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the first thing gerard keay said to him, when they chanced upon each other on the street for the first time after his fall, was, “you tried to kill youself.”
That much was true, mike thought, to an extent. he did die, in some sense, but he lived, didn't he. gerry, for his part true to his beliefs, had vehemently opposed it when Mike had first bought up the idea of using a book in passing, when he first found ex Altiora, to bind the Lichtenberg. Undoubtedly he had been reminded of his mother, so bitter and angry, and thought that Mike would have ended up similar, trapped in an eternal hell of his own making. Another ghost that haunted Gerry wherever he went, another failure. Gerry was mistaken, of course—mike wouldn't ever do that to him. But gerry wouldn't understand, he and Mike stood on opposite sides, pushing and pulling apart, forever in orbit.
Gerry, unexpected philosopher of London town, told him he thought that becoming an Avatar, something only half alive, destined to walk among humans yet prey on them like animals, meant they could never truly live again. “you'll die, the human inside of you,” he'd said, grimfaced and more serious than ever, looking directly into Mike's eyes, searching even as he knew he couldn’t find anything there, “if you use Ex altiora. When you come back, you won't be the same again.” Not human, not Yourself, he meant. Your body killed and revived by powers beyond them both, the soul haphazardly stuffed back into the shell, since the Fears had no regard for human life. Ego death would've been a better term if Gerry was more pretentious in his lecturing. Even if you acted and looked exactly the same, God's touch would surely change you, he said. They were called Avatars for a reason.
Mike, ever the realist, disagreed. it couldn't be avoided, but Gerry never truly understood him, hadn't truly known the fear of the Lichtenberg spiral, the depths of his madness. he tried everything, really, everything. Gerry didn't know this—maybe he didn't even see mike's signature from under the covers, but mike still remembered the piercing redhot pain from The Boneturner's tale when he tried to rip his scars straight out of his Flesh, he might've thought he was dead, might’ve spent a good few hours catching his breath in the alleyways of Chiswick library, watching the sky flicker and flash around his eyes seeing fractals everywhere he looked. all his life he thought he was dead. If mike could find his salvation as easily as that? If just simply by jumping off a tall tower, book in hand, it could be over? if he could simply be normal, or some semblance of it, just like that—what was his humanity worth? What did it matter if he wasn't himself on a technicality, in Gerry's eyes or anyone else's, as long as he knew who he was? Half human or not at all, who cares. of course he had done it. of course, in the End, it wouldn't have mattered, but mike indulged in the temporary comfort.
Mike for His part, never expected to chance upon Ex altiora that fateful day, in that dingy Lion Street Books, though he frequented it. certainly Herbert Knox, that mousey shopkeeper, looking always on the verge of a scam, hadn't lent credence to that fact. yet when mike had jumped off the Chichester cathedral bell tower, Knox and the Lichtenberg both hot on his heels, Ex Altiora grasped firmly in his hands, he didn't hesitate. Not at all. With the last of the latin verses on his tongue, the grey London pavement came rushing towards him. if he closed his eyes now, he could still taste the rushing wind, the faint crackle of ozone as he tumbled past window after window. he soon may have belonged to the vast, or rather the inevitable End, yet he felt nothing—not fear, not excitement, only a dull sense of satisfaction. the way he saw it, it didn't matter if he lived or died. Either way, he would have been free.
he told gerry as much, on that first meeting right under the rare Summer sun, light and shadow spilling under the alleys between buildings casting them apart on opposite sides, or maybe not. Hearing all this, Gerry sucked in a breath, saying, “Mate, i don't know.” He said, peering cautiously up at Mike through dark eyelashes, mike watched them catch and lighten in the sun, “you know me, i have my own issues with avatarhood and the powers that be, but Mike. this isn't right, this sounds like you really want to die.” well, what, what did it matter? we all die, mike thought, one way or another. Mike wasn't really listening to gerry—he was feeling the air, the breath which rushed and settled gravely down at the end of gerry's lungs as he spoke.
he thought about their feet on solid ground, sharing the same earth even as their paths differed, so different yet same from how the streams of sunlight split them apart where they stood. He wondered what gerry thought of him now, now that he was an avatar by trade: did he echo what he said to mike prior, that he wouldn't ever be the same Mike he'd known, his humanity long lost to wind? Or did he still recognize mike as his long time acquaintance, his maybe-friend, with who they shared together rare moments of trust when the sky was dim? watching gerry now, mike didn't yet know.
The feeling stirred within him, he thought solemnly that he might be lonely, if Gerry left him now. at his side gerry was rambling on, still, “Mike, do you get it?” he was saying, unaware or unperturbed, uncaring of the fact that mike wasn't listening, too used to his bouts of emptiness, but angrier for it nonetheless, “you're here now, but you jumped off the tower fully aware if Ex Altiora didn't work, you would have died.” Well, wasn't that par for the course, with these things, mike thought, untethered.
And you call it suicide, he asked. Don't we all die, someday? aren't we all trapped in our own, puny, inevitable circumstance? Didn't you consider that living under that Lichtenberg was worse than dying, wouldn't you know something about that, Gerry? of course mike knew where to hit home. Gerry, stubborn and fearful and so painfully human, bit out angrily, “Well, i'm gonna find that book, and then, and then I'm going to kill it to fucking death. Then you'll…” then what? neither of them knew, powerless as they were in the struggle upstream. what good would that do in the most inconsequential scheme of things. instead Mike settled on His harsh breathing, felt his lungs rattling, shaking in their cages, listened gently to his red red heart beating, beating, beating. Human to the core. Yeah, you go do that, Mike said, I don't really care. Gerry's breath stirred, as if he was going to say something else—an apology? a confession? a goodbye? These things didn't exist between them. mike knew, even if Gerry hadn't realized yet, now that Mike was free, that this would be the last time they ever met. It was the end to everything. He watched gerry turn around and stomp away, kicking up sand and dirt against the damp London air. Perhaps they were both blind, Mike thought, who's to say what was what? Perhaps they both were wrong, but noone could know now. He waited, for a long while, for gerry to look back at him, but seeing him walking further into the crowd enshrined under the dim lights of the setting sun finally he, too, turned away, already drifting off into the tender indifference of the world.