathroom. Why didn’t you tell me you felt so bad? I would’ve stayed at home. The Best boys could have unloaded the truck without me.

I thought I’d be over this flu by now. Must be some new strain or something to make me this bad. I must have really been sick, because my stomach feels like its been used for a punching bag. When can I go home?

It’s not the flu. Somewhere along the line, you contracted Hepatitis. I told the doctors and nurses what I knew about where you’d been and stuff like that. They’re checking to see if anyone in those areas has come down with it, too.

In a low, gruff voice, he continued. You’re really sick, Phil. The doctor says you’ll need to stay for a few days so they can get the treatment into you intravenously.

What about you, Kev? Are you sick too?

They drew blood yesterday, just as a precaution. The doctor says the initial testing looked fine, but they’d do more in-depth tests and let me know today. He didn’t seem too worried about it, so I think I’m probably okay.

Did you call anyone? I thought I heard Grandmother and Pastor’s voices, or did I dream that too.

The look on Keven’s face told me he knew what I was asking.

Grandmother Abby stayed yesterday afternoon for almost three hours, fussing over you, making sure the blankets were tucked in just so. Theo and Baylee were here last night. I’m sure they’ll all be checking in later on today.

Keven glanced at his watch. It’s early yet. Why don’t you try to get a few more hours rest before the nurses start coming in?

What about the Pastor?

Keven tucked his chin in for just a second before he reluctantly answered. He came in for a few minutes. He prayed for you, then left.

My head seemed to sink to the bottom of the pillow. Guilt can be very heavy. Try as I might, I’ve never been able to get past the fact that my grandfather is not only disappointed in me; he’s ashamed of me. How did he seem, Keven? Did he talk to you? Was he mean?

Urgency slipped into Keven’s response. We both know in his own way, Pastor loves you. After the initial shock of you being so sick wore off, he was fine with me. He even told me to make sure I called them if your condition changed or if I felt like I was becoming ill. It’ll be okay, Phillip. We both know he loves you. He’ll come around.

Keven, promise me you won’t let him run you off. I want you here and in my life. Okay?

Hey, you know better than that. We’ve listened to him for almost ten years, and probably will have to listen for ten more. But I’m not going anywhere. We made a commitment to one another. For the rest of our lives, remember?

Yeah. Peacefulness settled over me. Keven wouldn’t leave me, no matter what.

He settled the oxygen mask back over my face and adjusted the covers up to my shoulders. I felt, rather than saw, the motion as he leaned back in the chair and watched me fall asleep.

Thoughts jiggled around in my brain for a few moments. The Pastor had actually come in to see me. I’ve tried hard to win that old man’s acceptance for the past ten years, to make it the way it used to be.

My thoughts drifted to my dream. I had a few girl-type friends in high school, but never a romantic one. For some reason, I got the feeling that the woman in my dream was a seductress. Someone who could charm the pants off of almost anyone.

I had one eye on the television set hanging from the ceiling and one eye closed against the streaks of evening sky tinged with orange and purple by the time Baylee made it back to the hospital. My family confidante had arrived.

Hey, P-two. You always did want to sleep your life away. The smile covered half of her face.

Baylee was only two years old when I was born. Phillip the Second was impossible for her to say. My father, Phillip the First, got her to say P-two. The nickname stuck.

Hi, Baylee. Keven told me you stopped by last night.

Someone has to keep track of you. You don’t think for one minute I’m going to chance the kind of care you get, do you? I’m not going home to tell Hannah and Dillon their favorite uncle died. Hannah seems to think all you need to get well is a visit from her. I wish it were that simple. But it looks like if you do what the doctor has ordered, you’ll be recuperating out on the ranch in no time. Maybe the fresh country air will give you back your Keanu Reeves good looks.

Is that your way of telling me I don’t look so good?

I’ve seen you look a whole lot better. Don’t think I’m going to let you scare Hannah half to death. If she were to see how sallow your complexion is, she’d have nightmares for a week.

That bad, huh?

With a wry smile, she reached over and lightly tugged on my chin. We passed the next two hours chatting about her kids and Wynn. Around nine o’clock she checked her watch. I have to go, P-two. You do what the doctor says. Not too many visitors and follow his prescriptions to the tee.

You should have been an M. D. instead of a Ph. D. I smiled at my big sister.

Hey, I’d rather look at someone’s sick mind any day than wade through all the blood and guts a medical doctor has to. Besides, this way I get to see how disturbed our own family is.

I could tell the minute the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could stuff them back in.

"It’s okay, Baylee. I’m dealing with it. Pastor came in to see me after he’d prayed in the chapel. And he only offered up one prayer while he was