Nine Minutes in Heaven

by David Connor

  Our uncoordinated and rowdy version of the Virginia reel ended, however, when the newlyweds fell into one another and kissed against the wall of the barn that served as our reception hall. Whose barn was it? I had no clue.

  “Maybe we should leave them alone, now,” I slurred.

  “Seems like,” Patrick said, his arm around my back.

  I stood a fair distance away, watching them, though, the two grooms. I shouldn’t have been, as it seemed they were about to consummate their love on their wedding night. “Oh.” No maybe was left about Jefferson’s intention, when he ripped opened Daniel’s shirt, some buttons from their holes, some right from the fabric. “Oh, my.”

  My subconscious mind was alert enough to make the delineation between reality and a dream, though maybe not to the point that would allow me to decide between a dream and a vision. Was what I watched really happening, or was I just making it up?

  Breaking from their clinch, Jefferson and Daniel, A.K.A. Calvin, turned in my direction. Two hands went up. They waved to me, Daniel first, half exposed. Then, Jefferson crooked a finger. “Stay,” he said, “In fact, come closer.”

  I took Patrick’s hand. “It looked like you were in the middle of something,” I said as we approached.

  “Hardly the middle,” Jefferson responded. “Just at the start. With a blanket of soft, green oak leaves brought down by gusty winds scattered here upon the straw on the floor of the barn, we thought this the perfect place to make love. We’ve done it together before, you’ll recall, as a foursome.”

  “Well, not really,” I argued. “Patrick and I sort of just watched.”

  “Not this time,” Jefferson said.

  “Huh?”

  “Pretense has no place here right now.” He reached over to pull at my jacket, the one from his era I had worn to officiate the nuptials between him and Daniel. “Time is of the essence, and the occasion for the four of us to engage in this sort of titillating, overtly erotic, and, to some, taboo moment may never come again.”

  “Side by side,” Daniel said. “The four of us sharing the love we have for one another, while being intimate with our one and only mate is both sweet and libidinous, amatory, and rather deliciously scandalous. It is something we wish to share, if the two of you are comfortable and unreserved enough to partake with us.”

  “I think this is a dream,” I whispered to Patrick.

  “Or is it the whiskey?” he asked.

  “If you’re too shy—”

  Before I could finish the sentence, his coat was on the ground and his buttons were flying, his doing, not mine, though I would have, if given the chance. “Like I’m ever going to pass up the chance to love fuck with you, especially in your dreams.”

  “Ditto.”

  “You’re okay, though.” Patrick took my hand. “I want to make sure you feel safe.”

  “With you, always. With Jefferson and Daniel, Calvin, whatever his name is? Yes.”

  The four of us soon stood before one another naked and hard. Dappled light from an array of taper candles and lanterns that had me thinking of Mrs. O’Leary’s cow hit the sweat on Daniel’s smooth torso in a way that gave him a beautiful, ethereal glow and had droplets scattered throughout the only thick hair on him dancing like glitter. Jefferson’s pale body shimmered as well. His hair was sparse in spots, full in others. His face read boy. The thickness of dark fur, especially under each arm and in a trail from belly button to crotch, said he was a man.

  “I recall Patrick’s chest and gut being coated like mine,” he said with a smile, reaching out to touch Patrick quite low on his torso. “Yet now, he has none. No hair anywhere, I see. This is ‘manscaping?’” Jefferson asked. “Like you once told me about, sweet Goose?”

  “It is.” I liked that we’d brought one world to the other in that way.

  “More like a manscaping mishap,” Patrick said.

  Daniel eyed him up and down. “I’m reminded of a rather tall cherub. Now, come, Jefferson, I need to feel you against my nakedness and taste you on my tongue.”

  The kissing was loud, the grunts and groans as well, even before the acts we performed became more sexual than romantic.

