Chapter 3

"This poor bastard is never going to pull out of this," Cole said to Fred sitting next to him in the non-descript blue four-door sedan.

It had been three weeks since the funeral; in that time Michael Dane's life had spiraled out of control. Cole had watched Michael loose his grip at the funeral; it had been downhill for him since that day.

Ian had told Cole to stay close to him, keep an eye on him and give him a few weeks to put together how to get Michael to England. Cole didn't know how much longer Michael was going to be able to hold it together.

"I can't do this anymore," Michael said to no one as he sat in his living room looking at the flashing red light on the answering machine.

His partner kept calling him, wanting to know what he could do to help, wondering when he would be coming back to work.

Michael shook his head and walked into the kitchen; opening the refrigerator he was not surprised to find it empty.

Slumping into one of the chairs at the table littered with old mail, condolence cards and ancient Chinese food the tears began to flow again. It was hard to remember when he had been happy, when everyday was not just a swirling maelstrom of unyielding suffering.

His strength had left him, his will had left him, all he wanted now was to be with Sasha and their child, to hold them and forget the pain.

Walking up the stairs he passed by the nursery, it was done in neutral purples that would work for either a boy or a girl.

Sasha and he had decided to let the sex be a surprise, he knew now from the autopsy; that the child who should have lived and grown in this room was a girl.

She would have been Sarah Nicole Dane, she would have been loved beyond reason, spoiled beyond belief and had a wonderful life. Wiping away fresh tears Michael closed the door to the nursery and turned to his and Sasha's' room.

Standing at the door memories assailed him like uncaring banshee, blind siding him with their emotional power and overwhelming him with their fury. Overcome by the force of their oppressive weight, Michael slid down the doorframe unable to maintain his fight against the ghosts of his past.

Holding his head in his hands, the tears for his dead daughter gave way to gut wrenching sobs for his wife, for his Sasha.

At thirty-three and unmarried, Michael Dane was the main topic of the rumor mill at Dane/Mathews Design.

"He has to be gay," Marcia said to Gale over lunch in the break room.

"He is too good a catch not to have women all over him all the time, hell I tried to get near him but he was always just the cool professional," she continued to a smiling Gale.

Gale had been at DMD for 12 years, being the first hire and the oldest employee she had insights that the newer members of the staff didn't.

"I've known him for along time," Gale said between bites of her sandwich "he has always been a loner, always polite, always professional but also a very caring and concerned individual," she finished, not chiming in on Michael's sexual orientation.

Marcia was not convinced, no man had ever been able to resist her charms in the past, 'yes, definitely gay, ' she thought to herself as she finished her lunch and left to go back to her office.

Gale just smiled as she finished and headed back to her desk between Michael's and Steve Mathew's offices.

DMD was known for two things, innovative architectural designs and an attention to detail in the execution of those designs that was the exception not the rule for architectural companies.

Michael's grandfather was an architect. Spending his school years on jobsites, watching his grandfather suffer over the smallest details and standing with him in front of finished buildings that had only existed on paper months before had instilled in Michael a deep love for architecture.

"The design of a building or a space within that building should speak to peoples souls Michael," his grandfather Adolph had said to him; while standing in front of the just completed Monroe building. His grandfather continuing "An architect is an artist, his palette is space and light, if you design spaces that invoke awe, light them so those within can view the space in context with the design intent, then you have conceived a work of art."

Michael was 18 getting ready to head off to college to study architecture at the University of Florida. This was the last and most enduring conversation he would have with his Grandfather; it would echo in his head throughout his school and professional years.

Michael was excited as he packed up his stuff into his 73 Pontiac Firebird and got ready to head off to college. There were the customary weeping exchanges with his parents and the promises to call as soon as he arrived.

The drive to Gainesville gave Michael a chance to think about what was to come and what was complete.

He had enjoyed his relationship with Anna, learned a great deal about the dynamics of being in a relationship and had a lot of good sex. The parting with Anna had been sweet, with promises of future reunions, a life spent together after they had grown into the people they would actually be.

Michael knew that future would never come about. Anna and he were too different to be together forever; Michael was constantly evolving, modifying himself into new incarnations. Anna would make a wonderful wife and mother some day, but that is all she would ever be; it was her fullest potential.

Driving north on 75 Michael thought of this new beginning.

Being on his own would be interesting. His parents had never been overbearing or strict, he had had more freedom to come and go as he pleased than any of his friends. But he was anxious to try life on his own, without the safety net of his parents waiting at home.

Going to school on a full scholarship and with the money in trust grandfather had left; he would not have to work.

However, Michael understood that work was good for the soul and expanded his ability to deal with others and life, so he had already applied for internships with three local architecture firms.

He had left a week early for school to get settled in the dorm and interview with the three firms.

Gainesville was a change from home; the rolling hills and ancient oak trees made Michael feel--enclosed, cocooned.

The dorm was your standard one room, 2 beds, 2 desks, and 2 closets. The bare white concrete walls were a bit depressing but that was easily fixed.

Going through the boxes he found that his life, while full did not entail acquiring a great many things.

His tassel from graduation, a few cassettes, Motley Crue, Def Leppard, Bon Jovi, Poison, his high school yearbook.

Were there so few things to remember the last eighteen years by? It didn't take long before everything was unpacked and he sat alone in the quiet dorm room, being that he was early, no one but the floor SA was there yet and none of the student facilities were open.

It was about 4pm, strolling out of Tolbert hall, located on the western edge of the campus proper, Michael decided to get his bearings.

Walking down Stadium Rd, the campus stretched out before him, on his left was Florida field, "The Swamp". Football was a big deal at UF, however team sports were never high on Michael's list so he did not think he would be going to many games.