Chapter 80

HE HAD to really think about it to figure out where he was when he opened his eyes. Dark, the faltering gutter of a lamp wicked too low, the faint damp smell of mold overlaid with antiseptic.

Right. The Temple. Chester.

Not standing by the river. Not kissing Wil.

*Kissing Wil.*

Dallin scrubbed roughly at his face.

What the hell had he been thinking? Then again, thought hadn't exactly entered into the equation.

A dream. It was just a dream.

Maybe it really was. How was he supposed to tell the difference anymore? Maybe Wil hadn't really been there at all. Maybe the whole thing with the Father had been merely Dallin's buried wish to confirm his own theories, and the whole thing with Wil had been....

Shit, shit, shit. What *had* the whole thing with Wil been? What the hell was Dallin doing making Wil an erotic player in Dallin's apparently too-active imagination? Was Dallin a deviant and he'd just never known it before?