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 Lights flashed wildly around him, blinding and shockingly insistent. He heard voices call his name, fingers tore at him, and there were sharp points of pain as he was jabbed, prodded, and finally a stiff binding was strapped around his neck, across his chest and legs, holding him down, holding him still. It was here that death took him. Grass, more green than anything he'd ever seen, grew up to his thighs and he waded through it like a boy in the shallows of a lake, dislodging butterflies with every step. Sunlight, clean-cutting and fresh, slashed across every blade of grass and illuminated the blue splash of beckoning water on the horizon. Justin drew a slow, even breath, felt the light pour into his lungs, ride through his veins and radiate from his pores. He was part of all of this, ready to ignite and explode, to scatter out across the continent of greenness. To his right brilliance reigned, but to his left a shadow spread quickly toward him. He thought of running, but he held fast, thrust his shoulders back and lifted his chin to meet the darkness head-on. He knew; he'd been taught. No, he believed. Light would win out over shadow. Blood ran on the pavement and he lay crumpled on the ground. Justin stood beside his broken body and watched with a surreal detachment as the scene before him flickered and changed. He lay alone, then cradled by Daphne, then surrounded by a small group of his classmates, until the scene solidified with him being held in Brian's arms. Justin knelt and watched as he bled out on the concrete. Despite Brian's obvious distress, the body on the ground was of no consequence to Justin, and he watched without much concern as the ambulance screamed into the parking garage. Brian was wet with Justin's blood, clutching him, and whispering, "Stay here, stay here," against his ear. The paramedics had to ask Brian to move away from the victim twice before he complied. Justin stood up and stepped away from his body too, staying at Brian's elbow. He reached out to comfort him, but found that the weight of his hand made no impression; Brian didn't seem to feel it. His body was trundled into the ambulance and Brian followed it shakily. Justin watched the doors close, and the first touch of fear clutched his heart. When the ambulance started to pull away, he felt himself jerked forward as though tethered to the body within. Then the tether broke. He was cold, alone, and finally scared--the pool of blood at his feet redder than anything he'd ever seen. Darkness had engulfed the green continent. Justin sat in the tall grass with his knees drawn to his chest and his head down. Memories like slices of film ran through his mind bringing only confusion, conflicting information offered up to him in frame after clear frame. Brian at the prom. Justin alone on the concrete floor. Daphne dancing. Brian whirling Justin around. Daphne and Justin holding hands. Brian cradling Justin in his arms as blood covered them both. Daphne kneeling beside him, her dress marred with red streaks. Justin alone, cold, dead. There was only one thing he was certain of--he was trapped in this fluctuating place: a dream that he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried to wake up. Time passed or stood still, and all the while he sat in darkness as the realization crept up on him. He was dead. The sense of peace and calm that had been with him at first had long since dissolved into blind fear. Thoughts ran through his mind like freight trains: one following another, fast and loud, clattering and cutting through the landscape of his mind. He wanted to go home. He wanted his mom. He wanted so much--to see Brian, to fuck, to grow up, to have a career, a kid, art school, and Daphne by his side when he finally married someone that loved him back. He wanted passion and romance. He wanted to feel it all, to see Brian laugh, kiss Brian's lips when he smiled against his will. But this darkness, this place he couldn't leave--no. He didn't want this and would someone please help him? God? Anyone? Please. Justin lifted his head and peered into the blackness. He knew he wasn't alone. Fluorescent light cast everything in green, harsh hues. The man beside him took his arm and guided him forward. Justin twisted his head looking for some idea of where he was; doctors hustled from one room to another and into another, nurses followed in their cheerfully colored scrubs, and he understood that they were in a hospital. "You're in there," the man said, pointing toward a door marked 'OR'. "But I'm right here." Justin felt stupid