Death Is Strange

THREE

The sky had darkened when they left, growing purple and red across the water.

"I like your truck, by the way," Gerard said. "I like beat up stuff. You know, ripped clothes, distressed stuff."

"Yeah." Frank braked at the edge of the parking lot. "Which direction?"

"To the left, end of the road. The shitty-looking yellow house."

He laughed. "Got it."

The gravel crunched as they pulled into the driveway. The porch light was on, but inside the house was dark and quiet. Gerard heaved a sigh of relief. "Stepdick's working late."

Frank followed Gerard inside, up the stairs. "Cool thing is my room is the third floor, so people don't bother me," he said.

Up the second flight of stairs, there were no tastefully framed paintings of still life or family photos. Black marker had been used to scrawl phrases and drawings of skulls, knives, vampires, wolves...

"This is dope, Gerard. You're a really good artist, man," Frank said as they reached the landing.

Gerard snapped on a lamp. "Oh thanks. Those are just scribbles. I draw on the walls when I'm pissed off."

Frank laughed. "Then I can't even imagine how good your serious drawings are."

Gerard headed for the closet, pulling out a worn sketchbook. "I'll show you. But you just gotta understand, Frank, I like all kinds of stuff. Like, blood and skulls and dark stuff, but also cats and pancakes and... I just think you should be able to take pride in everything you love without getting judged and there should be a place in your art for it." He offered Frank a small grin. "Come here."

Frank swallowed hard. You're fucking adorable. He cleared his throat, joined Gerard by the closet. Gerard held out the sketchbook. "One more thing, Frank. I have an empathy link, so I can get a good read into people. I really like you so far. If I didn't, I wouldn't be showing you this stuff. So... here you go. You can see how I imagine things, how I view the world."

The first page was a woman in a Victorian dress, her face hidden by a gas mask, her hair flowing out behind her like a mane. Children in blood-splattered masks flanked her on either side. "Damn. This should be an album cover, Gerard."

Gerard nodded, and reached over Frank's shoulder to skip the next page, but his trembling hand slipped, and the sketchbook fell open, revealing a naked man. Gerard tried to speak, choked up. Regaining his composure, he said flatly, "That's Bert. I... you weren't supposed to... now it's too late."

"This is fucking incredible, man. It's like a photograph," Frank said softly.

Bert was sprawled on a rumpled bed, eyes closed, mouth curved into a soft, peaceful smile. When Frank was finally able to tear his eyes away from Bert's body, he noticed two other details of the drawing: A window in the background, with the full moon outside, the starry sky half-hidden by bats hanging from a tree, more bats hanging from the curtain rod inside the room. And on the wall behind the bed, a shadow loomed, clawed hands reaching for Bert.

And in the corner, written in the moonbeam shining across the shadowy floor, there was a message.

Now I can breathe

Turn my insides out

and smother me

Warm and alive I'm all over you

Won't you smother me?

When I'm alone,

time goes so slow