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"Michael!” Jillian exclaimed, as she ran towards her son’s crumpled form on her doorstep.
She eyed his bloodstained shirt and held back a sob. Her head throbbed. “I’m going to get you inside. I’m going to look after you.” She grabbed the communication device around her neck. “I need help at the front doors. Now!”
As she checked her son’s pulse, a man rushed towards them from somewhere inside the building.
“Help me. Help me lift him inside.”
Jillian and the man lifted an arm each, heaved Michael through the doors, down the corridor, into what looked like a hospital room, and laid him down on a bed. She set to work. There was so much blood, everywhere, that the fabric of her son’s shirt was laden, clammy, sticking to his skin. She cut it away from his chest, took in the mess of injuries beneath, and applied pressure to the deepest lacerations. Her hands shook.
“Get the local anaesthetic,” she said, turning to the man, “I'm going to have to suture them."
She rummaged around a tray beneath the bed, and pulled out surgical needles and thread, antiseptic solution and bandages. As she applied antiseptic to the wounds, the man came back with several syringes of local anaesthetic. Jillian grabbed one and began to numb the area around the wounds, while still applying pressure with her other hand. Blood was still flowing, fast. Michael twitched as the needle went in.
“M - mum,” he said, weakly.
The sound of his voice sent shivers of hope and fear through her heart. "Hold still, Michael, I've got you."
She set aside the anaesthetic and tried to thread the needle, but her hands were shaking too much. This shouldn't be happening.
"Can you… Can you thread it? Please?" She beckoned to the man, who stepped over to help.
With the needle prepared at last, she began stitching the wounds closed. Her throat felt tight. “Oh, I can’t believe you made it back."
Michael gritted his teeth as the needle went in again.
“My boy…” My beautiful son.
“Tougher than I look,” he murmured, his voice still weak. But at least he was awake now.
Jillian finished up the sutures, fixed them into place with surgical glue, and hastened to bandage the area. She gestured to the man to let them be alone, as she wiped away the last of the blood and ran her hands under the tap, watching the reddened water flow away. Once everything was ready, Michael tried to sit up, but winced.
"You must rest," Jillian said, her voice tight with concern. She put a tender hand on his shoulder so that he'd stay still, and wouldn't rip any of the sutures open.
"Mum, can you… Can you do what you used to do?"
She nodded, and the trace of a smile played in her features as she shifted to lie next to him, and wrapped her arms around him, just holding him, sharing warmth.
***
The following morning, Jillian awoke to a sliver of golden daylight that had crept through the blinds, across the floor. She noticed that Michael's face had a tinge of colour to it again, at last, and smoothed a stray strand of hair from in front of his eyes. For a while, she just stayed there, observing the gentle rise and fall of her son's chest and wishing this moment would last forever.
It wasn't until he muttered a "good morning" that she bought herself to sit up.
"How are you feeling?" She asked.
"Much better, thanks to you," he blinked up at her sleepily.
Jillian went to get the two of them some breakfast, brewed herself a coffee - wait, he's a man now… I wonder if he drinks coffee too - poured out two mugs, and brought a tray back to where Michael had managed to prop himself up against the pillows.
"I wasn't sure if you wanted coffee too, since you're not a kid anymore," something inside her twisted as she said it.
"I can't say we had coffee on the other side," he chuckled, which made him wheeze a bit, but he reached out for a mug nonetheless.
"Careful," Jillian frowned, "Your injuries will take weeks to heal."
"The divinium lets me heal much quicker. I'll be up by the end of the day."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Jillian crossed her arms.
"You're in luck then," Michael held back another chuckle.
“I, um…" she gulped, "I reviewed the television footage from the cathedral. When you, uh… When you reached out for Ava, you said ‘we’ll never get a better chance’ - better chance to do what?”
Please, let me be wrong about this, she thought, Heaven, God, Reya, whoever or whatever it is out there - please let me be wrong.
“I can’t explain it."
“It’s Reya, isn’t it? Something happened when you looked at her,” her voice quivered. She couldn't bear to imagine the implications, but she had to know the truth.
Michael put his mug down and sighed, “There’s only one way to stop Adriel. That’s why she sent me back. These women, they mean well, but there’s no reason for them to die for nothing. I can end all of this.”
Jillian felt a wave of grief swell against her chest, and rise up into her throat. “By sacrificing yourself?" She said, her voice breaking, "I think you sacrificed enough, Michael.” Her eyes stung.
“You can’t stop this. No one can," he sounded resolved, iron-tongued, but his expression was soft. "Mum, please…" he reached out a hand to clasp hers. Her hands were cold. "Don’t blame yourself.”
“How can I not?”
“There were forces at play that we couldn’t understand. We were both… pawns, in an ancient game. But you - you never did anything but try to help me. To love me. And I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I missed you. So much.”
Jillian finally broke down, her eyes streaming with tears as she reached forward into her son's arms, taking ragged, heartbroken breaths. This time, she wasn't holding him - he was holding her , with strong, faithful arms. He really was a man now. Her boy was a man. She'd missed so much, since that day her child had stepped into the portal in their basement… He'd lived a life she had no understanding of. He'd left her behind.
"I love you," she choked out.
"I love you too."