when the man smiled at him patiently. "Believe me, sonny boy; you're in there, too." They turned a corner and Justin sucked in his breath. Brian sat alone, clutching a blood-soaked scarf, tears rolling down his face and snot running from his nose. "Brian!" Justin jerked away from the man gripping his arm and ran to Brian's side, but Brian didn't acknowledge him, continuing to weep silently. The man's voice spoke directly into his ear, "You're dead. Or haven't you figured that out yet?" Justin couldn't look away from Brian, running his fingers over Brian's lips and cheeks, feeling the wetness, but having no effect. He didn't look at the stranger as he replied, "I don't understand how this happened, or who you are, or why I'm here. But I have to help him." "You can't. Not from this side of things." The man sat on the bench on Brian's other side, stretching his legs out in front of him and shrugging. "You wanna know something?" Justin ignored him, focused fully on Brian's pain, desperately trying to soothe him, panic growing as it became clear that he couldn't. "You love him too much." Sunlight sparkled on the water and Justin's feet dangled almost four feet above it. The dock beneath him was solid, and warm from the sun. Rolling green mountains edged the lake while birds sang somewhere not far away. "Brian calls Gus 'sonny boy'." "He got that from his old man." Justin looked closely at the stranger. "Are you his old man?" "Yes, but why don't you call me 'Jack'?" His mother sat with a blank look, staring off into space, while Molly huddled in the crook of her mother's arm, face streaked with tears. His father stood silent and angry, glaring out the front window of the living room, drinking from a high ball glass, and ignoring the man who spoke quietly to them about the life insurance. Justin sat down on the sofa beside Molly, and touched her hair. "Don't cry, Mollusk. I'm okay." "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, and I know there is nothing that can take away your pain, or ease your suffering, but I just wanted to let you know that we at New York Life will make every effort to procure the death benefit from the policy on Justin in a timely fashion so that money, at least, won't be a concern for you at this time." "Thank you, sir," Jennifer said, softly, not looking at him, but staring at the clock on the mantle. Justin blinked, trying to recognize his mother in the shell of a woman on the couch. He looked to his father who kept his back to them all. The life insurance agent rubbed a hand over his face and then stood to go. The family had been alone only a few minutes when Justin's dad spoke. "This never would have happened if you'd kept him away from that pervert, Jenn. I should have killed the disgusting fuck when I had a chance." Jennifer broke into soft sobs, burying her face in Molly's hair. Justin stood up, advancing on his dad with his fist clenched, anger boiling under his skin. But he stopped half-way across the room, realizing his words were useless now. He stood facing his father's angry eyes without a chance of being heard or seen. He felt a lump grow in his throat, angry and hurt, and utterly deflated. "You always did let him get to you, kid. Didn't Brian teach you anything?" Jack spoke in his ear, and Justin squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that it would all go away. The light was fading around the dock and Justin kicked his feet idly. He sighed and rested his chin in his hands. "So, what do you think?" Justin glanced over at Jack and shrugged again. He didn't trust Brian's father, and he didn't know why he was here with him. Of all people to be stuck with in the afterlife, it seemed like a cosmic joke. "I think this sucks." "But you chose it," Jack swept his hand indicating the landscape. "I want to go home." "Then go home." "How?" "It's easy. Like a snap." Justin glared at him, annoyed that Jack was making fun of his predicament. "I don't like being dead. I miss Brian." Jack raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly. "Do you want to see what he's doing?" Brian glowed blue in the lighting of the backroom at Babylon, his head thrown back, and his dick moving in and out of some blond's mouth. He looked fucking miserable. "What's he doing? Why's he here?" "He's getting a blowjob," Jack said as though Justin were a complete idiot. "I know that, but he looks--fucked up." "Probably on several letters of the alphabet. Why are you surprised?" Justin frowned, shaking his head. "I'm not. He just feels...different." "Mmm, he is." Brian pushed the trick away suddenly, spurting come all over the guy's