In One Person

there?”
    “No, no, Tom,” I tried to assure him. “It’s either
just
darkness—
no
monster, no
anything
—or it’s very bright, truly the most amazing light, and there are lots of wonderful things to see.”
    “No monsters, either way—right, Bill?” poor Tom asked me.
    “That’s right, Tom—no monsters, either way.”
    I was aware of someone behind me, in the doorway of the room. It was Peter; he’d come back—I didn’t know how long he’d been there, or what he’d overheard.
    “Is the monster’s face in the darkness in that same book?” the boy asked me. “Is the face also make-believe?”
    “Ha!” Atkins cried. “That’s a good question, Peter! What do you say to
that
, Bill?” There was a convulsion of coughing then, and more violent gasping; the boy ran to his dad and helped him put the oxygen mask back over his nose and mouth, but the oxygen was ineffective. Atkins’s lungs weren’t functioning properly—he couldn’t draw enough air to help himself.
    “Is this a test, Tom?” I asked my old friend. “What do you want from me?”
    Peter Atkins just stood there, watching us. He helped his father pull the oxygen mask away from his mouth. “When you’re dying, everything is a test, Bill. You’ll see,” Tom said; with his son’s help, Atkins was putting the oxygen mask back in place, but he suddenly stopped the seemingly pointless process.
    “It’s a made-up story, Peter,” I told the boy. “The unhappy woman who poisons herself—even her
feet
are made up. It’s make-believe—the monster’s face in the darkness, too. It’s all
imagined
,” I said.
    “But
this
isn’t ‘imagined,’ is it?” the boy asked me. “My mom and my dad are dying—that isn’t
imagined
, is it?”
    “No,” I told him. “You can always find me, Peter,” I suddenly said to the boy. “I’ll be available to you—I promise.”
    “
There
!” Peter cried—not to me, to his dad. “I got him to say it! Does that make you happy? It doesn’t make
me
happy!” the boy cried.
    “Peter!” his mom was calling. “Let your father
rest
! Peter?”
    “I’m coming!” the boy called; he ran out of the room.
    Tom Atkins had closed his eyes again. “Let me know when we’re alone, Bill,” he gasped; he held the oxygen mask away from his mouth and nose, but I could tell that—as little as the oxygen helped—he wanted it.
    “We’re alone,” I told Atkins.
    “I’ve seen him,” Tom whispered hoarsely. “He’s not at all who we thought he was—he’s more like us than we ever imagined. He’s
beautiful
, Bill!”
    “
Who
’s beautiful—who’s more like us than we ever imagined, Tom?” I asked, but I knew that the subject had changed; there’d been only one person Tom and I had always spoken of with fear and secrecy, with love and hatred.
    “You know who, Bill—I’ve seen him,” Atkins whispered.
    “Kittredge?” I whispered back.
    Atkins covered his mouth and nose with the oxygen mask; he was nodding
yes
, but it hurt him to move his head and he was making a torturous endeavor just to breathe.
    “Kittredge is
gay
?” I asked Tom Atkins, but this stimulated a prolonged coughing fit, which was followed by a self-contradictory nodding and shaking of his head. With my help, Atkins lifted the oxygen mask away from his mouth and nose—albeit briefly.
    “Kittredge looks
exactly
like his mother!” Atkins gasped; then he was back on the mask, making the most horrible sucking sounds. I didn’t want to agitate him more than my presence already had. Atkins had closed his eyes again, though his face was frozen in more of a grimace than a smile, when I heard Elaine calling me.
    I found Elaine with Mrs. Atkins and the children in the kitchen. “He shouldn’t be on the oxygen if no one’s watching him—not for long, anyway,” Sue Atkins said when she saw me.
    “No, Mom—that’s not quite what Charles says,” Peter corrected her. “We just have to keep checking the tank.”
    “For God’s sake, Peter—please stop criticizing me!” Mrs. Atkins cried; this made her breathless. “That old tank is probably
empty
! Oxygen doesn’t really
help
him!” She coughed and coughed.
    “Charles shouldn’t allow the oxygen tank to be
empty
!” the boy said indignantly. “Daddy doesn’t
know
the oxygen doesn’t help him—sometimes he
thinks
it helps.”
    “I hate Charles,” the girl, Emily, said.
    “Don’t hate Charles, Emily—we need Charles,” Sue Atkins said, trying to