  Jefferson moved us. He positioned my bare back to his, with Patrick in front of me. Then Daniel got in front of Jefferson, on his knees to take Jefferson’s long, hard dick in his mouth. Patrick followed their lead. He had me writhing and squirming, pressing my flesh into Jefferson’s, as Jefferson did the same to me. We held onto one another to keep steady, as our lovers swiftly moved their hot mouths up and down our stiffened dicks. Then, we linked hands, because I adored the guy, my angel, my Jefferson. He also took Daniel’s, and Daniel took Patrick’s, and so did I. The nakedness and sexual act was about so much more.

  But suddenly, the affection took a back seat, and things became rushed. I could have lingered there as long as I was able to hold back from coming, but Daniel kept tugging on Jefferson’s arm, until Jefferson finally gave in, and they switched their positions.

  Patrick’s cock flexed in my mouth as I formed my lips around its girth once we had done the same. Again, the pleasure I was getting was cut short, as Jefferson moved to the ground and spread his legs, then smacked at mine. The sound of it echoed. The lustful sting of a second tap almost made me climax and left me no choice but to do what he was doing, as I assumed was his directive.

  Down atop our haphazardly scattered pile of clothing, the leaves, and the straw, Patrick and Daniel kept the same rhythm as they thrust in and out, fucking me and Jefferson hard and fast. My feet faced south, Jefferson’s north, with our heads lined up side by side, close enough for him to kiss me on the cheek, and then ever so gently on the mouth. I did the same to him, while Daniel and Patrick held hands again.

  I was the first one to come, using my own hand. Then Patrick did, inside me, followed by Daniel, inside Jefferson, judging by the sounds and the ecstasy all over both of their faces. Lastly, Jefferson finished, brought there by Daniel’s stroking. We all watched, as Jefferson arched his back, closed his eyes, and fired off several streams of spunk that flew into the wind that still gusted noisily, right through the barn’s open door. It landed on all of us, it seemed, like confetti blown by a huge fan.

  With Daniel still inside of him, Jefferson curled up to bring them even closer. He grabbed at Daniel’s hair and his face. “Goodbye, my sweet, sweet Daniel.”

  “Forever,” Daniel whispered. “Not the goodbye, but the two of us. We’ll find our way, somehow.”

  “Goodbye?” I asked. “Where are you going?” I rolled away from Patrick’s dick and his hold, and then thought better of it. Why would I want there to be space between us, when I was likely saying goodbye to him as well? Our bodies back together, Patrick’s hand in mine, I kissed him, then wondered aloud, “What’s happening here? How is this goodbye? Why?”

  I awoke with a rather embarrassing snort, back in Patrick’s ICU room, his hand still in mine.

  “I didn’t like that dream, Patrick,” I said. “That vision or whatever it was.” Shifting in the wheelchair, self-conscious about my hard-on, I worried Maureen would come in right then. “Sure, parts of it were good. Parts of it were great,” I stated, still feeling some of those good parts in places. “But other parts—”

  I gasped as I glanced toward the window. Sunrise was just approaching. Dawn was breaking, fighting back the darkness of night. Patrick had a tree outside his window, and on one of the branches, settled two red male cardinals. I smiled. My heart skipped, but then it sank.

  “Are you here for him?” I whispered, my throat tight, my soul feeling an ache I could never imagine. “Is it time?” I squeezed Patrick’s hand. “The dream was all about goodbye. There wasn’t time to be sad in it.”

  There was time, now, and the looming situation, the signs that announced it, were gut wrenching.

  “I’m glad they’re here for you, Patrick. Man…” I wiped at my face with my whole hand. “That’s supposed to make it easier, but it doesn’t.
I don’t want to let you go.”

  Suddenly, one of the cardinals flew off, leaving the other all alone.

  “Patrick?”

  I was certain he’d squeezed my hand, his way of saying goodbye.

  “I love you. I always will. You can go with Daniel, if you have to.”

  He squeezed my hand again, for sure this time. As I put my head on his shoulder, I wondered if I should call in Maureen. It was the right thing to do.

  “Be happy, my love. Be at peace. Sing, play with all the cats and dogs you can find, learn to steer that boat, and think of me happily until I get there.”

  I kissed him where my head lay, at the snaps on his hospital gown. Then, I needed one more, to hold me for however long I’d have to go on without him. I needed his flesh, so I went for the neck.

