Of Heaven and Hell

by Anthology

  He knew Greyson was at peace as he lay against him, but he wanted him back even if for a few short seconds. So he could hear his voice again. His breath left him in another heart aching sob as he moved his body, so he could look down at his soul mate again.

  “C-Come back.” His voice struggled to form his words, and when he leaned in to grace his lips against his husband’s once more, he felt the coldness of them against his own. No longer were they soft, the way they used to be when they kissed, when he used them to leave trails of love over Bailey’s body.

  Dead.

  Bailey hated the word, cursed its very existence as he lay against Greyson, defeated. He held the lifeless form, rocking him as he cried, and begged him to return until his body gave in to the pull of his emotional exhaustion and he fell asleep. Many a night, before the end, his prayers went unheard, the way they always did, but he kept repeating them until his body succumbed to the need of sleep.

  He knew not that he was on the cusp of venturing into his own nightmare.

  IT TOOK a few seconds for the jigsaw that was his memories of the recent past to come together, each piece refusing to fit and causing his head to ache. Due to the trick his mind was playing, Bailey was allowed a few moments to smile into his love’s skin and inhale the scent of the man he believed was sleeping. Lavender and rose, the oils Greyson added to all his bubble baths and shower gels, blessed his senses until consciousness caught up and gave Bailey the harsh slap across the face he didn’t want.

  Don’t do it. Don’t look, he told himself, fighting against the side of himself that seemed to wish to hurt him by opening his eyes. This dangerous self that loved his misery. If you don’t look, he won’t be gone.

  He held it back for as long as he could, listening to his head’s reinterpretation of Greyson’s sweet, alluring laughter. It was a side of himself Greyson had always teased him for. Holding on to the whimsical and never quite managing to grow up. Until they’d met, Bailey wasn’t even aware he had a childish side. Greyson had opened him up to it by helping take down the walls he’d created to protect him from his past. It was one of the things Bailey loved him for. But Bailey knew no amount of wishing would chase away the darkness about to shroud his life.

  He had to look though, couldn’t remain in his illusion any longer. As much as he hated it, he had to look. Opening his eyes, Bailey felt ice invade his blood and run through his body. Sub-zero temperatures attacking every cell, causing his heart to leap into his throat, and he struggled to breathe. He shuddered. Greyson hadn’t moved an inch. His chest was as still as it had been when he heard the last of his breath leaving him, when the grip he’d held on his hand loosened and death came to claim him.

  No!

  Bailey could sense the cracks deepening in his heart, each fragment held together by pieces of string as delicate as a spider’s web. Love felt cruel to him then. He couldn’t understand why something so magical would be sent his way, only for it to be stamped out like the heel of a shoe putting an end to an ant.

  Reality was an unwanted visitor, a reminder that the four letter word he once adored would never be his again.

  “Greyson.” His voice was little more than a whisper. He could hear it echo around him, ricochet off the walls of the room they once shared as husbands. No sounds came from outside, no birds sang in the sky. Have they too begun mourning the loss of one so wonderful? Bailey could believe it to be so, as easily as believing in love.

  Time hadn’t seemed to have passed as he slept. The room was still void of light, with a few traces of moonlight trying to win out. Bailey thought of all the times they had lain beside each other, their bodies covered with the evidence of sex with Luna’s grace basking down upon them through the window. How he wished they could return to that time, rather than sitting with a heavy heart beside Greyson’s empty shell. He kissed his departed lover again, allowing tears to rain down upon him. The glow of the moonlight caught them, and they sparkled like glitter in a snow globe. If there ever was one to portray such a devastating scene.

  Greyson had always teased he would die first. Ten years Bailey’s senior, he’d joked it was expected, but Bailey hadn’t believed his prediction would become his reality. For his own heart to break at the young age of twenty-nine. Both men had wished for long lives together, yet Greyson was a week shy of forty when the grim reaper came uninvited. Both men had expected to the win the battle of life versus death.

