“You didn’t,” the guy assures me, but he doesn’t understand. I caused a lot of damage. “Do you want me to call someone?”
I shake my head. “No. I…I need to see him.”
“We can get you a cab so you don’t have to drive,” he offers.
“Thank you, but I have a car waiting for me.” My voice has lost all strength and is now a whisper in the air. “I should’ve gone to the coroner’s office first. I just hoped that…”
What was I hoping for? For them to tell me that it was a fucking mistake? An April fool’s joke? That he was taking yoga, meditating, or painting? I don’t even know what they offer here, but yes, I was hoping they’d tell me it was a fucking mistake.
“He can’t be gone.” I don’t recognize the desperate voice that’s bargaining out loud. This isn’t me, or maybe this is the guy I’ve been hiding for years. “My heart can feel him. You know, the way two soulmates know when the other one is around.”
Zeke would laugh at the irony of this moment. I never told him he was everything to me, and yet, when he died, I finally recognize it in front of other people. I openly called him my soulmate.
“I understand. You’re in denial.” This man might be a saint or a holy man hoping to save one soul since he lost the other. “It’s easier to fix than to face reality and confront our pain. You have a long road ahead of you. Try to keep your family and friends close. Let yourself grieve, but don’t blame yourself.”
How can he say that? He doesn’t know me. He can’t comprehend how much I fucked up—for years.
I am guilty.
Guilty of denying my love.
Guilty of rejecting the most amazing man in the world.
A sinner who can’t be saved because he killed his own soul.
I make my way outside the center and climb inside the car. The driver takes us to the morgue. I rest my head on the window, close my eyes, and play the memories of us together. Even though those memories are precious, I never enjoyed them while he was alive. I lived in fear of losing what wasn’t important.
When we arrive, the driver opens the door for me. “I’ll be outside waiting for you, sir.”
I saunter toward the entrance but stop right in front of the glass door. I can barely breathe. It’s as if I’m about to cross the gates of hell.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
I’m about to step into the world where Zeke Hutchence doesn’t exist.
Chapter Two
Ethan
The weight of my feet makes it almost impossible to take a step. My arms won’t lift. It’s all too raw, too real. I lost my strength. I stand outside the door for hours, maybe just a few seconds. Who knows? It’s not until the driver comes over and opens the door that I finally come out of my trance.
“Sir, would you like me to call your family?”
My family died a few days ago. I shake my head slightly.
“Thank you, I’ll be fine,” I say, reminding myself that I’m Ethan Killion.
I am not afraid of a building. I can do this. What am I doing here? Claiming who?
The man I loved but who never belonged to me.
Like any other time when I’m in an unbearable situation, I detach myself from the moment. I go through the motions, as if claiming his body is normal.
“Zeke Hutchence,” I mumble his name, then clear my throat and repeat, “I’m here for Zeke Hutchence.”
“Fill out this form. I need your ID. What’s your relationship with the deceased?”
“I’m his life partner.” My answer comes out without hesitation.
If Zeke is watching from heaven, he’s either laughing or furious at the fucking irony.
When they hand me an envelope with his possessions, my chest tightens. I open it, the same way I would with a bag of radioactive waste. It should remain closed but why not. I’m already dead inside.
His wallet is there, along with his phone and… Why did he have a pocketknife? It’s all bloody. I don’t touch it. I push it, with his phone, back in the envelope. What the fuck was he doing with that? Zeke wouldn’t carry a weapon, not even a utility knife. Maybe I’m wrong. We evaded each other for so long that I can’t assume I knew him well, if at all.
Once I finish filling out the forms, I hand them to the officer. She reads it through and lets out a loud breath before standing up. “Follow me.”
My brain has adjusted to this new role: A guy claiming a body at the morgue. My heart doesn’t get the message. The treacherous organ bleeds with each step I take. When we enter the room, everything around me begins to spin. I hold onto the frame of the door. From the outside, it must look like I’m finalizing a business transaction. The officer and the man wearing a white lab coat don’t know that I’m about to pass out.
I focus on the cold, painted brick walls until I’m strong enough to walk closer. The wall of steel shines. That’s it. The place where he is preserved until someone claims him. Every door in that wall has a plastic cover and there’s a sheet inside. The officer steps closer and reads each one of them. Once she finds the right one, she wiggles the handle, opens the door, and pulls a long steel tray holding a body covered with a white sheet.
My heart slows down as I march toward her, staring at the corpse. I brace myself as she pulls the blanket back to uncover his face. I frown. The pale body in front of me is of a man who may be in his early twenties. He has colorful hair. He looks nothing like Zeke.
“That’s…” I close my eyes and open them again to make sure that I’m looking at the right person. I confirm that the guy in front of me is not— “He’s not Zeke Hutchence.”
I sigh with relief, but then I ask, “Where’s Zeke?”
“This is the guy. I gave you his belongings,” she claims.
I drop them on the floor, squat, and go through everything. “This is his wallet,” I state, going through it and verifying that his cards and his ID are in there. There’s no cash, which is strange since he always carries some with him. I slide my finger along the screen of his phone, press his passcode and say, “This is his phone. I don’t recognize the rest.”
“These are the belongings they found at the hotel, along with the used needles,” The officer says.
“That’s not him,” I insist, knowing that Zeke would never stick a needle in his arm. Not even to get high.
With the open envelope, I push the pocketknife closer to her feet, thankful I didn’t touch it. “You might want to examine that,” I suggest.
He might be the last person who saw Zeke, but if he’s here, where is my guy? “When I asked you to find Zeke, you grabbed the first man you found dead and made the call. I should sue, but I won’t if you tell me where he is right now.”
She gives me a look that says, it’s-not-my-problem.
“How about the other freezers?” I ask, pulling out my phone and showing her a picture of Zeke. Then, I show it to the other person who I assume is a doctor. “Have. You. Seen. Him?”
The guy in the coat almost squirms as my voice echoes. He shakes his head. “Check every spot. What if you tagged the wrong person?”