Code Junkie

EPILOGUE

On top of a hill, there sits an assisted living facility which houses all of Deptford County's decrepit, criminally insane, and those elderly beyond help. Some refer to it, charmingly, as the Castle.

At any given moment, there may be nurses dispensing medicine to any given patient, in hopes of calming their nerves and quelling a violent outbreak. This happens during any given day, at any given hour, on any given floor. However, on the top-most floor, on the top of tower, a floor which gives particular credence to the nickname "castle," sit two patients who share the same blood.

Their names are Joseph Banner and Kevin. Kevin's last name is irrelevant. It was a ploy on behalf of the Conservation Society, in hopes of keeping him in the dark and complacent until the time was right. They succeeded.

The nurse delivering medication to the two relatives pushes a cart. The various trays and compartments on the cart are empty. She wears the special medications on her waist, under her apron. She only has this delivery left for the day.

She removes the special vials for Joseph and Kevin. She knocks twice, waits a few seconds for a non-existent response, and enters. Kevin and Joseph sit in rocking chairs, looking out the window over the forests, mountains, cliffs, and coasts of Deptford County. They are not sentient, not in any functional capacity. They are dead to this world. She puts two pills in each of their mouths, DCL-75, and holds a small cup of water to their mouths. She gently holds their heads back and rubs their throats until they swallow, forever smiling, forever gazing out at the landscape.

She bids goodnight to the gentlemen and closes their door. They are in the only room in the facility which has a hardwood finish, an area-rug, and a fireplace. It is a rustic cabin interior within a healthcare facility, within a prison, really.

Behind their glazed stares lies something else. No one on the outside can see it, but they are both seeing the same, beautiful scene.

They are both in Bannersville, forever celebrating a festival with no name. Joseph and Kevin are both on stage, their beloved significant others at their hips. Joseph and his first love, Kevin and his dearest Mariah. They smile and wave at the crowd before them, forever cheering.

These members of the crowd, they are only there in death, or in fleeting bouts of meditation. Sometimes, Kevin recognizes Ted and Mitch in the crowd. Most of the time, they are undetectable figures in a mass. Sometimes, he even recognizes Sal in the far back. But that is uncommon. He does not understand how, but he does not ask. He notices that he never sees Sara, or his grandmother. But this, too, he never bothers to ask about.

Here, they live happily. He loves his grandfather, he loves his adopted grandmother of sorts, and he loves his dearest Mariah. Her kisses are the sweetest he has ever tasted, and they are severely lacking the formaldehyde and decay he had experienced in nightmares. This is all granted to them by the one that they called "Lenny" back in the realm of the weak-minded.

At night, they retire to their castle built of art and eternal beauty. They sleep in their individual chambers, spiritually married to their beloveds, and stare out at the dark landscape, purple ash and charcoal gathering in the corners of this hidden realm. Their wives rest comfortably in their ornate beds, waiting for their husbands to retire to sleep. The two men live in separate master bedrooms, each identical to one another. Every night, before taking to slumber, they relax before their gigantic fireplaces, bathing in the orange, blue, and purple glow of this universe. 

They stare at the dark mountain ranges and smile, content. Behind their glazed stare lies something else. No one on the outside can see it, but they are both seeing the same, beautiful scene.