  Without question, Bailey had become the carer for the man who needed him. Greyson had refused to spend his remaining days, however few they might have been, in a hospital surrounded by the sick and dying.

  “If I’m going to die, then I want it to be in my own bed. Not one people have already died in.” Greyson had declared, and Bailey had accepted his wishes.

  They paid for a nurse to make regular house calls and educate Bailey on how to administer the correct dosage of medication. It wasn’t hard, not after the first few tries, and Greyson loved having his own ‘sexy nurse’ to perv over.

  A rare smile graced Bailey’s lips at the memory. Another reason for the tears to begin making more tracks down his face.

  Will I ever stop crying? he thought, looking at the small table at the side of the bed that housed the array of pill bottles.

  He wondered what he would do with them, how he should dispose of the medication. Where the hell should he start with it all?

  “I can’t remember the plan, baby.” He whimpered, racking his brain to recall what they’d planned should happen when the end came. Greyson was the strong one, not him. And he’d promised himself he wouldn’t lie around panicking. He wouldn’t be a weeping mess.

  Who did he have to call?

  Not his own parents; those people who treated him like an animal before the social workers took him from their ruling. Or Greyson’s senile mother who didn’t know what day of the week it was, never mind understanding how her son fought for his life—and lost.

  Pulling his eyes away from Greyson, Bailey again looked at the collection of pill boxes on the bedside table. Pills still there, waiting to be taken and ease the man he loved from pain.

  No, Bailey didn’t know where to start, or if he would ever find the strength to move. It wasn’t until he emptied the first bottle of pills down his throat that he even realized what he was he was doing.

  He knew one thing though: he would see Greyson again soon.

  After he swallowed the first few, he thrust another handful of kaleidoscope-of-colors into his mouth and they descended to his stomach with ease. Bailey rested his head against Greyson’s chest. “I’m coming... wait for me.”

  At last, the darkness claimed him.

  “SHIT!”

  By some evil twist of fate, it hadn’t worked. Bailey had managed to accomplish little more than a battering headache. It felt fuzzy, and he was sure he could sense the pounding of blood as it pumped through his veins. His brain seemed to expand, and then deflate. Expand, and then deflate. It reminded him of the time while at a university party, of spinning around with his head on a broom. Fueled by copious amounts of alcohol and twirling as fast as he could, until someone called time, and he had to try and walk in a straight line. Like then, his stomach churned, and he swore he could feel the world spiraling out of control under foot. Stupidity and shame began to consume him as he rubbed his eyes in a bid to focus in the darkness. Was it the middle of the night? He couldn’t see the shape of his fingers as he moved his hand in front of his face. He swallowed, expecting to feel some pain from his attempt to follow Greyson into the afterlife, a dryness of the throat maybe—nothing. Only shame.

  Settling his hands beside him for support, he groped to his side to find the lamp switch. There was something strange, alien to him as he felt the surface. The soft blankets laid upon their bed were no longer there. Instead, it was as though he was touching some rough crumbs or fine gravel, but how? They never ate in bed; Greyson wouldn’t have allowed it. Not that he ate much in the past few days. There was somethi
ng else though, Bailey knew he hadn’t been outside, how had he managed to find himself away from his bed? He’d never suffered from a sleep disorder before, so how had he managed to sleepwalk so late in life? Had the pills made him delirious?

  Trailing his fingers across the surface below him, Bailey felt to his other side, and when he didn’t meet with the body of his lover, he screamed. “Greyson! Greyson where are you?”

  His voice echoed the way it had done before he’d succumbed to the pull of death. The same way it did as a child when he’d shouted out in a cave, or an empty attic room. All around him his words rang out, his panicked voice wishing to torture him as it screamed on a tangent over and over, from all directions.

  Bailey squeezed his eyes and tried to see through the blanket of darkness, yet there was no moon to send down her glow to help him in his hour of need. Fear prickled across his body, and he pulled his legs into his chest and began rocking.

