Cemetery boy

The truth...it isn’t nearly as cracked up as Jesus makes it out to be.

Brendon fell asleep almost as soon as he reached my bed. Guess it had been a long day for him too. Telling me his real name had obviously used up a lot of his energy: and in case you didn’t realise, I’m being a tad bit sarcastic. I took off his leather coat before he was completely knocked out and throw it over my dresser violently...well as violent as you can be throwing a coat (which for the record isn’t very violent at all).

I sat at my desk instead of joining him in bed; I already knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. The events were swirling around my head like a hurricane—he lied to me...to protect me. Was I meant to be angry and throw plates at the wall? Or was I meant to play happy families while the truth simply poked me occasionally and my smile faltered?

I watched Brendon for a while as he slept. His chest easily rising and falling, he looked so innocent in his crumbled costume curled up on my bed, if it were anyone else they would look cheap and unappealing....however Bren still managed o be remarkable appealing with smeared makeup and torn clothes. Traitor...Pete had called him; he was an outcast amongst his own kind. What had he done for those people to hate him so much?

It was around then that I had one of those brilliant horrible ideas that you can only have in the middle of the night. The sort that make you jump up and go “this is the point of life” or some gay crap like that and bounce off with the speed of the Pope visiting the brothel (which is remarkable fast, considering his age). I was going to find the truth out about Brendon.
I wrote him a short note and left it by his bedside table before kissing him lightly on the head

“Bye bye Luxy” I whispered, my voice nastier than I expected

Brendon flinched in his sleep slightly, as if his name alone...was turning his dream into a nightmare.

I put Brendon’s coat on and slip out. I felt like a rebellious fugitive as I snuck out—it was awesome. Outside it wad pitch black, and for some reason I wasn’t all that afraid...although that might have something to do with the fact that I had thoughtfully brought along a few knives—as a detective it is essential to bring threatening weaponry....or maybe I just have a kink for knives—who knows?

I walked through the cemetery. I paused for a moment in front of the grave that Brendon and I had met in front of. Brendon had said that his father was buried here, how could that be? the grave that I had thought had a strange last name—Boyd Urie. Urie...how could I have not noticed this? Underneath the name was the year of death: 1974

To the left was a much less well kept grave, it was obviously an extension of sorts to Boyd Urie’s grave. I knew long before I pulled away the weeds and dirt that the tombstone would read Brendon Urie. What I couldn’t have ever know however was the small inscription beneath that

“He had the world, until the sun was on its deathbed”
and then...the same year as his father he died in 1974. With no mention whatsoever as what may have caused it

I let out a breathe of cold air. It hadn’t answered any questions; in fact it had made everything make even less sense.

I walked to where I originally planned to go...the half-way house. I pulled Brendon’s coat around me tighter: it was quite simple what I planned to do. There was a chance that if I wore this—the half-way house would think that I’m Brendon and I would see what he saw. I’d see what made him look sick to the stomach. I’d noticed at the party that everyone who I knew to be one of the deaths was wearing identical leather coats. Identical to the one I was wearing right now.

I closed my eyes when I reached the house, I thought it looked scary in the daytime—right now it looked like a nightmare. The windows and doors seemed to stretch and lean over me, leering with glee that I was terrified. I ignored all my thoughts and walked through the door. Into the darkness.

That was when I saw my own face surrounded in shadows

“Brendon” the me in the darkness said. The image was flickering, as if the house knew I wasn’t Brendon. But the way I had said his name, on my lips it meant something. Brendon appeared in the darkness also. The way he was looking at the other me...he’d never looked at me like that.

And then we kissed...not in a way that we have ever before, it made me feel sick. I heard a memory of Brendon’s voice speak

“People see...the impossible, they see people they’ve lost, things they’ve seen, things they miss—everything and nothing”

I turned my head away in disgust and fumbled to the other side of the darkness to the doorway to the Panic. Brendon...all he wanted was for me to love him like that, that was all he ever wanted and I couldn’t give it to him, I swung open the door close to tears and walked out into the black and white landscape

“Rosy” a voice said with a strange cheerful tone...that just sounded wrong

My neck snaps violently as I swing round to see the owner of the voice. My eyes stoped on a man leaning against the halfway house...it was then that I realised that I’d made a horrible mistake coming here.

“Gerard” I replied with an acidic tone

He was still wearing his leather pant; in fact the only difference between now and when I first saw him was the cigarette in his hand

He smiles coldly at my reaction “...I’m afraid George Ryan Ross the third...that I’m going to be looking after you”

He must have seen the panic in my eyes because he said quickly after that “Pete, he knew that you’d be coming back...I’m just here to make sure that you get to the house safely.

I nod slowly. As much as he sounded like a complete dick he seemed sincere about this at least

“Why the hell did you call me Rosy...and don’t call me George—just Ryan, please?”

He shrugs before taking a drag “Your vest...you’re pretty good looking you know—for a mortal”

He then begins to make his way towards the black house, I follow him like a child

“I’ll try and take that as a compliment” I say with sarcasticam plain and clear

I decided to be tactful and not mention his pants and how they were doing him no favours and made him look like a girl...but then again I’m the one wearing a rose vest.

“Are you being nice to me or what?” I ask suddenly, still not sure whether or not as to trust him

He smiles coldly “...I’m not doing this out of kindness—believe you me”

He left it at that as he led me up to the black house I was at only hours before, somehow the curiosity and interest I held then had evaporated for me as I looked at the house in disgust and the tiniest...tiniest amount of fear.

“Pete’s inside” is all he says, obviously expecting me to walking into the house. I take one step and darkness swallows me.