The Final Act

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Collapse

The black hole was looming, beginning to open up, trying to suck Angel in. She tried with all her might to keep the light shining in to dispel the impending darkness but the power was too strong. The closer she came to opening night the more fearful she became, doubting now if she could play out her own life up there on the stage. Her collapse at the theatre was just the beginning.

After Rory got her home and into bed, Angel curled up in the fetal position and cried. She cried until she was spent and then fell into a deep sleep with the help of some more pills. She was taking too many and knew it but she was desperate to dull the ache rising inside her.

Upon her insistence that she needed to be alone, Rory went back for rehearsals. He was no longer just concerned for Angel; he was frightened. She had never been this bad before and he doubted seriously if she would make it to opening night. He had to face the fact that he might be playing to her understudy and knew the same magic would not be there. But, he was a professional and the show must go on. He knew he didn't hurt as much as Angel, but he hurt nonetheless.

When he came home from rehearsal Angel was sitting up in bed rocking gently back and forth. He had never seen her like this.

"Why does it have to hurt so much?" she cried in anguish.

Rory reached over to comfort her but she just shrugged him off. She was grieving—grieving for a lost life she was certain she would never get back.

"Please go," she begged. "Leave me. Let me be alone. You can't do anything for me."

Rory fought the urge to take her in his arms, to be a strength for her, to make it all go away, but he knew it would do no good. But, part of him was afraid to leave her here alone. He wanted to be her guardian angel and watch over her. But the more he insisted, the more she resisted until finally she snapped and with all the fury that had been building up in her she yelled, "Get out. Now. I don't want to see you."

Rory's initial impulse was to be angry, offended, but he knew this was not the Angel he loved talking. This was the vile darkness spewing itself out of her mouth. He had no choice but to leave. As Angel curled up into a ball once again on the bed, Rory closed the door, sealing in the anger, the disappointment and the fear. He left for the theatre unsure if he was even capable of continuing himself. Their lives were upside down and he couldn't see his own way out of the fog. And even if he could he would be up there on that stage in isolation, his only salvation rolled up in a fetal position back home on their bed.

The stage was brimming with life when he went in, life as he once knew it. Angel's understudy was reveling in the part and Rory's understudy had taken his place opposite her. The director looked in Rory's direction with a quizzical look and told the actors to take a short break.

"What's going on, Rory? And where is Angel? We open in a few days and I need you both here."

"She's really sick and I don't think she's going to be able to go on."

"This is NOT good, Rory. Opening night with an understudy? She's good but she's not Angel. Let's hope she gets better quickly. We need her here."

Rory took the stage and looked into the eyes of a complete stranger. This would take everything he had to give.

****

Angel knew what she had to do. She had dragged Rory through enough and she had reached the brink. He would be better off without her. So much pain had coursed through their lives together. Oh, there had been the good times, when she was on her game, but those times were over. She knew the inevitable was coming and she didn't want Rory a part of it when it did. Slowly, painfully, she crawled out of bed. The only strength she had left was her resolve.