  Greyson, I don’t know where I am. I’m afraid... so afraid. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. His lips struggling to do more than tremble.

  Something inside told him to move, to pull himself from his undoing and find some source of light in the bleak, but he was held captive by his terrors. He couldn’t manage more than the gentle rocking. It was a small mercy, a little comfort within the looming darkness.

  He rested his head on his knees, wishing no longer to struggle with seeing through the shadows. Everything around him seemed to be painted in endless ebony. He pinched himself, to feel something, anything that would wake him from the nightmare he was in. Nothing.

  “What... what’s the point of all this?” he murmured, even the strength to cry evading him. “Let me die already.”

  Bailey’s heartbroken words trailed off. He was about to say how he wanted to be with Greyson again, but the strange surface below him trembled. It started with a light quivering before the earth truly shook. The increasing intensity of the vibrations had him struggling to get to his feet. With each attempt, he fell onto his chest and choked on some of the gravel. The crushed rock tasted like the burnt crust of meat that had spent too long on the barbecue. It reminded him of death and had his thoughts returning to Greyson for a few, short seconds before he sensed the gravel crawling up his body like an army of ants. Millions of insects were consuming every inch of him, and his mind played him for a fool, letting him believe he could feel each and every leg moving, wriggling all over him.

  Uncountable particles raced their way up him, and Bailey could no longer feel his feet. The gravel cemented into the ground as if he were a sculpture about to be set into place. He could sense a sucking sensation though, and fear had him imagining an unseen vortex below.

  “G-Greyson... help.” He choked, forking his hands through the gravel, trying to latch onto something—anything he could use to anchor him in place.

  Panicked, Bailey ran his fingers through the grains as more of it tried to claim him, swallowing him to his waist as it began dragging the rest of him below the surface. He attempted to scream again, but his mouth was full of particles of death, and he choked them down. Strangled by the grains wrapped around his neck, all he could do was witness them crawling over his face until they slithered across his eyes. Through tiny gaps, he thought he could see traces of light in the distance.

  This place he didn’t know the name of was taking him, sucking him into the suffocating nothing of below. Bailey was falling, succumbing to it. Only his hands were left, reaching out as best they could for something to hold onto. He wasn’t aware time was ticking away, the door to his life closing as Purgatory laid its claim. In what he thought were his final moments, something grabbed his hand.

  LIKE SO many unwitting souls who had ended up in Purgatory, Bailey was sure he was to be its next permanent resident. Something had prevented him falling farther though, saved him from being swallowed by the decaying grains of death.

  If he could see past the blindfold of gravel covering his eyes, he would have noticed the glowing light growing in size around him. Had his ears not been clogged to the drum, he would have heard past his ramblings and caught a voice calling his name, but no. Bailey didn’t bother to struggle any longer, allowing the grains to creep up him as he thought over the life he once had with Greyson, one never to be his again.

  So plagued was Bailey’s heart with his sense of loss, he wanted the end to come, to be swallowed into the nothing and digested until he was no more. For the dark particles to fold over him completely. He was unaware this was what Purgatory wanted, to feast upon the new soul who had entered its realm. He knew nothing of what the inevitable would result in, and that it wouldn’t reunite his soul with Greyson’s like he wanted.

  Had it not been for the force holding his hand, Purgatory would have already pulled him through. The surrounding darkness seeped into his body in a bid to pull him away from whatever had its hold on him. Bailey didn’t fight against it, instead wanted to free himself from the unseen hold and be sucked down into the below. He couldn’t see the light pulling him back. He wasn’t aware of how the light was taking shape, forming the body of a man, with feet grounded into the surface as it held on. Bailey wasn’t aware this was why the ground had stopped shaking, why the particles seemed to be backing away. A figure so tall it would tower over Bailey even if he hadn’t already been five feet below the ground. The angelic features of a guy gazed down at Bailey as more of the grains were chased away.

