The Edge of Paradise

Chapter 3: Origins.

Sylvia Tansey's brightly manicured nails covered her mouth as her heavily make up-ed eyes threatened to release a river of tears. Blonde haired, her eyes the same shade of ocean blue that once glanced into my soul in the form of Luke's. Abel Tansey at her side. A talk, dark, handsome, middle aged man, who was beginning to show the effects of time and stress. 

We were sitting in foyer, a painting of a basket of apples hanged above the Victorian style fireplace. A gold colored chandelier lingered above us, looking as if it may collapse and squish us like bugs at any given moment. Surrounding us, on the tables, floor, shelves and racks, lay countless amounts of generic "You are in our prayers" and "We are sorry for your loss" letters, plastered with images of religion and old fashioned fonts. White flowers sent by neighbors and friends alike littered the floor. Dead petals formed a trail of sadness from the entrance to the foyer. Futile attempts by loved ones to ease their pain.

If anything, letters and flowers only made things worse, serving as constant reminders of the son they'd now lost. A son they had almost always taken for granted. I wanted to pay them a visit. Luke didn't always see eye to eye with his parents, but he still cared about them. He would've liked me to check up on them.

"I just don't get them" An exasperated Luke said quietly. "They need to start taking responsibility for their actions, don't they realize that what they do affects me too?". I gave him a sympathetic look. His parents were always going off making bad decisions, wasting money, not paying bills, arguing. The majority of the time it had some sort of detrimental effect on Luke.

We were in the poorly lit, dusty old section of the library, where copies of religious texts and town history logs were kept. We were far away from the hearing range of the aging librarian, a strict old woman who would not tolerate any sort of unwanted noise in her library.

I wanted to change the topic. I didn't want Luke to feel awful at the fault of his parents. "What are you looking for anyway?" I asked, genuinely curious. We've been here for an hour and he still hasn't told me what for.

He was crouching down at a shelf, scanning the dates. He paused for a bit before answering; "Just some of our town's history logs. I need them for a school project. " Ha. Typical Luke. Always the scholar. He was a brilliant student who would be satisfied with nothing else than a schedule full of Honors and AP classes and a solid A in all of them.

"Ah, here we go" Luke said looking pleased as he pulled out a bulky, ancient looking text labeled "1690-1750". "Well that's great and all but you do know they're not allowed to leave the library right?" I said teasingly.

Luke flashed me a devious smile. "I know". And he opened up his backpack before stuffing the text inside. He rearranged the logs on the shelf to get rid of any open spaces left by the removal of the log and he picked some random books from the fiction section to check out to prevent suspicion.

I chuckled at him. "Look at you, such a good looking boy making bad boy decisions." He laughed back. "You know it".

The old librarian's gaze fell towards us and with a stone still face she raised to her finger to her wrinkled pursed lips and "SHHHH"'d us

We left the library without a second thought.

"Wanna come over afterwards?" I asked. He turned to look at me. "I can't" he said smally. "I'm... a bit preoccupied with school work and stuff". Not masking my disappointment, I simply nodded in his direction. He grabbed my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before walking off. 

"Luke was always so fond of you" Luke's mom said tearfully. Luke's dad nodded in agreement. "He would always talk about what a great friend you were to him. Clearly he preferred your company over anyone else's". He said the last bit with a sort of resentfulness. Very subtle, but still detectable.

"Luke meant a lot to me too. He was the best friend I ever had" This was as much as I could tell them. They had no knowledge of Luke and I's relationship. No one did. In a small town like this, you never know how anyone could react to having a gay son. And now, with Luke suddenly gone, I don't want to be the one to break it to them. I wouldn't to leave them with a bad perception of Luke afterwards if it turns out they weren't supportive.

Timidly, I continued; "I was wondering if I could go up to Luke's room for a bit. There's a lot of memories hanging from the walls".

"Of course dear. This is just as much as your house as it was Luke's. Help yourself" Luke's mom said softy.

I smiled at them softly before excusing myself and headed up the old squeaky stairs. At the end of a hall stood a sight so familiar. A lone door. I would go up and knock and every time Luke's ocean blue eye and million dollar smile greeted me at the door.

I imaged this were all just a prank, a big surprise. I would go up, knock, and behind the door in there he'd be waiting for me, and we'd all go back to the way it used to be.

But it wasn't.

Luke's room was just as it always was. Perfectly organized, not a single sock in sight. Completely clean with the sweet smell of cinnamon encircling the room from the air freshener plugged into the wall.

I closed the door behind me and sighed. I went to lay on the bed, where we had shared many acts of passion. My emotions were finally starting to catch up with me. The void I initially felt was starting to fill up with flickers of hope, clumps of sadness, chips of anger, chunks of confusion, and everything in between.

My hands reached for the pillow, wanting to smother myself with Luke's scent, the only thing he left behind. Suddenly, a pricking sensation. I felt myself come across a sharp, pointy, edge. A small drop of blood quivered down my finger like a teardrop.

"A knife?" I said out loud to myself. "Why would Luke sleep with a knife under his pillow?" People don't do things like that unless they know they're at the risk of something happening. But what?

I took it out to examine it further. 'I.A.M" was engraved on the blade. 

I took a glance around the room. "What else am I missing?" Although everything looked completely normal, there's always hidden cobwebs at the edges, waiting to be uncovered.

I noticed Luke's backpack laying near his bedpost. His jacket hanging from the rack. The town's history log still located inside.

I flipped it open. An eloquently written memoir quickly caught my attention.

'SODOMITES. 1692'
"These unholy creatures of Satan that plague our town must be eradicated. Their very existence serve as an insult to the virtue of God. It's all in the holy book, Leviticus 20:13 'If a man has sexual relations with a man, as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads.'
We can not possibly ignore this clear command from our lord any longer. Something must be done. Something will be done.

- Lucius S."

That name... why does it looks so familiar? We were taught in school that Solomon was caught in the Salem Witch Craze of the 1690s, being located in Massachusetts and all. But we were never told about the prosecution of homosexuals during that same period. 

Come to think of it, In the seventeen years I've been alive, I've never once heard the word escape from the lips of my mother or father. Or any adult for that matter. It's as if the word itself didn't exist. As if we didn't exist

Further inspection revealed, peeking ever so slightly out of a corner of Luke's jacket's pocket, a note. A small, wrinkled, blurry note.

The handwriting foreign to me, written in red, the color of passion, sex, love, danger, and blood.

"I know what you are.".