The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1.51 Richard, Alone

June 6, 7:00 pm

Following Keith home was easy. Not only did Richard have his "compass" to guide him, but he also knew that after such an emotionally exhausting afternoon, his husband would need to be home. Their house had always been a refuge and a comfort—for them both.

Richard made his way back slowly, careful to avoid traffic and the possibility of being reset. Another "fatal" accident would be a shortcut home, to be sure, but it was not an experience he ever wanted to have again.

When he got to the house it was still early in the evening. Richard was grateful that Big Bird was nowhere to be seen, which must have meant that Keith had sent Michelle and Pil home so he could be alone.

He entered the house easily now (having finally mastered the trick of passing through solid walls and doors) and found the downstairs empty. There was the detritus of a Wendy's fast food meal on the kitchen table, but Keith was nowhere to be seen, and the house was quiet.

He found him upstairs, already in bed. The TV on the dresser lent a surreal, shimmering glow to his lover's drawn features, as he distractedly toyed with the remote.

Richard sat with him as he watched TV. He smiled when he realized Keith was watching the series premier of Heroes on DVD, which they had first watched together years ago. They hadn't watched the show again since that first time, but Richard wondered if the reason it drew Keith tonight was the memory of the two of them watching it together.

At the time, he had teased Keith that he looked like the character Hiro Nakamura. Keith had shot back that Richard looked like a bearded Matt Parkman. They had playfully argued about it, because Keith indeed did look like the Asian actor, while Richard was nowhere near as chubby (or as handsome) as the cop on the show. But the argument had been fun and flirtatious, filled with tickle fights and laughter. It had eventually turned into a long-running joke between them, and nothing could get Richard laughing faster than Keith throwing his arms in the air, and saying, with an overblown Japanese accent, "I am the master of time and space!"

Richard sat silently through two episodes, and afterward, Keith turned off the TV and did some writing in his journal. More than once Richard leaned over and tried to sneak a look at Keith's scrawl, but was actually relieved that, between Keith's poor handwriting and the dim light, he couldn't make out any words. Somehow, even now, reading his lover's journal felt like a violation of Keith's privacy.

Eventually, Keith closed the journal, placed it back in the drawer, and switched off the light.

As his husband slowly settled down to sleep, Richard curled up against his side—ignoring as best he could the hard angles and the pain the wrinkled sheets caused against his hips and ribs. And at first, despite the aches, it was comforting to once again be lying next to his lover. If he closed his eyes, it almost felt... normal.

It took some time for the younger man's breathing to slow, but soon, Richard was sure that Keith was sleeping deeply. And for that, too, Richard was grateful.

But it also meant that the dark and the silent bedroom left him alone with his thoughts. Soon they were racing in the dark. This was the first time his mind had truly been calm enough for him to contemplate all that had happened since he had returned from the dead.

And he soon wished he didn't have such a luxury.

Being dead is not at all what I expected, Richard mused. But then sat bolt upright in the bed.

So, what was it that I did expect?

It wasn't that humans didn't spend enough time musing over what death meant, or concocting ever more outrageous theories of what came next after the body went cold. Richard was a well-read man, and he knew that the mystery of death had motivated everything from religion to philosophy since time immemorial. Trying to untangle that one impenetrable knot was what animated human thought and progress, throughout recorded history. The product of all that searching had ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous—from transcendent visions of enlightenment to shrill fears of demons hiding behind every bush, waiting to drag you to hell.