  THE ANGEL lifted the mortal from the vortex as the last of the gravel fell away and settled on the ground. He said nothing as his light depleted to a gentle hum, waited with patience for the boy to sense his presence. The astral being took the time to read the mortal, sense how much of Purgatory had already tarnished his soul. Touched by a place even his kind feared to tread.

  The soul was still intact enough to be pulled back if the boy was strong enough to return.

  Changing his features to something the almost-lost soul would recognize, the angel cleared his throat and smiled as Bailey finally looked up. The mortal’s jaw fell open, and a gasp left his lips, before the name of his parted lover followed. “Greyson?” He scrambled to his feet and rushed into the angel’s embrace. “It worked... we’re together again.”

  BAILEY PAUSED, gripping Greyson’s body, yet taking no time in sensing an abnormality. Something was changed in his lover. Bailey sensed the man he was holding wasn’t Greyson Andrews. He stepped back to look into the man’s face again, to check what he was seeing. Although the man was indeed a perfect representation of the lover who’d held him close at night as he slept, he didn’t smell like him nor was his smile the same. Not that it was entirely to do with all he saw and smelt, Bailey’s heart didn’t skip its usual beat.

  Bailey backed away from Greyson, who smiled at him with the blue eyes that still had the same sparkle he was used to. Now rooted to the spot, Bailey was unable to pull his gaze from the stranger with his lover’s face. The imposter who seemed full of radiance that, even at Greyson’s most charismatic, was unlike his soul mate. Greyson was perfect, but even he didn’t glow.

  Maybe we all glow when we die, Bailey wondered, thinking how incredible Greyson would look as an angel, but if he was indeed an angel wouldn’t he still have the same mannerisms he’d had in life?

  The funny lip shape Greyson had when his heart was still beating seemed perfect in death. His unruly curls settled on his face the way they would if he’d gone to one of those expensive hairdressers. Greyson never frequented such places though, preferring the just got out of bed style he carried so well.

  “Please don’t be afraid, Bailey,” the man with his lover’s face urged.

  When the figure smiled, Bailey felt the defenses he had built since waking in the darkness and being pulled down begin to crumble. It was something his Greyson alone could accomplish, make him relax even when the weight of the world seemed to hang on his shoulders.

  Although words flooded his mind, Bailey said nothing. Endless questions swirled aroun
d his head creating a mass of confusion. Torn between the urge to run and the need to fall back into the familiar embrace, he stood and watched the stranger wearing his lover’s skin.

  “I’m here to help you,” the false Greyson told him.

  There was no question he sounded like the man he loved, his voice just as gentle as it always was, even when they argued. Not that the pair came to blows much, and when they did they always managed to make amends the same night.

  Never go to bed with a fight still inside you. It was a code Greyson lived by.

  “Please, there is little time,” Greyson urged, tilting his head to the right. Something the real Greyson did. Had Bailey been able to pull his eyes from the alluring blue depths of Greyson’s eyes, he would have noticed how standing near the angel, with its radiating glow, had lightened the space around them.

  The mortal wanted to believe this was, in fact, the man he loved, but his aching heart refused to believe and so wouldn’t allow him to fall into the much-needed embrace again.

  “W-who are you?” He asked, now watching as the imitation soft, pink lips moved.

  He may not be the man Bailey loved, but this was the way he remembered Greyson, not the way he had been when the cancer had put an end to his beating heart. This was the man Bailey missed, the one he had begged the stars to let live and to take him in his place.

  Whose sick joke is this, sending someone who looks like my Greyson to me? The angel moved with care toward Bailey and stopped when their chests were inches apart. “I have no name, Bailey. At least, none that mortal ears would be able to comprehend. I’m an angel, here to guide you away from this place and back to your body.”

  No!

  Shaking his head angrily, Bailey balled his hands into fists. A frown creased his brow. It wasn’t the fact the person in front of him had declared himself an angel, somehow he could accept that, but to taunt him with life was something he neither needed nor wanted. Why would he return to a life alone?