face, half-laughing. The guy shoved Brian hard, "Fuck you, asshole." "No. Sorry. Not interested," Brian said, grabbing a guy walking by. "But you...come on." Justin found himself in a familiar place next, one of his favorite places in the world, but his heart ached at what he saw. Brian's bedroom was the same, but Brian wasn't. He wore a bloody scarf wrapped around his throat, and fucked the guy with without even the slightest indication of pleasure. When he came, his face warped with agony. He slapped the guy's ass hard, like a punishment of some kind, and without any hint of eroticism. "Get the fuck out," he barked after the guy shot his load, and he didn't wait to see if the guy would comply before getting up, going into the bathroom, and slamming the door shut. Justin bit his lip, watching as the trick cursed Brian under his breath, and left without buttoning his shirt. "What happened to him?" "You died," Jack said, sitting on the corner of the bed, and lighting a cigarette. "And if I hadn't died?" Justin asked. "Why don't you tell me?" Justin raced over the green continent just barely outrunning the wave of darkness following him. He chased the sun over the thick fields and laughed when butterflies tickled his skin as they darted by. The light ahead was brighter than ever, and he charged toward it, thrilled by its beauty, and wanting to claim it as his. "If I hadn't died we would have had this," Justin said, waving toward the two of them on the floor together, half-naked and smearing ice-cream over one another just to lick it off. "Or maybe you would have had this," Jack replied, putting his hands on Justin's shoulders and turning him around to see Brian fucking a trick against the kitchen counter while Justin stood by the loft door, arms crossed over his chest, anger and hurt radiating from him in waves. Justin felt sick. "No, no, that's not how it would be at all. It'd be like this." The room was full of a pale light, the kind of light that comes from streetlamps at night, and Brian was standing by the window smoking. Justin came from the bedroom, wearing nothing but his underwear. He approached Brian from behind, rubbed his shoulders, and took his cigarette for a puff. Brian watched him heatedly, then took the cigarette back, pressed it out in the ashtray on the window sill, and kissed Justin hard. "Yes, it could be like that," Jack acquiesced. "But is that worth the days when it was like this?" Justin turned from the scene by the window, and suddenly it was daylight, the loft brilliant with it. Brian stood by the kitchen counter, glaring toward the bedroom. Justin came down the steps with bags and an expression of resignation. "It's just for a few months," Justin was saying, but Brian turned his back on him. "Get out. Just get the fuck out." "Get the fuck over yourself," Justin replied. "It's always something with you, Sunshine. It's never fucking enough." Justin sighed, shifted the bags, and headed toward the open loft door. "I'll call you when I get there. I'll come home when I'm finished. I expect you to be here." "Don't hold your breath." "Asshole." Justin walked out. The earth was warm and the sun was bright. Justin leaned back on the ground, staring up at the tree limbs above. He watched the way they played against the sky. "What was that about?" he asked aloud though Jack wasn't around, at least not as far as he could see. Jack's voice answered from all around him. "You know the answer to that question." Justin thought for a long minute and then said, "Yeah. I know. And to answer your question, it's worth it because when I come home, he'll be there." "He will be." Jack sat beside him. "And you've always known that." Justin plucked a blade of grass and held it up to examine it against the blue of the sky. "If I can go back, like you say, in a snap, why wouldn't I?" Justin gasped as the pain sliced through him, and he could feel his right hand convulsing. "Are you okay?" a voice asked, and he clenched his fists trying to get it under control. "Hey, Justin. You okay?" It was Daphne. He tried to open his eyes to see her, but he heard the blips of machines, and felt cool fingers on his forehead. "I'll get a nurse." He struggled to open his eyes and when he did he was in the loft, feeling broken hearted, dejected and alone. Brian had just left to go out, and he was abandoned again. He'd just wanted to spend time together like a real couple. Like with Ethan. And then he was in a cramped and dirty apartment, lying in bed with a man he didn't recognize, but knew that he loved. Ethan. And he felt somehow normal in a way that he didn't understand. He