  “Mmm.”

  “Patrick?” I rose on my one good foot and touched my lips to his. “Are you coming back to me?” A glance toward the window revealed the other bird, the now solo cardinal, was still there. “Jefferson? Is he waking up? Did you bring Patrick back to me?”

  I received nothing more, not right then, but I was certain there had been movement.

  “Come on, Patrick.”

  I ripped the other charm from my chest, tape and all, felt the burn from the adhesive moments later, but then quickly got over it. I didn’t care. If Patrick came back to me, I would gladly pull every hair from my body one by one. I’d suffer ten times that much pain, a million times more.

  This time, I reached down the collar of his hospital gown and placed the G initial on top of the P.

  “You once said all things are better when we do them together. Maybe two letters are better than one. Maybe the G and the P can work magic combined.”

  There was a blip on the machine, out of rhythm with the steady, constant, predictable tick, tick, tick.

  “Come back to me, Patrick. Come on.”

  He opened his eyes.

  “I love you,” I managed to get out. I wanted those to be the first words he heard, or the last, whichever way things went.

  Chapter 10

  My time with Patrick was cut short.

  “He’s awake!”

  It was my own doing. A nurse and Patrick’s mother rushed to the door. I’d offered a quick kiss and a few brief questions before the exclamation, though. “Do you know who I am?”

  The raise of both eyebrows and another squeeze of my hand gave me hope.

  “One blink for yes, two for no. I think that’s how they do it.”

  Patrick blinked once.

  “Yes?”

  He blinked once again.

  “Do you love me still?”

  His eyelids fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird.

  “I’m a little scared, still. That was a yes, right?”

  Patrick blinked once.

  “Okay. Good.”

  He waved to me as I wheeled toward to exit.

  “He’s awake!” I turned back. “Bye.”

  The rattle of the bedrail brought me back around. When I looked at Patrick, he blinked twice.

  “No?”

  He waved again.

  “Not bye?” I asked.

  My answer was two more blinks.

  “Hi?”

  Patrick blinked once, and then waved again.

  “Oh. Hi.” The smile I offered came back to me in Patrick’s eyes. He remembered.

  I was warned it might be a couple of hours before I could get back in to see him. I had to share with his family, which was no fun, but I understood. Plus, there was a ton of medical stuff to tend to.

  Hours later, I was just back from my first PT session, which was grueling as fuck, considering how careful Sunny had told me I had to be just a day ago. Getting comfortable was beginning to seem impossible, when a knock came to the wall at the side of the curtain at the entrance to my room.

  “Mr. Tucker?”

  “Yes.” I scooched up in bed and made sure I was covered.

  “I’m Homicide Detective Tate Wishum, Fort Lauderdale PD.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Calvin? I mean, Daniel?” The guy looked exactly like him, tall and gorgeous, with a smile, brief as it was, that could light up the darkest mood. He wore a suit and tie, just like the one Patrick and I had put Calvin in back at Cost-Mart in January, the one he still wore when he showed up with Patrick at The Rainbow Bridge. The resemblance was uncanny, or possibly otherworldly. I was using that phrase a lot.

  “Uh. No,” the detective said. “I’m Tate.”

  “Really?” I smiled conspiratorially. “Come on.”

  “No. I really am. Are you…okay, Mr. Tucker? The doctor said your head trauma wasn’t severe, but you were concussed, so…”

  “No. I…I’m okay. I…I think I am.”

  “I have a few questions to go over with you, to button up everything that happened to you and the other guy.”

  “Patrick. My fiancé.”

  “Yeah, him.”

  As brief as our conversation was so far, I could tell the guy had none of Daniel’s affability, even if everything else about him brought Daniel to mind.

  “The guy you were on the bike with was your ex, right?” Tate asked.

  “Yeah. He was living in Florida…Tom, I mean. Is that why you’re here…from down there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because Tom tried to kill me and Patrick.”

  “Were you leaving town with Tom, ditching the fiancé?”

  “No!”

  “It wasn’t some big plan, incapacitate one lover with a baseball bat to be with the other?”

