The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1.05 The Night

Luckily, Michelle had left the door open, otherwise he might have been doomed to spend the night on the floor outside his own bedroom.

Richard entered the dark room and was amazed that he could see as if the room was bathed in a pastel light. A light that came from everywhere, and nowhere. The bed was freshly made; something he remembered neither he nor Keith ever bothered with in their lives together. Keith was under the covers, on the far side of the bed. That was always where his husband slept, he remembered, since Richard was often up early to teach his morning classes. Keith's breathing was slow and regular, and he had pulled the thick blanket that he always used, even in summer, up close to his chin.

Richard shivered, but not from a chill. Everything seemed one temperature now; neither warm nor cold. That felt strange to him, since he could smell odors with such devastating clarity, and hear sounds he was sure he wouldn't have been able to hear when he was alive. And most surprisingly, he now saw everything in a kind of strange, soft, surreal technicolor, even in what should be darkness.

But it was his sense of touch that mystified him the most. Everything was hard now, and everything felt inert, lifeless, and neither warm nor cold.

Gently, he climbed onto the bed, which didn't stir under his weight. The smooth blanket felt like the concrete of an undulating sidewalk. Stretching out at his lover's side, the small wrinkles in the blanket reminded him of tree roots or rocks under his sleeping bag when they would go camping, and he struggled for a moment to find a comfortable position next to Keith's sleeping form. He laid his head on the rock-like pillow next to Keith's pudgy face and reached up to touch his lover's cheek. It was the same blank temperature as the wall, the carpet, the bedspread. There was movement in that cheek, as Keith drew in and expelled his breath. He could even feel the stirring of the air on his face from each of Keith's exhalations. But the air felt stale and lifeless, with no hint of his lover's breath. It was just the movement of air.

It's like everything of life is masked, Richard thought. Like whatever magic property makes things live and breathe has gone from the world.

That was close, but not quite right.

No, not the world. Just my world.

Everything felt no more real than images on a movie screen, or the animatronics at Disneyland. Although at Disneyland, you knew that the Pirates of the Caribbean were not real, and you were. Here it was just the opposite. Despite what his fingers told him, he knew Keith was very much alive. He was still in the world of the living, but that world no longer included Richard.

Keith's face looked drawn, and there were circles under his eyes that made Richard think he had slept little these past (what did Michelle say?) three days. It was likely that he just collapsed from exhaustion tonight. Another wave of guilt flowed over Richard as he thought again how he'd abandoned the man he loved, in what must have been a horrible and violent way, if the gore downstairs was any indication.

Richard placed a hand on the covers, feeling Keith's chest rise and fall under the thick blanket. He put his lips against his lover's cheek, hoping to sense a bit of warmth and life. But all he felt was the same cold, hard, unforgiving texture of plaster that he felt on the carpet, the walls, and the bedsheets.

But despite the cold stoniness of it all, he could sense Keith's heart beating. He could feel the pulse of it in his lips, and even hear it, if he concentrated. He put a hand on Keith's soft, round belly, hard as stone beneath the plaster blanket. He had often slept that way, with one hand curled around and cradling his lover's belly, feeling it swell and recede under his touch. Often, in his sleep, Keith would put his own hand over Richard's and hold it there, as if feeling Richard's hand on him grounded him in the world, and made it safe for him to sleep without care.