knew that this man gave him something that Brian didn't. A sense that he was okay, average, and not at all a freak. With him he thought that he could live a normal life. Nothing terrible had to happen ever again. But that was a lie, because now he was screaming at Ethan and throwing torn roses at him. And he felt so hurt, so betrayed, but mainly he felt angry with himself for believing the lies he'd woven. He ached inside because he knew that he'd never be normal. He never had been. He'd always been alone. Brian's eyes were wounded but his arms were warm. Justin breathed deeply and the scent of Brian's neck enveloped him. Home. That couldn't last. Terror rushed through his veins as he held Brian in his arms, knowing that Brian was sick, that he could die, that Justin could lose him. Pain that tore at Justin as Brian pushed him away, shoved him out the door, slammed it in his face. Anger that swallowed him whole because he'd believed that Brian loved him, that things were different, but they never were. But erase, rewind. He shrugged it off, only to find himself overcome with rage, holding a gun in Chris Hobbes' mouth, and all too ready to pull the trigger. How could this be him? "Do you see?" Jack said in his ear, just as his hand began to shake, rattling his finger against the trigger. "It comes with all this." Justin raced over the green grass, laughing as the world sparkled around him. The very air was shining with beauty. How could he not want this? "It gets worse," Jack said. "What do you mean?" "If you stay here, it gets worse." Justin turned around. Brian hung suspended from a beam in the loft, his face swollen and purple. Justin felt like he would be sick, but death doesn't offer that reprieve. "This is a year later. Or perhaps the day before. It's hard to say. It kind of depends on him." "No," Justin whispered. "Oh, yes. He didn't have as many chances as some, though I'd say that the one he had was better, and brighter than most. But, choices have to be made." "No, no, no," Justin chanted, moving toward the bloated body that swung in slow circles, nearly unrecognizable and destroyed. "Yes, yes, yes," Jack taunted in return. Justin twisted in his sleep trying to wake up. The movement triggered pain that shot through him, and he struggled to find something beautiful in the murky blackness around him. He couldn't breathe, and it scared him. But, thank God, the sun rose, and the colors washed over him like breath. "I love you, Brian," Justin said, pressing his lips against Brian's full, beautiful, warm, and very alive mouth. Brian's hand on Justin's cheek said more than words. Justin turned to Jack. "Is this real?" "Reality is a tricky kind of thing." Jack scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "It's all what you make of it. This is real enough, but sometimes you're like two cats hissing at each other, marking territory." "Then we fuck and scream like cats in heat." Jack shuddered. "I'd like to skip those parts. But if you need to see it--" Justin shook his head, and the room erupted with green, and he was wading through the thigh high grass again. "I want to go back." "I didn't show you all the bad things." Justin stood up, dusted off his pants, and watched as the sun sparkled on the lake below. He smiled, ran towards it, and when the soft dirt of the earth gave way to the rough wood of the dock, he slowed to kneel at the edge of the dock, dipping his hand in the water. He brought it to his lips. It even tasted like sunshine. "I don't care." Justin stood up and looked to the sky. "If nothing else, it'll be interesting," he said. A few moments passed and he closed his eyes, feeling himself fill with light, screaming to the sky, "Give me back my life!" The persistent sound of machines pulled at him, and he felt an overwhelming throb of pain. There was temptation to shrink back, to return to the warmth of the continent he'd left, but he stumbled forward, pushing on into the fear and pain that pulled at his nerve endings. His tongue was thick, and something blocked his throat, but he could still breathe. His eyelids fluttered, the room was overly bright, and he closed his eyes against the harsh light. "Oh, God, Daphne, honey," he heard his mom say. "Get a nurse. I think he's waking up." Pain flooded his mind, blacking out any retreat to the green world. Opening his eyes onto his mother's worried face, he charged ahead into consciousness, vaguely sensing that despite what he'd known--no, believed--shadow had won out over light. It was here that death gave him back up to life. THE END
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