  “What the fuck?” Three words summed up my disgust and disbelief. “Tom forced me onto that bike.”

  “We didn’t find a gun.”

  “Did you find a tire iron?”

  “Not at the scene of the accident.”

  “At the high school,” I said.

  “It had no blood on it.”

  “Only because I finally agreed to go with him. I’m surprised Tom didn’t just bring the bat. Did he really…Was that what he used on Patrick?”

  “You sure you don’t already know the answer to that?”

  “What the hell are you implying?”

  “Just asking questions. We got everything your sister said, but I needed to hear it from you.”

  “Well, you heard it.” The word asshole begged to come from my mouth. “Tom mentioned Facebook. There’s a video of me proposing to Patrick on my page…or Patrick proposing to me. Tom was always violent. He was jealous, or, at the very least, he didn’t want me to be happy, so he went after both of us. Jesus. You might look like Calvin, but you sure don’t act like him.”

  “Who’s Calvin?”

  “Daniel, I mean.”

  “Who’s Daniel? Another ex? Got so many you can’t keep their names straight?”

  For whatever reason, it certainly wasn’t Tate’s wonderful personality and wit that had me confiding in him, I spilled everything about Jefferson, Calvin, how Calvin became Daniel, and all about my own visit to Heaven. All I left out was the sex, be it two-way or four-way.

  Tate sat. “And you think I look like one of these guys?”

  “The resemblance is remarkable.”

  “Which makes you think I’m a ghost?”

  “No.” I’d wondered for a moment if I’d convinced the jerk. “I thought you were an angel.”

  Tate stood. “You’re out of it, dude. Everything you just told me, according to your own testimony…”

  “I didn’t know I was on trial.”

  “It all took place in some sort of world only you remember, after two severe bumps on the head hard enough to render you unconscious. Oh, except for the first time you talked to a ghost. That time, you were only struck by lightning.”

  “I might have been. I never said I was. I probably wasn’t.”

  “I’m not an angel or a ghost, Mr. Tucker. Everybody looks like someone. Remember that pic that was all
over the internet of modern-day Nicholas Cage and Vampire Nicholas Cage?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, there you go. And here I go.”

  “Back to Florida?”

  Tate offered no answer, just, “Have a good day,” which I doubted was even sincere.

  I told Shelby and Rip all about it a bit later on, as I cuddled with Wilbur a couple of hours after lunch. “He was such a tool!”

  “They do claim everyone has a double out there,” Shelby said. “I guess this guy was Calvin’s.”

  “Daniel’s.”

  “Right.”

  “I guess there’s a possibility I made it all up…from day one.” I loved the velvety softness of Wilbur’s ears. “This little guy, here, reacted, though, to Jefferson’s presence. On the other hand, he could have been reacting to my anxiety about having the diary.”

  “What about Gramma and Birdie?”

  I shrugged. “I could have heard that and just forgotten about it. It might have been crammed in the back of my head somewhere, and I…I just suddenly remembered.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm.”

  Shell, then Rip, then me. What more was there to say?

  By the time Carrie showed up after school, I still hadn’t been able to see Patrick again. His mother had stopped by briefly to tell us he was doing okay, a “remarkable recovery,” she’d called it. “Because of you.”

  “Because of Daniel and Jefferson,” I’d told her, despite the doubts that had returned.

  Carrie had news. “Laura got booted from the show,” she announced. “She got suspended, actually.”

  “Why?”

  “This.”

  I covered my mouth as I read the post Carrie had saved on her phone. “She got off easy,” I said. “She should have been expelled.”

  “Let me see.” Shelby reached for the phone. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry, Carrie.”

  The words were hideous, much in the vein of what I thought I’d heard Laura say from her car in the high school parking lot, except about Mrs. Quintero, her race and her wife.

  Carrie agreed. “It is. And I’ll tell you, for about ten seconds, I felt horrible. We all did, but Mrs. Q is woke. She rallied us all during chorus. We had kind of a big healing hour, and it was really amazing, how many students and teachers supported her. You’re never sure, you know?”